Babel

"Y Garble Blah?" The words were foreign. I thought all the guys in my Bible study spoke English, but Mike's spouting gibberish. Where's a babble fish when you need one? He wasn't speaking in tongues; we're Lutherans. We nail or concise comments on doors so everybody can understand them.

"Y Garble Blah?" Ok, so no, that's not what he said. We were talking about marriage and he said, "I don't understand. Where do you become friends? How do you do that?"

Huh? Become friends? I can't imagine a relationship that doesn't start at friends. We were friends first, and I'd do that again no matter what. I'm an acquired taste. How can I stay long term with somebody who bristles before she's even woken up next to drooling Rob? MyUnwife and I were friends. I think she just liked the character more than the real man. Reality has a way of kicking you in the teeth during the coolest fantasies.

So this was my chance. I could be a foot in the teeth. I could set the world straight. I could dispel the men's fantasy that MyUnwife was anything more than an accidental footnote. This is where I could express the breakdown of everything between us. I could even point out that she never relented, let alone submitted—a plague of locusts on the fertile valley of my life.

"I think you have to be friends" are the words that crossed my lips. Then more words flew out. I began speaking of how MyUnwife and I started as friends. How we grew into a good team. The air rang with songs of the days when she and I were united. When we both played our perspective roles, and accomplished everything we tried to do. From buying a house, to buying a wood stain, we complemented each other. She carried my nouns on days I could only find verbs. These are the heinous accusations I put before my Christian brothers. These were her sins I demanded recompense for. These were the unpaid tickets blowing from the window of my car.

When I finished, everybody remained quiet. I was just as surprised as they were. Even though it was my story, I felt like it was something I'd just read from a book. Those things were so far away. That was another Rob, in another world, another language.

So Mike stares at me for a bit. Obviously he's trying to sort through everything I've said. Drawing his breath, he prepares a question, something to scribble on the tab of the "Rob on Marriage" folder. "So, why are you guys getting a divorce?"

I answer without thought, "Y Garble Blah."