Henry’s wife left him for a word. Or was it A Word? Did words get capital letters these days regardless of whether they were proper nouns?
A-word is what it should be called, stealing people’s wives! he laughed to himself.
Henry liked to think of himself as open-minded, he did, but he was gutted. Did this then mean his wife had never been satisfied with him all these years? He wondered this but didn’t ask. I’m supposed to be progressive, he reminded himself.
It’s not infidelity, his wife said when she told him. It’s more than that… It’s about who I am.
They were sitting on the front porch of their home. It was night and the children were in bed. It was a nice night, and they had a nice porch. A nice house. In a tranquil neighborhood. With an excellent school district! Their lives were more than adequate. Adequate, which meant enough. They had two beautiful children, a cat and a dog. A two car garage… What lacking? They had house rules, for g*d’s sake! House rules! Dinner was family time: they sat at the table, no screens, no taking phone calls. Don’t go to bed angry… Don’t say things you don’t mean – that one had been her rule – and now what? She had told him she loved him every day for the last nine years!
It’s not just about love, either, she said. It’s more than that.
Don’t say hate… He could hear her telling their children this. Don’t say hate, she would tell them, another rule she had. It’s an ugly word. We don’t use that word in this house.
What about the kids? he said to her now.
We just started counseling, he told her.
That’s just what I mean… she said. I still love the kids. I still love you.
So what is it then? Henry asked. It’s not adultery, it’s not love, what?
It’s… his wife began. It’s hard to explain. It’s not definable, not in English. It’s… untranslatable…
Malarkey! Henry snapped.
Henry, she told him, smiling sadly. You’re not prejudiced… not the man I married.
Well, I must not be the man you married, he said. After all, you don’t want to be married anymore!
You’ll always be the man I married, she said. Please… please understand. If I could explain it in words, I would.
Henry knew what she was saying, he did. He understood it completely. He felt something similarly unsayable about his wife! Still, he’d be damned if he’d admit it.
His wife remained silent. She was rarely silent, and he understood that for her to not say anything now was not good for him. That’s what he couldn’t stand. It made him angry for things to be so bad for him. Don’t say things you don’t mean, the house rule went. But then, so often Henry had to open his big mouth. He couldn’t help it. His parents fought ruthlessly when he was growing up. But they never hit each other – and they always made up. In fact, they were still married.
So there’s nothing to talk about then? he said
What’s to talk about? I feel like anything I say is trite…
Cruel even, she added.
Cruel, he repeated, but even he wasn’t sure the extent of what it meant.
She rose from her seat on the porch, put her hands on the rail, stood with her back to him. In the navy black sky, the bone white moon was a long sliver of fingernail.
What if we were to open up the marriage? he said, regretted it as soon as he did.
She turned, leaned back on the porch rail.
Would that work for you? she said, knowing it wouldn’t.
How do we know? he told her. It could.
Henry, she said.
He didn’t answer.
Does it not have a name? he said. This word.
Henry…
I’m just looking for context, he told her.
Henry, she said once more.
Henry, Henry, Henry, he said to himself.
As if his name was all there was to say. As if he knew what it meant.