TILL DEATH DO US PART

by

Kenneth Kaye

I'd been out with this girl, Cynthia, a few times. To tell the truth, we were sort of 'going together,' though it was still in that tentative time when you've slept together and basically you agree that you want to do it again, so you're going together, but you don't know each other well enough to know if that means, like, seriously 'going together' or just that you plan to get to know each other more.

Anyway we had a date that night in the city, but I was going to be up in Northbrook all day and she had an afternoon meeting at the Winnetka branch of her bank. So I told her: take the train up, and I'll pick you up at this Seattle's Best that's just a block from the bank. Her meeting was supposed to end at 5:00, which was perfect.

As it turned out, I got there a few minutes early, ordered a coffee and sat down. I drink Regular. I never order any of the bogus Starbucksy flavors, and I always say Large no matter what silly names they have for their sizes. All of them, chains or independents, fall all over themselves to make like they're imitating something other than each other; it's only a matter of time before they won't sell a cup of black java any more unless you order noir or "coffee of color" or God knows what.

I was early, like I said, but I had this book in the car that Cynthia had given me, a Leonard Cohen love song, illustrated with pictures by Matisse, very romantic, and I thought--well, you know--be reading it while I waited for her. I hadn't gone with her long enough to know if she would keep me waiting. I mean, her meeting might not have ended exactly on time. Anyway, I start reading this book, the words of which didn't really make a lot of sense, so it was easy to get distracted by a conversation two women were having at the next table.

I wasn't eavesdropping; they were practically on top of me. I could have reached over and patted the one woman on the back. Both were about the same age, not quite as old as my parents but close--fifty or so. The one across the table, facing in my direction, was kind of stocky with short wavy hair and glasses. I probably could have guessed she was a clergy person, if anyone had asked me. Earnest, and definitely single. She looked like several nuns I've known, though it turned out she wasn't Catholic. I didn't find out what church she was from, but she was doing the Lord's Work over a 12-ounce latte. Decaf, no doubt: Our Lady of the Immaculate Cappucino.

She was saying, "Well, that's really not up to me. Have you thought what sort of thing you want to say to each other?" She looked like a minister in plain clothes, but at that point to tell the truth she could have been just a friend or a wedding consultant or something, for all I knew.

"I tried to write something after we talked on the phone the other day," the woman with her back to me said. She unfolded a piece of lined paper. All I could see was her hair, mousy gray and all tucked into a silver kind of comb, firmly tacked to her skull. She was probably a nice-looking lady, but I never saw her face. Her leather coat hung over her shoulders like she was cold, though the place was warm enough. "The only thing I was able to come up with is 'In the presence of our children and our dearest friends, I renew the vows I made to you 25 years ago.'"

The other lady waited for her to go on. But that was apparently the whole speech. "Well," she said, "I think that's fine, um, unless you wanted to say something about your faith? Did you want to say 'in the presence of God' as well?"

"Should we say that? Before or after 'children and friends?'"

Again the advisor hesitated, like it was a seriously profound question. "It's really up to you."

"I didn't think of saying much ourselves, like we didn't say anything the first time, you know, except 'I, Catherine, take you, Robert, ...' Are you going to lead us through this a phrase at a time?"

"I can do that if you want me to. Or you could just read it, there's nothing wrong with that."

"What do you think?"

"Either way is fine."

"I guess, I don't know, I...how have other...?" Catherine stopped. I didn't have a whole hell of a lot of interest in their conversation, frankly, up to that point, but you couldn't help getting caught up in all this indecision between the two of them.

"I tell you what," the Reverend said. "Why don't you tell me what else you plan to include in the ceremony, and maybe that will help you decide about the details."

"What should we include?"

"Well, maybe a reading of some kind? Either by you or Robert, or by one of the children or a friend?"

"You mean like passages from the Bible?"

"Doesn't have to be. Could be a poem that's special to the two of you. Or you could each choose something to read to one another?"

"Good luck. Robert's the sort of person who has his secretary choose his Hallmark cards. Oh, gosh, I don't know. What kind of readings do people have?"

"All kinds of things. It's even more flexible than a wedding. I mean, those are both a civil ceremony and a religious one. This is just within, you know, just very personal between you and Robert in the presence of your friends."

"Personal." She waited, as though needing to have the word defined.

"Very much so. Personal spiritual. That's why you might want to say something about faith, you're renewing your vows before God? … Or, why don't I say that in my part? You can really choose any readings that you find inspiring, or something that expresses what you feel about your marriage …"

"Do you have any examples?"

I looked at the open book in front of me.

Dance me through the curtain that our kisses have outworn,
Raise a tent of shelter now that every thread is torn …

I had no idea what it meant; it scared me to think that it did mean something, apparently, to the woman who'd given it to me after our third date.

Again the minister hesitated--you could tell she was having to do more work for this gig than usual. She made a note on her pad. I tried to picture her in a robe or whatever she wore in church, but all I could see was this yellow silk scarf she had around her neck. She must have thought it lent a touch of class to the outfit, but it looked so out of place with her Cornell sweatshirt--itself pretty incongruous--that you had to wonder if part of tightly groomed Catherine's problem might have been a sudden crisis of faith. Still, my sympathies were all with the minister, who was trying hard. She said, "I'll email you some ideas, but really I bet you and Robert could come up with better ones. Oh! You know what one couple did last summer? This was in their home, too; in their garden. Each of their three children chose a poem that meant something, to them, about their parents' commitment to each other and to the family."

