Apr. 19, 2003 - 01:54:22
Dear Vincent,
Tomorrow evening I will trek across the county to go to Arthur's mother's house for a pre-Easter Easter celebration. Arthur's sister is in town and she invited me over. "Can I bring anything?" I asked. "No, just yourself" she answered. "Myself and my good manners?" I prompted.
I don't suppose I should say what I'm about to say. But I can't say the last sentence and then not say what I'm going to. So I suppose I'm going to say it. Note that this is an observation from the "worst"/"calculating"/"cynical" part of me. I am well acquainted with three of the most important women in Arthur's life. The first is his mother, the second is his sister, and the third is his girlfriend. Understand, that "well acquainted" is yards, years and eons away from "knowing" them. Of these three vital women, I feel at ease with one. His girlfriend, Louisa, is lovely. She's sincere and very clearly crazy about Arthur. I like that she's crazy about him. She's aware but unthreatened by the other priorities in his life. Here comes the worst in me. Part of the reason I feel so at ease with her, is that she is a methodical thinker. By this I mean, that there is no cold calculation in her. It's not in Louisa to examine motives or anticipate them. Louisa is an average thinker. It wouldn't occur to her to through an idea out into the open for discussion. She isn't the type to read avidly or push herself to solve a mathematical formula or challenge any kind of societal norm. There's nothing wrong with being that way. But the reason I feel so comfortable with her is possibly because I am aware of how amiable she is.
Then there is Arthur's sister, Amelia. Amelia and I see very little of each other. She lives out of state and when she drops into town for visits we usually see each other for a bit by prior planning. For instance, Arthur and I will have plans for lunch and Amelia will blow through town so he'll bring her along. We have a how-are-you-and-what-are-you-up-to lunch and then I don't see her for about a year. Amelia is very, very friendly with me. Right about now Vincent, you will be wondering, so why aren't you comfortable with her? Several reasons really. Number one, there's pressure for things to be comfortable between us. Both Amelia and I are aware that for things to be strained between us would be tough on Arthur. And seeing each other as rarely as we do, it would be selfish to indulge such strain. Thus, we both try too hard. Amelia becomes chipper and interested, I become matter-of-fact. This attempt to mesh creates strain within itself. As a result, every time Amelia and I meet, an unasked question hangs, what does she really think of me? I know what I think of Amelia. I think she's unhappy. I think she's too stubborn and has retained a two year old temper. Yet I respect her because she is and always has been independent. I like her, because she's played Arthur's champion many a time. It is the falsified benevolence that throws me. I recognize assessment in her, though regrettably the reason I recognize it is most likely because I am assessing.
Finally there is Arthur's mother. Arthur's mother and I are the women who, upon seeing each other at a party by chance across a momentary gap in at a party in a crowded room will avoid each other. We are the women who silently recognize each other without making eye contact. Artfully, one of us notices the other a split second before the other, so that neither must acknowledge the other's presence. A silent courtesy is agreed upon and the evening through, each avoids the other almost unwittingly in carefully chosen steps. It is not that we dislike each other. It is that I will never know what she truly thinks of me, and she will never know what I know about her. This is a death sentence to any real basis for a relationship. She has to be kind to me. It is not in Arthur's mother to treat his best friend of these many years any way but fondly. It is not in me to be anything but the same in return. She is uncomfortable around me, and justifiably so. I am the best friend, which makes me the source of many shared confidences. I know things about her that the extended family doesn't know. Though I would never use it against her, or treat her differently because of what I know, it understandably makes her slightly uneasy. I know tons of things about her, yet we've never had a real conversation of merit in our lives. In a way, it's like I'm the C.I.A. and I read her file- I don't know her. It is also in the knowledge that she will never know as much about me as I know about her. Arthur and his mother aren't exactly chummy. She knows my 'civil' news. "Meg got a job," or "Meg's dancing in a show," sometimes, "Meg's aunt died" thing in this sort of vein. Never, "Meg is questioning her religious affiliations" or "Meg's opinion on (insert anything) is..." The only thing is given the opportunity to withhold from me is her opinion on me. And, in this way, we all make nice.
When Arthur worries that no one cares I volunteer that I know women who would and do walk pins for him.
Even though I am not at all romantically interested in Arthur getting along with his family has cleared up for me why marriage must be so hard in the family forming way. You take two families and throw them together. And because they love you they get along come hell or high water. On top of that, the first time many of them meet the other family is the wedding day. Nice to meet you now we're family. It's all a bit much I think. In any case the wedding is next week. I will be doing a lot of new family making.
What's the motivation behind the "Good" in front of "Friday"? If Jesus died and that was a bad thing shouldn't it be "Bad Friday"? Or is it good because the product of his death was good?
Tuesday, six year old Hannah walked into ballet and in the middle of tendus demanded, "Miss Meghan, why are boys made?" I vacillated. I could have doled out a sexist answer perhaps something to the effect of "I don't think there is a good reason." But I didn't want to be the reason that there was another half loaded feminist running around. And I didn't entirely believe that answer. I stopped short of trying to explain the biological reasons. Because that's just not my job. I almost brushed it off with an "Ask your Mommy" but that would have been a cop out. In a round about way I reached the answer, "The same reason girls are." I was pretty pleased with myself for being so nebulous. Then I realized I didn't quite believe my answer and then Hannah asked, "Why are girls made?" I opted for a frank, "I don't know Hannah. I couldn't even begin to guess." "You don't know?" she asked incredulously, "But Miss Meghan we thought you knew everything!" My only response was tearful laughter which re-emerged in spurts throughout the remainder of the class.
Pretentiously,
Meghan
what they said - what they will say
