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."

S'more Burning Questions

What's black and white and read all over?

Yeah, I know, we've all heard it thousands of times, just like what I found in my newspaper. There in black and white, most stories I read dealt with the fires all over. We're still talking about them, but it's obvious the embers have gone dark. That's how my life is: Three months after she left, it's about finding obscure things to relate to our divorce. Friends is on TV. She liked Friends. What does that mean? The toilet seat is always up; she always forgot to do that!

Everything is measured against the bar of "was" Is it because I don't know how to grasp "is" without comparing it to something old? Am I over-analytical? Do I ask too many questions? She thought I did. See? There it is again. I'm ok with the divorce, I've made my peace, but why do I continue to sift through the ash? What am I looking for? Answers? Even my dog knows they aren't there. He's just accepted I'll be his waiter this evening, and wags his tail accordingly.

Ben Franklin said that one move equaled one fire. Left-eye Lisa proved that moving on equaled one house fire too. Me, I just want out of here with all my limbs intact. Time heals all wounds but what gets rid of the phantom twitch of amputated limbs? Does it ever go away? I don't want burden my future wife with shell shock from a previous relationship.

He just woke up screaming her name over and over.

What did you do?

I held the pillow over his face until he stopped.

Problem solved. Maybe time will kill the constant divorce association, maybe it'll be the love for somebody else. The desire to not burden her with my past mistakes. The desire to keep her from gritting her teeth at the mere mention of MyUnwife's name. Heck, whoever my future brings, I'm sure she'd like MyUnwife. Ok, not really, but without me, I think she would. Maybe after everything is finalized I should ask MyUnwife to introduce me to her friends. I loved her, therefore I should like people she likes. I could even give her the gore about our dates, and her friend's need to call me "daddy" during sex. I think MyUnwife would like that.

Soap and Pepper

"Do you want to come?" She wants me to go to a church social function.

I ask you, how can I continue whining about being lonely and alone if people are going to invite me to stuff? It really throws off my "pity me" persona. Do you know how hard it is to exude despair with people hokey-pokeying around you? The cheese stand alone, but apparently Rob's not allowed. Great. Her inviting me isn't that bad; I'd already planned on going. I just wanted to show up uninvited. It seemed more my style. Besides then I could hold it over her head later.

"You didn't invite me."

"I tried."

"Sure you did."

"No really, if the crowd hadn't stopped when you pushed the pastor's wife down, I'd have given you an invite."

"But you didn't did you?"

"Well no, I'm sorry."

"That's better."

I was sort of nervous. This was my first social outing since MyUnwife left. I wasn't sure of the protocol. Did I need to announce my status?

"Hi, I'm Rob, I'm divorcing."

"Hi, I'm Rob, I'm divorcing…."

I made my introductions. Shook hands, smiled, nodded., all the appropriate stuff. Most people were coupled off, so that was kinda awkward. On the other hand it was safe. I didn't have to worry about any kind of set up.

"Rob, this is lonely single girl. You don't have anything in common but you're both alone. Talk about that."

I've been there, but this wasn't that party. This was a bunch of adults discussing life over Dixie cups of beer. I was still the outsider, I didn't know anyone, but I could see a world where that might change. I worry about that. I'm a nice guy, but I'm also an acquired taste, like asparagus or cyanide. Remember Mr. Rogers? Remember the experiment he did with dish soap and ground pepper? He poured a bowl of water, then sprinkled in pepper. After the pepper spread around, he put a few drops of dish soap in, and the pepper fled to the side of the bowl. I am a soapy guy. It's ok, I like me. I'm not gonna turn all peppery just to attract the pepper people, that's not who I am. Sooner or later more soap will show up and we'll both bubble with excitement.

So were my church friends soap or pepper? It's still too early to tell. I hate to admit it, but I had fun. It's really about getting out there.

Brush, Rinse, Spit.

I had an odd conversation with my toothbrush yesterday. Err, uh about—about my toothbrush. Ok, not necessarily my toothbrush but an extended metaphor involving dental hygiene and my marriage. I really do have one you know, a toothbrush. You'll be happy to know I use it. I know that people I talk to are pleased. They smile. I smile. No dangling black stuff. Everybody's happy.

Wouldn't it be nice if marriage were that easy? A few minutes a day and everything shines and smells like mint. So my marriage died, but my toothbrush, it's electric; it goes on. MyUnwife chose it. It has interchangeable heads and is really kind of cool. And if I hang onto it two more years, it will have lasted longer than we did.

Ok, that was bitter. But see, the stuff isn't why I got married. And that makes me shine like a glistening god of altruism. Lord Rob, Neon Paragon. Yes, you can touch me as you pass. I won't smudge; I've rinsed and flossed.

