Once she arrived with her boxes of things, there was that initial awkwardness as she decided where to place this and where to place that. They laughed about not needing two spatulas, two toasters, not needing two toilet brushes. Because of the duplication, she left many of her things in the cardboard boxes, unneeded. She had another reason for not unpacking some of her things and that reason remained unspoken. She sensed a certain tiny tension as she placed her things among his. These shelves, these drawers had been his for years now and though they were both happy and optimistic with this new arrangement, the placement of her brushes and makeup in what had been his bathroom, his bedroom, required a relinquishment on his part that hovered faintly in the air. She found a spot in the back of a closet for her unpacked boxes.
For a while, routine saved them. They got lost in the “good morning”, the “good night”, the “how was your day”? She hadn’t expected to watch so much television, but at the same time, recognized that he might not have bargained for the frequency of visits and many phone calls to and from her family and friends. Still, they were able to make their adjustments and besides, the sex was great.
The differences in their tastes and avocations had always seemed unimportant. If anything, his different abilities and likes had been attractions because they opened her eyes to things she might otherwise have never noticed. She had always tried to learn about the things that interested him, although she knew she would never muster much enthusiasm for the inanities inherent in the professional sports he liked to watch. Similarly, he tolerated her obsessions and tried to show interest in those things that interested her. They both chose gifts appropriate to the other’s passions. The books on relationships that she read said that it was healthy to pursue one’s own interests, right? To maintain a sense of independence while also nurturing the relationship, right?
Easier said than done. Over time his passions, especially those that seemed crude or pointless, seemed more and more like wastes of time. She found it easier and easier to get lost in her own interests than to share his. She found it easier to immerse herself in the lives of characters in novels than in their own lives. And somehow sex, which had been their common denominator, had become uninteresting too. The repetition, the predictability wore her down. Things that had once made her smile now made her cringe, such as his expectation of praise for “accomplishments” that now made her restless.
At some point she knew there was really no future here. At least there was no future she could hold to, anticipate with real contentment. But just as momentum had led her here, momentum carried her now through the days. Besides, for the longest time she never actually acknowledged her dissatisfaction, never fully recognized that she wanted something else. She knew only that the joy was harder and harder to find. And her mind seemed to go to those unpacked boxes in the closet. She found herself pulling them out occasionally and looking at the things she had forgotten. She pulled out her old clock radio and it made her smile. It was as if she had met up with an old friend. A friend from a former carefree life. (more)