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And, with each passing day, an agreement to work on that happiness--which is a rarity, it seems, in this day, take it for the team, they say--their juvenile belief ten years ago that it would "all work itself out" turned into a soap opera of mistrust... because they couldn't figure out how to communicate, didn't even speak the same language. Compliments were taken as nice, but not enough, any request to converse unavoidably eroded into books slammed, stairs stomped, and bedtime silence. "Why are you doing this?" they each asked to themselves about the other, though not voicing the question in reality. "Because there must be another," one thought, while the other knew that she'd had enough of being invisible.
They're probably both right, whether one strayed in body or mind doesn't much matter, because it was the first decision that was wrong, not all of the decisions after. They chose a Path that was never meant for them to walk, but each armed with a machete, they try to find civilization, often without knowledge that the other has stopped to rest.
It's a classic case of how the man thinks against how the woman thinks, is it not? In her inherent inferiority, she must be cheating on me, and I know--just know--that she'll find a shoulder to cry on if we part. Let me just tell ya, women can be strong on their own, it's all around us, and a great case can be found in my Mom, who made her own clothes so that my sister and I could wear the cool stuff: Jordache, Nike, and Member's Only. He won't open up to me, won't show me who he is, so what is he hiding? Man's difficulty with discussing his emotions leads her to believe that there is a secret life that he's leading, must be, because he isn't sharing anything with me. Many men never learned how to talk about it, and few have realized they needed to learn.
And so, these camps continue to stare across the river at each other, unable to be complacent for fear that the other will launch a midnight sortie as a surprise attack on the other. The lack of sleep causes their state of health to deteriorate, physically and emotionally, when the truth is that they're both wasting away waiting for the other to surrender. The statement, "I've had enough," would be considered unfriendly, and because one said it, they'd the bad person--but one would have simply realized that it is only going to get worse from here, ironically, and that would be a shameful act upon the soldiers, who have little understanding of why they keep getting sent back and forth across the river, from one camp to the other and back again.
If there is regret to be had, it should not be over what they've done, it should be over what they are doing, and the future that it would create--if they ever want to love again, they must leave something left to love and a world to love in.
With spyglasses firmly locked on one another, every action is recorded and analyzed under a microscope. Military consultants are met, providing opinions based on study or experience, and when one General optimistically inquires as to the content of the other's consultation, the other is met with a two-word telegram in reply, "It's private," and hope that a truce may be near is instantly dashed... fingers slide unconsciously toward big red buttons, scouts report every little twitch for there are only minutes to respond to total annihilation. What's good for the goose is good for the gander. But honestly, if we're all dead, right and wrong no longer matter.
This revelation is the revolution, so stop preparing for a traumatic event in the future that actually occurred a decade ago. This isn't preparation for war, this is damage control. Disarm the nukes Old Mother Russia and Adolescent America, concede to honesty... and live. The river is not meant to divide, it is meant to enjoy, and all of us who play in its waters wonder why you both sit there on the verge of wrecking the environment... maybe you've forgotten how to enjoy the land, maybe you feel like you're doing "what's supposed to be done," or maybe you're simply afraid that you don't have the strength to be happy... you've forgotten, and maybe never knew, what it was like, and can no longer envision the comfort of a place called home.
Just my view from the flotilla.
