Water Finds Its Level
By M. Bennardo
“Would you still love me if I were exactly the same,” he’d ask, “but was a Civil War re-enactor?”
“Shut up,” I’d say.
“What if I were exactly the same,” he’d say, “but refused to eat anywhere except McDonald’s?”
“Or what if I greased my hair with pomade and went tanning every week?”
That’s when I would give him the death-ray glare. “If you want me to stop loving you right now,” I’d say, “you can keep asking those stupid questions.”
“You know why.”
“But it doesn’t work like that,” I’d say. “You can’t do those things and still be exactly the same in every other way. If you did those things, you’d be somebody else. So just shut up because I don’t want to think about it.”
When people asked where I met Roger, I always told the truth. “We met in the Collision,” I’d say. Then they’d give me that look that people used to give you when you told them you met somebody online. The look that said you must be reckless or naive or desperate, and that no good would come of it.
It got better over time, of course, once more people understood. Once they had to understand. By the time it was all over, I was the weird one–still living a single life, still just one of a kind.
And Roger–I guess they understood him better. (Continue Reading…)