Talking Spoons

It’s been three years since our youngest child graduated from high school and flew the coop. Things began to get lonely for Linda and I without the kids around and the gap between us grew as time passed. The only time we really spent together was during dinner where the clanking of our silverware carried on the conversation. We sat in silence. We had become desperate in our attempts to fix our marriage and decided to take a vacation, just the two of us. We left our lives behind so we could spend quality time together and try to figure out how we ever got along before having kids.

I found myself sleeping in a separate bed across from Linda while the warm Hawaiian breeze crept in from the patio and tickled my feet. My pillow felt like a small box of cardboard filled with feathers. The rough and scratchy sheets made it difficult to get comfortable. The hum of the fan filled the room as I lie on my side, staring through the dark in Linda’s direction. Her incessant snoring told me that she was fast asleep. At that moment I couldn’t help but realize how the kids brought us closer than we could have ever imagined. The never ending sporting events and practices, the dance recitals, and the plays we’ve attended forced us to spend a lot of time together. Christmas morning was always my favorite. Linda and I would try to sleep in as long as possible before the kids came bearing down on us with insatiable excitement for what Santa had left them the night before. I would get out of bed and start a pot of coffee for the two of us while she made a quick breakfast for everyone. It was typically bacon, sausage, and eggs with a side of toast. Fresh jam that her sister gave us rested in the center of the table and we would all sit down and eat together. We would have lengthy conversations about how life was going or whose favorite football team was playing well. Linda and I would speak to each other like nothing was ever wrong. It was like kids kept us glued together in those precious moments. She would stare longingly at me from across the table until I caught her eye.

“I love you,” she would say in her pleasantly soft voice.

“I love you too, Doll.” I would reply. A single tear forced its way out of my eyes as I reminisced about how happy we used to be. We had fallen in love before we had kids. We used to go on dates all the time and have long conversations while sitting in front of the fireplace in her dad’s basement. We couldn’t stand being away from each other for more than thirty minutes. I rolled over on my bed, facing the patio that was glimmering the soft glow of the street lights out yonder. I closed my eyes, realizing that I needed sleep, and finally submitted to my unconscious.

We woke up the next morning craving a hearty breakfast, so after getting showered and ready, we made our way down to the hotel restaurant. It was a real fancy place that had beautiful beige carpet with black silhouettes painted all across it. The chandeliers hung from the ceilings like large bats in a cave, graciously lighting up the entire place.  Linda and I sat in silence, as usual, as we waited for our meal to come. At the table next to us were a young man and woman that reminded me of when Linda and I were younger.  Their hands met together in the center of the table as they gazed into each other’s eyes, talking quietly as if they weren’t in a crowded room. That’s when it happened. The woman’s cell phone began ringing and when she reached for it, she spilled her soft drink all over the table and her pink dress. She looked at the man with menace in her eyes, as if he were the one to cause it.

“I fucking hate you,” she cried. The man sat there stunned.

“What the hell? Why?” He asked.

“You spilled my coke all over me,” she hissed.

“How could I have done that, you spilled it when you reached for your phone,” he replied.

“You didn’t let go of my hand when I pulled away.” The woman stormed out of the restaurant leaving the man looking embarrassed and confused.

“Do you remember when we were that young,” I asked Linda?

“I do,” she replied.

“Did we ever fight over such petty inconveniences?”

A smile pushed its way onto her face, “Sure we did, but I don’t remember ever making a scene in public.” We laughed for a brief moment as we remembered our youth. This was good; we were talking over a meal. I decided to keep it going by bringing up our past.

“Do you remember that time at Winter Park when your skis got underneath you and you wiped out, sliding head first down hill,” I asked?

Linda began laughing, “Yes! And you were down the hill a little ways and when you tried to stop me, I only knocked you over and you went sliding down behind me.” We laughed for a good minute, not realizing that it was something we needed. I put my face into my napkin to hide how red my face was getting. The story wasn’t even that funny, but it helped us connect in a way that we haven’t been able to in years. It was like we had to start over from the beginning again, but I was okay with that. Linda stopped laughing first. I pulled the napkin away from my face to catch her staring into my eyes. She reached across the table and took my hand into hers.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, Doll.”