I gave her first fruits of everything. Sometimes I'm a little bitter about that, but not because of the stuff. More because I thought I married the type of person who wouldn't take it. Then again I thought I'd married the type of person who wouldn't drop when somebody shook the tree.

I guess the warm blanket here that I can wrap myself up at night in is this: I kept my toothbrush. The real one. The metaphoric one is gone, but I've got strong teeth, they'll hold out for a while.

Absence Makes the Heart Shrug Loudly.

I've misplaced my toothbrush. No, not really, but that's how it feels. It's hard to believe I've been on this ride for almost a year now. It's even weirder when I remember she moved out three months ago, and I haven't seen her ghost in over a month. I miss her, but not in great gasping aches; it's more like faint rappings at the back of my skull.

"Where's my toothbrush?"

Sometimes it's tangibly real; all five senses set out tendrils, straining to grasp what's missing. Other times, it's a dry ice fog nightmare. Shapes and shadows with no sense. I awake to find myself lying alone in my bed. I can roll over and go back to sleep, to find a better dream, but I know the truth. Come morning I'll wake up unfazed.

"Where's my toothbrush?"

I remember what we were. I see the things that work and the things that didn't. But mostly I shake my head. I wonder what she's doing now, but not in a creepy "Cant take no" kind of way. Just more like "huh…" Sort of like checking up on some TV show you haven't watched for a few seasons, just to see what's going on.

"Hey, I didn't know he'd been eaten by a bear…"

Still, I'm here, I care. I'd hate to think she'd been eaten by a bear. No, really! I swear! At my worst, trampled by stampeding ants, maybe. It is kinda weird though. Being with somebody for ten years. Having them in your thoughts and even when you're at your most confident in your relationship, you still go back to think of them, because you can. Leaving that and coming to this point here, where I shrug when somebody says "How's MyUnwife?" is an odd sidestep. If you told me two years ago that I'd be in a place like this, I'd have told you that you were dreaming.

Nevermind the looming monster, have you seen my toothbrush?

Yo Adrian: This Time It's Personal!

Guess what we just left? That's right. The month of "Rocktober." If you like classic rock, it's concerts and twofer Tuesdays. If you watch movie channels, it becomes endless hours of the Italian Stallion. Since I work at home, I threw on the latter as mindless banter to key-punch to. What I got was a lesson in relationships from Adrian Balboa

In the first movie, she's just this little mousy thing; cute in a "needs a lot of work" kind of way. You wouldn't think that Rocky would have time to dedicate the type of attention she needs, while vying for the belt and beating on slabs of dead cow, but he finds it. That's dedication. By the time we get to Rocky III she's a whole new woman.

This Adrian is the only one who can slap around Rocky and show him his own heart. She knows her Rock, and she doesn't want to live with any man who can't clobber Clubber, or at least face him man to Mohawk. Watching her yell at Rocky on the beach, I knew I'd rather face him in the ring than her. Especially if her family was at stake. Rocky might kick my butt, but she'd shred me like pork and probably throw on some good BBQ sauce and feed me to her family for lunch.

She reaches the Rock psyche in ways that Apollo can't, granted a Rocky sized psyche could be done over a cup of coffee, but she took the time to drink that cup. That's what's important; It's what Rocky needed.

I wanted that in my own marriage. I wanted MyUnwife Adrian in my corner. In the early days she was, but the last few years she was more Paulie. I don't say hat she became that without reason, but along the way I took too many shots to the head, and I don't know anymore. All I know is when I stood in the ring calling "Adrian!" there was nobody out in the crowd shouting back.

Burying the Dead: Two for the Price of One.

We put Grandfather into the memorial wall yesterday. Yeah, I know, what does this have to do with my divorce? Well you know, not everything is about that. There are other people in the world with other problems. Grandpa, well he doesn't have to worry about that anymore.

The memorial ceremony was nice. It was long enough to be thoughtful, but short enough to not become maudlin. The pews were full with many people who already missed my grandfather. I was happy to see them all there. I figure if 5 people show up to my funeral, I'll stand up out of the coffin and wave. Sure they might pass out, but that's more people than I expect.

I did miss MyUnwife a little during the proceedings. I sat watching my uncles' wives comforting them as the priest gave the eulogy, and I wanted that. Not their wives to comfort me, but I missed having someone there for that—for me. Despite all the mean, nasty, cruel things I say about MyUnwife, there were times she could be caring in just the right way. I miss that.

After the ceremony we went back to my grandmother's place. Walmart donated all the food we could ever need, and everybody ate laughed and remembered Grandpa. He would have liked that. My dad and I sat in the back room, where he asked me questions about my divorce. He's great that way. He cares, so he starts asking all this qualifying questions. Not to change my mind or anything, just to make sure he understands what's going on, and by proxy, I understand as well. Yeah sitting over ham and cheese, Dad helped me bury my own dead. I guess everything is really about that.