That sounded risky to me--what if your kids didn't think their parents' marriage was so hot? What if they chose that poem by Edgar Allen Poe about the crow, or raven, or whatever. "Nevermore!" Or sang Hank Williams's "Your Cheatin' Heart"? It started me thinking, what would I choose if my own parents had renewed their vows and we each had to do a reading? Probably something sappy, like "When I'm 64" or something like that, which they would love.

"Were you thinking of having any music?"

"Oh," Catherine said as though this was an incredibly creative idea she hadn't thought of. "How long is this supposed to be, anyway?"

"I would suggest eight minutes." Good, I thought. Give her specific answers.

"Eight minutes. That's with the music, and readings, and all?"

"Yeah, a wedding is normally about twelve minutes but that would feel pretty long, I think, for this kind of thing."

"Because my friend Claire did offer to play something. We have the piano right there."

"That would be fine."

"But I thought she meant, you know, while people are coming in. You think it should be part of the ceremony--are people going to be standing through the whole thing? I hadn't thought of bringing in chairs for everyone."

"Standing is fine. They won't mind standing still for six or eight minutes, in fact I think that makes it more intimate."

"Oh," Catherine said, "Intimate? So. Six or eight minutes would be what, a three minute piano piece and then a two minute reading by Sarah and two by Robbie, then repeat our vow and get your blessing and then everybody goes home?"

The Reverend laughed, thank God. I imagine if she didn't keep her sense of humor the job would be sheer torture. I hope it didn't show that I was listening, because she happened to look at me just then, and caught my eye. Her look seemed to say, Can you believe this? Probably I was totally imagining that. What she said was, "Do they go home, or are you planning to serve anything? Coffee and cake or something like that?"

"I was going to ask you what you'd suggest. Just coffee and cake, or should we offer drinks? Not champagne, I don't think. Or do you? Do they usually serve champagne at these things?"

"I don't think it matters. It could be anything from cookies and fruit punch to a huge sit-down dinner, I suppose. What do you and Robert envision?"

"I doubt if he had a sit-down dinner in mind . Of course it was his idea, and then... He's just leaving it to me, as usual. Dinner? My God, no. No, no. No, this is what? Four o'clock? Cake, cookies, punch--what about two punches, one with champagne and one without? Or do you think we should have a bar, give them gin and tonics or whatever...just a minute. Could we go back to the music question?"

I looked at my watch; it was ten minutes past the hour, and I hoped like hell my date would come so she could hear this ditz not having a clue what she wanted to do. Cynthia could have made some suggestions, maybe.

"Sarah plays piano; my daughter? I should probably ask her if she wants to play, that is if she's got something appropriate, maybe her Ravel piece. Or should it relate in some way to marriage? Oh, gosh. I don't have a clue what …" She must have been hearing my thoughts, as I was only inches behind her. Clueless was the word, all right; indecisive to the max. "But then if she plays and also reads something, that would be two things for Sarah. Maybe the music should be her thing and the reading Robbie's?"

"That would be fine. Do you think he would care?"

No way would Robbie give a shit. Give me a break, really. But Catherine agonized about that for awhile, and if she had her friend Claire read something what about their friend Joanne, or should it be a man and a woman, and then she started asking what she should wear, which was kind of a joke asking for fashion advice from someone who had on a sweatshirt and jeans that made her look even dumpier than she was.

"It gets complicated, doesn't it?" the advisor said. I could imagine how complicated it would be for Catherine if her daughter, with whom I felt enormous allegiance by this time, ever got married. Which she probably would never do, unless she ran off in the middle of the night with a man from the motor trade. "But then if life wasn't complicated, we might not feel the need for rituals like renewal of vows or anything else, would we?"

If Catherine murmured a reply to that, I couldn't make it out.

"Is Robert meeting us here from the train?"

"I did mention I was going to get together with you. He didn't seem to feel a need to join us."

"Oh. So, then … have you and he talked about what you want to do?"

"He said all he had meant was why didn't we do 'something', he didn't care what." She sighed then, a great big sigh that said this whole exercise was just one more burden the son of a bitch had laid on her.

"Really."

"Yes, our friends the Donohues did it--they had it in their home, too, but see they're Catholic, their priest actually did a whole service and the guests, those who were Catholic I suppose, went up and took Communion, so I don't know how much would fit our … "

"Did Robert have something similar in mind? Without the Eucharist, of course?"

"Who the hell knows? He always does this to me!"

I didn't think I could take much more. Was she a total idiot, or was her husband the idiot? Either way, it didn't sound like this union was going to be blessed for another 25 days, let alone years. The Reverend must have been thinking the same thing, because she said, "So he wants you to know what he wants without talking about it."

If I'd stayed any longer it sounded like we were going to be having a therapy session. Or else I was going to move my chair over to their table and say something. Something constructive (not why don't you just get a fucking divorce?), but still, none of my business. That was why I suddenly stood up. Cynthia was only 15 minutes late, but I couldn't wait around. I was so irritated, I probably did Cynthia a favor by getting the hell out of there. I took Dance Me to the End of Love out to my car and didn't even wait there, I just drove home.

I guess that wasn't exactly the thing to do, because when she arrived, probably just a couple of minutes later, she thought I'd stood her up. She didn't know my cell, so she wound up having to take the train back into the city. I did call her later that night, but she was pissed and unreasonable, and as it turned out we never got around to going out again.

Who knows? If I'd only happened to choose a table on the other side of the coffee bar, we might still be together. We could have wound up getting married.

§§§

Kenneth Kaye, a family psychologist, is the author of several books of non-fiction and many articles. This is his first published short story. Residing in Evanston, Illinois, he is an instrument-rated commercial pilot, an avid conservationist, and father of two sons (19 and 31) and two daughters (16 and 17.)

You can reach Ken at: ken@kaye.com .

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