How do you love someone?
Does a heart always break, or does it sometimes deflate slowly, unacknowledged, over time until one finds a dried smatter of blood on his shirt?
A deceit is easy. A betrayal is bold-faced, italicized, underlined. It is something to argue about. To cry over. To work through. How do two people untangle the uglier hidden gray mess of uncorrected slights and poorly buried resentments? How do you shut up and take the silence? How do you reach out when every part of you is screaming, "This is unfair. I should be comforted. I should be held. I should be reached out to"?
What do you do when the answer to "would you die for me" is "no"?
Do my childhood friends, both marrying this late summer know the answer? Or have they turned from the question, choosing wisely to instead shuffle the seating arrangements one more time? Do they hope a shared house, a shared bank account, a shared child will stave off the dark? That what to do with the extra gravy boat will give them respite from the leaden specter of these possibilities?
What happens when Dustin Hoffman and Katherine Ross get off the bus?
This is where I let Larry
King take over my body for a few minutes.