LONELINESS TOGETHER
Thirty-eight years ago, Margaret brought her future husband, Peter, home to meet her parents for the first time. She wanted to introduce him and let them know they planned to get married.
Mum and Dad understood immediately when they saw an unfamiliar man on their doorstep. Before that, Margaret had never brought any of her suitors home, always saying,
Whats the point in introducing them? If I ever decide to get married, youll meet him then.
So her parents examined the young man sitting awkwardly at their dining table with great attention.
Margaret stepped out for some reason, and Dad followed after.
Youre making a mistake. You shouldnt marry him, he said quietly.
Why not? Margaret became defensive at once, Because hes a farmer?
Thats not the only reason, though it does matter. Look, he might be a decent chap, but youre completely different people. What will you even talk about? You were raised in an officers family, studied at university and he? Hes a country boyhard-working, yes, but painfully simple. Its obvious. If you marry him, this one word will always stand between you: intellect.
Oh, Dad, dont be ridiculous. Thats just prejudice. I dont care what he does. The important thing is he loves me. Its never too late to learn, anyway. Ill help him, Margaret replied, absolutely convinced she was right.
Suit yourself. Just remember the old saying: Those who dont listen to their parents wander through life aimlessly. Dont say I didnt warn you
The wedding went ahead, the passion of young love gradually giving way to the daily patterns of married life.
After much persuasion, Peter enrolled part-time at a college, but never really started studying. Margaret ended up doing all his assignments, pouring over technical books shed never had much time for before. Peter attended a couple of sessions, then packed it in with a shrug:
Whats the use? If you want the degree, you do it.
Margaret tried to change his mind, but it was no use. Peter was convinced he already knew everything he needed to know. Wasting time on this nonsense was not for him.
Fine, do what you want, his wife conceded, tossing aside all hope for his education.
She tried to tell herself he wasnt stupidhed read all the books on her shelves and took an interest in politics. His colleagues respected him at work. Granted, you could tell by his manner that he was a country lad through and through, but, well, that was the man she loved.
As the years passed, it grew harder to get along with Peter. He never considered Margarets opinions, constantly tried to belittle her, and always insisted on being head of the house. Hed voice opinions in public that Margaret found unthinkable to say out loud, and hed say them with such swagger it made her squirm with embarrassment.
She found he couldnt make a single difficult decision. Every family problem ended up on her back, and he took that for granted:
Want the house decorated? Go ahead and sort it.
Need a new fridge? Buy it, then!
Want the balcony glazed? Nothing to do with me. If you want it, arrange it!
The only thing Peter did well was working on their allotment. He genuinely loved tending the garden, and he was good at itbut that was about the sum of it.
Some people might say, Isnt that enough? And yes, it counted for something. But the gardening season only lasted three or four months a year. For the rest, Margaret was both wife and husband.
When she was young, she didnt notice. Years later, the pressure began to weigh her down, but Peter, whod always lived behind his wife, had no intention of changing. Why would he? He had everything just as he liked. Not once in his life did he bring Margaret a bouquet on Mothers Day. As for presents, Peter once declared, quite seriously:
Ive already given you giftstwice. Theyre running around the house right now.
He meant their two daughters.
Margaret didnt protest or try to prove anything. She simply accepted it. Even made excuses: Hes not used to giving presents. Thats not the way he was raised. Ill get over it.
From the start, Peters social skills were lacking. He didnt want to talk to anyone, or even try. In the early years, friends sometimes asked Margaret whether her new husband could actually speak. Shed answer with a joke. Peter resented how easily Margaret got along with people. He spoke scathingly about her friends and family, but he never really made any friends of his own.
Margaret took charge of all the familys problems and managed to earn a good living too. She never depended on Peter. Even during tough times, she found extra ways to make money, knowing full well he wouldnt bother. If you want more, you get it! At least he went to workshe had to be satisfied with that.
Gradually, Margaret realised she and Peter had nothing in common to talk about. They saw every situation completely differently. If she liked a film, hed insist it was utter rubbish. If he watched something, she couldnt even manage ten minutes of it. As for music and books, there was simply no overlap.
Their personalities couldnt have been more different: she was an altruistready to do anything for him, the children, her friends. He was a full-blown egotist, only ever caring about himself. In the end: their tastes, interests, and even meals diverged, their feelings cooled, and once the children moved out, there was nothing left but emptiness. Over thirty years togetherbut strangers, really.
Peter, for his part, believed his wife had become cheeky, stopped appreciating or respecting him. It didnt matter that she carried the whole familyshe was supposed to do that; it was her duty.
Now and then, hed get drunk and hurl truths at Margaretabout her parents, long passed away, about her relatives. He judged every word, every action through his own lens, insulted and belittled her with obvious relish, like a lord dressing down a servant.
When he sobered up, he couldnt see why Margaret would barely speak to him.
But Im only telling the truth! hed protest.
And there was no way to make him see it was only his truth. Any other perspective was beyond his understanding.
So now, Margaret sits at my table, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Im just so tired she says. Its like living on a powder keg your whole life, never knowing what will set him off next, or when. Im sick of compromise, sick of bending and enduring. But whats the answer? Divorce? Whats the point? Hed never move out. Hed just sit there and make my life hellone sip at a time. And the worst part is, hes absolutely convinced hes in the right. Each time he starts up, Im ill for weeks afterwards, picking up the pieces. But theres the family, the children, and now even grandchildren. I find reasons to carry on. I try to keep things civil, smooth things over, but he just sees it as victoryand starts all over again.
Im fed upsometimes I just want to scream But what can you do? I could leave, but then what? If I go, the local riffraff will soon take over the flat. Theyll ruin the placeIve seen it before.
So I stay It breaks my heart to abandon my own home.
While the children were growing up, our differences were hidden, swallowed up in everyday noise. There wasnt time to dwell on it or on myself.
But now, with only the two of us left, its unbearable. Two strangers under the same roof even after thirty-eight years.
YesDad was right after all Intellect. Thats always, always stood between us
Looking back now, I know one thing for certainthe greatest chasm between people is sometimes not distance or betrayal, but simply never being able, or willing, to meet each other halfway.
