From The Sky - Part VIII


From the Sky - Part VIII

By James M. O'Meara, © 2010

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Un Hamburger

The Fabulous Bonzo Burger....

I wonder at times why my aunts are so averse to the institution of marriage. What do they know of it, really? They have, perhaps, the memories of their own parent's marriage, but from all accounts that was a very happy union. They were two people very much in love, so say my aunts. Rae, whose memories are the least hazy, says Grandfather Ernesto was quite the romantic. He would cut Grandmother fresh flowers each day and place them in a delicate crystal vase on the kitchen table. He would bring little gifts to his wife for no reason. He would sing to her and dance her around the kitchen while she tried to cook. Each night, after supper, Grandmother would make him a cup of tea. She would bring the steaming cup and a few anise biscotti on a small china plate, setting it all down on the end table next to his chair. She would kiss his forehead and put her lips near his ear. She would whisper, and he would smile, and sometimes his cheeks would redden, and then he would pull her closer to steal a kiss.

Upon these idyllic wisps of memory my aunts built the fable of a perfect marriage against which all prospective unions were gauged. Perhaps that's why they've never married. They wanted what they believed my grandparents had: an unbounded, flawless love. This will sound like psychobabble, but I think they rejected their men because they were looking for their Papa. Their beaus always failed to measure up to his myth.

As if that was even remotely possible!

That's the danger, you see, in holding out for that perfect mate. I believe marriages succeed when two unpolished gemstones rub against each other for years, wearing away the rough spots, before finally, miraculously, merging into one beautiful jewel. It becomes a wondrous thing: strong, yet delicate. Hard to form, yet easy to dissolve or even shatter if handled carelessly or taken for granted. The best of the lot survive anything but death.

And sometimes, even that.