Kathleen McCall:
Occasional�� Muse�

2002-01-20 - 11:39 a.m.

The M-Word

My boyfriend asked me to marry him again yesterday. He did it in a kind of joking way, which is the only way he will ever bring it up now; he used to call it "the M-word" because he said I got too flighty if he said the whole thing.

I told him, "You know I'm not into threesomes." He looked puzzled, so I clarified - "You, me, and the State of California."

I was thinking afterwards, though, that I like it that he asks me. It's not very fair, because he knows I have to say no, and I can't expect him to go on asking forever when he knows the answer. But I still like it. I like it because I know he means good stuff when he says it. It's his shorthand for, "I would like to grow old with you; I would like to find and rebuild the house we've fantasized about, and spend the rest of my days in your company, as your long-time companion."

I think he understands that's not what I say no to. No is my shorthand for, "I got the State involved in my last relationship, and as a consequence I did not have a driver's license for more than a year, and I had unpleasant correspondence with the IRS, and my mortgage company still feels compelled to inform my ex- of my financial problems; while the problems between the two of us were ugly and wounding, we at least went on with our lives, but the legal system still doesn't seem to be able to let go. I can't do that again."

Does it seem a little defeatist to say, essentially, that I won't get married because I might have to get divorced? Perhaps - but it also feels simply practical. Things change. We all know it happens. And why not ask the question the other way around - why would anyone in our position NEED to get married?

There are so many things I DON'T need at this point in my life. I don't need someone else to provide financial security - I won't say I have it, I don't, but it's my job to obtain it for myself. I don't need protection; I am not afraid of being alone. I don't need a father for my children - they have one, and he does his job. I don't need a father for MORE children - I have the perfect amount already, or sometimes more than I can handle. Whatever it is that the legal contract promises, I don't seem to need.

I do have to mention that my boyfriend is extremely well equipped - with medical insurance. That can be tempting, and he knows that and will toss it in the conversation once in a while. I do like a man with a big policy. But it's more amusing than anything - that a decision about marriage could, in the end, come down to whether singlehood is a pre-existing condition.

I have in my notes the beginning of an essay on marriage, written when I was not in a very good mood.

"There is no such thing as divorce, it is only a clever illusion, much the same as the a desert mirage or debt-free living. It can never actually be achieved. Like those trick birthday candles that can't be extinguished, a single marriage will burn your ass forever. If you are considering marriage, even though you are sure you will never divorce, do these things first:

Go to the department of Motor Vehicles. Do not take a number, just sit in a chair and wait. Get a good feel for it. Stay there for ninety minutes. Do this weekly for a year.

Stop some man on the street. Try to pick someone who looks like his opinions would be very different from yours; for example, a young man with a Mohawk and a skull t-shirt. Ask him whether or not you should change careers. Whatever he tells you, do it. Get his phone number. If you go out on a date, or buy new shoes, or get in a fender-bender, call him and tell him. Ask him what he thinks of everything you do. Do this weekly for a year.

Now pick someone you really don't trust, someone who you don't really want in your life. (If you can't think of anyone like that, go back to the DMV and pick the snottiest-looking clerk.) Mail this person your full financial disclosure."

Bitter? Yeah. Bitter. But I'm not bitter about my marriage - it was like anyone's failed marriage, full of cruelty and tears and despair, but it's very over. I'm bitter about my divorce and its aftermath - its afteralgebra, its aftercalculus. Complex and hurtful and exhausting and never-ending, and all these years later it still bites me when I'm least expecting it. I think my boyfriend understands this.

I'll be happy if we get there, he and I, in our big converted farmhouse, with a study I can write in, and a music room for his talents, and our photographs hung all over. He seems to appreciate my quirks, and on my good days I love him for his. We may be fine long-time companions, even though only one of us will be insured. But I just don't think even my biggest dream farmhouse would have enough room for the State.

�

previous - next

