( This is an absolutely true story. I should know, I’m the one telling it. )
“How wild it was, to let it be.” Cheryl Strayed, Wild
~First Year of Marriage: Your adorable British husband agrees to take you to the film, St. Elmo’s Fire.
Of course, he’d do anything with you because, well, he’s madly in love with the very core of you, the scent of your Aqua Net hairspray, the cherry-red lipstick, the idiosyncrasies, the beautiful imperfections, the sassiness, the shit.
The ticket line is chalk a block, but it doesn’t matter because you cling to one another’s words like poetry, like the best fucking meal you’ve ever had, like pure oxygen, like prayer. You laugh and grope and steal kisses.
You share popcorn with extra butter. He hates butter, but he eats it anyway. You split a jumbo diet coke. He only drinks real coke, but he sips it anyway. He holds your hand.
You weep into his shirt because Jules (Demi Moore) has locked herself in her apartment and opens all of the windows to kill herself by freezing to death. You weep because the friends stop going to Saint Elmo’s Bar. You weep because Rob Lowe is an asshole.
He holds you, rubs your shoulder, & whispers, “It’s going to be okay, Kim.”
It was always okay with him.
You notice a small tear sliding down his unshaven face and wonder if he’s sad about Jules, too.
Your heart blossoms into multi colored wild flowers and suns.
~25 Years of Marriage: Your still adorable husband agrees, with much hesitation, to take you to the film, Wild.
He will still do anything for you, but some of your little imperfections have now become irritations. For example, he doesn’t let you kiss him when you have on your cherry- red lipstick. “I’m on my way to work. Kiss me later, Kim.”
He despises Lifetime movies. Says they bash men. He’s annoyed when you leave Milky Way wrappers on the floor. He would rather watch soccer than the Golden Globes & The Academy Awards.
Anyhow, you say, “Wild is amaaaaaaaazing. It’s about this woman who hikes 1,100 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. Can you imagine? But it’s more than that. Much more. She lost her mother to cancer, so she’s mourning and grieving. Needs to find herself. Needs to find purpose. Needs to find love. And she was on heroin and screwing lots of men named Killer and Doobie. She needs to reflect. She meets all these cool hippie people along the way who teach her stuff about life and…”
You know him well. You know every unsaid thought. You know he’s rolling his eyes inside his head. You know he’s pondering, ‘another bloody chick flick.’
“What do you think,” you ask.
“Well, is that the only film playing at the theaters?”
You hear the sarcasm inside his British, Liverpudlian accent. You hear something else.
“Yep,” you respond abruptly. “It’s the only one.”
“I guess.” He does not say this excitedly.
The ticket line is so long, you wonder if there’s time to get popcorn. You must have popcorn. Buttered and salted. You must have a jumbo diet coke. He gets Milk Duds and a real coke.
When you get to the ticket girl, he looks at you.
“Whaaaat?” You ask.
“I see The Gambler with Mark Walberg is playing at 2:00, too.”
“Well, do you mind if I go to that instead? It ends the same time.”
You pause. “Sure.”
“We can go for wine afterwards.”
You smile at one another.
He walks one way. You walk the other.
You know that’s a metaphor for something or another.
You know you’ll need to write the words down when you get home
You also know, you’ll always be going home together
Click Here to Watch a Clip of Saint Elmo’s Fire
—–Darlings, have you been married for a long time? Are you a newlywed? Tell me something about it!!