Is it possible, I wonder, for a man to truly change? Or do character and habit form the immovable boundaries of our lives?
It is mid-October 2003, and I ponder these questions as I watch a moth1 flail2 wildly against the porch light. I’m alone outside. Jane, my wife, is sleeping upstairs and she didn’t stir when I slipped out of bed. It is late; midnight has come and gone, and there’s a crispness in the air that holds the promise of an early winter. I’m wearing a heavy cotton robe, and though I imagined it would be thick enough to keep the chill at bay, I notice that my hands are trembling before I bury them in my pockets.
Above me, the stars are specks3 of silver paint on a charcoal4 canvas. I see Orion and the Pleiades, Ursa Major and Corona5 Borealis, and think I should be inspired by the realization6 that I’m not only looking at the stars, but staring into the past as well. Constellations7 shine with light that was emitted aeons ago, and I wait for something to come to me, words that a poet might use to illuminate8 life’s mysteries. But there is nothing.
This doesn’t surprise me. I’ve never considered myself a sentimental9 man, and if you asked my wife, I’m sure she would agree. I do not lose myself in films or plays, I’ve never been a dreamer, and if I aspire10 to any form of mastery at all, it is one defined by rules of the Internal Revenue Service and codified11 by law. For the most part, my days and years as an estate lawyer have been spent in the company of those preparing for their own deaths, and I suppose that some might say that my life is less meaningful because of this. But even if they’re right, what can I do? I make no excuses for myself, nor have I ever, and by the end of my story, I hope you’ll view this quirk12 of my character with a forgiving eye. Please don’t misunderstand. I may not be sentimental, but I’m not completely without emotion, and there are moments when I’m struck by a deep sense of wonder. It is usually simple things that I find strangely moving: standing13 among the giant sequoias in the Sierra Nevadas, for instance, or watching ocean waves as they crash together off Cape14 Hatteras, sending salty plumes15 into the sky. Last week, I felt my throat tighten16 when I watched a young boy reach for his father’s hand as they strolled down the sidewalk. There are other things, too: I can sometimes lose track of time when staring at a sky filled with wind-whipped clouds, and when I hear thunder rumbling17, I always draw near the window to watch for lightning. When the next brilliant flash illuminates18 the sky, I often find myself filled with longing19, though I’m at a loss to tell you what it is that I feel my life is missing.
My name is Wilson Lewis, and this is the story of a wedding. It is also the story of my marriage, but despite the thirty years that Jane and I have spent together, I suppose I should begin by admitting that others know far more about marriage than I. A man can learn nothing by asking my advice. In the course of my marriage, I’ve been selfish and stubborn and as ignorant as a goldfish, and it pains me to realize this about myself. Yet, looking back, I believe that if I’ve done one thing right, it has been to love my wife throughout our years together. While this may strike some as a feat20 not worth mentioning, you should know that there was a time when I was certain that my wife didn’t feel the same way about me.
Of course, all marriages go through ups and downs, and I believe this is the natural consequence of couples that choose to stay together over the long haul. Between us, my wife and I have lived through the deaths of both of my parents and one of hers, and the illness of her father. We’ve moved four times, and though I’ve been successful in my profession, many sacrifices were made in order to secure this position. We have three children, and while neither of us would trade the experience of parenthood for the riches of Tutankhamen, the sleepless21 nights and frequent trips to the hospital when they were infants left both of us exhausted22 and often overwhelmed. It goes without saying that their teenage years were an experience I would rather not relive.
All of those events create their own stresses, and when two people live together, the stress flows both ways. This, I’ve come to believe, is both the blessing23 and the curse of marriage. It’s a blessing because there’s an outlet24 for the everyday strains of life; it’s a curse because the outlet is someone you care deeply about.
Why do I mention this? Because I want to underscore that throughout all these events, I never doubted my feelings for my wife. Sure, there were days when we avoided eye contact at the breakfast table, but still I never doubted us. It would be dishonest to say that I haven’t wondered what would have happened had I married someone else, but in all the years we spent together, I never once regretted the fact that I had chosen her and that she had chosen me as well. I thought our relationship was settled, but in the end, I realized that I was wrong. I learned that a little more than a year ago—fourteen months, to be exact—and it was that realization, more than anything, that set in motion all that was to come.
What happened then, you wonder?
Given my age, a person might suppose that it was some incident inspired by a midlife crisis. A sudden desire to change my life, perhaps, or maybe a crime of the heart. But it was neither of those things. No, my sin was a small one in the grand scheme of things, an incident that under different circumstances might have been the subject of a humorous anecdote25 in later years. But it hurt her, it hurt us, and thus it is here where I must begin my story. It was August 23, 2002, and what I did was this: I rose and ate breakfast, then spent the day at the office, as is my custom. The events of my workday played no role in what came after; to be honest, I can’t remember anything about it other than to recall that it was nothing extraordinary. I arrived home at my regular hour and was pleasantly surprised to see Jane preparing my favorite meal in the kitchen. When she turned to greet me, I thought I saw her eyes flicker26 downward, looking to see if I was holding something other than my briefcase27, but I was empty-handed. An hour later we ate dinner together, and afterward28, as Jane began collecting the dishes from the table, I retrieved29 a few legal documents from my briefcase that I wished to review. Sitting in my office, I was perusing30 the first page when I noticed Jane standing in the doorway31. She was drying her hands on a dish towel, and her face registered a disappointment that I had learned to recognize over the years, if not fully32 understand.
“Is there anything you want to say?” she asked after a moment. I hesitated, aware there was more to her question than its innocence33 implied. I thought perhaps that she was referring to a new hairstyle, but I looked carefully and her hair seemed no different from usual. I’d tried over the years to notice such things. Still, I was at a loss, and as we stood before each other, I knew I had to offer something.
“How was your day?” I finally asked.
She gave a strange half smile in response and turned away. I know now what she was looking for, of course, but at the time, I shrugged34 it off and went back to work, chalking it up as another example of the mysteriousness of women.
Later that evening, I’d crawled into bed and was making myself comfortable when I heard Jane draw a single, rapid breath. She was lying on her side with her back toward me, and when I noticed that her shoulders were trembling, it suddenly struck me that she was crying. Baffled, I expected her to tell me what had upset her so, but instead of speaking, she offered another set of raspy inhales35, as if trying to breathe through her own tears. My throat tightened36 instinctively37, and I found myself growing frightened. I tried not to be scared; tried not to think that something bad had happened to her father or to the kids, or that she had been given terrible news by her doctor. I tried not to think that there might be a problem I couldn’t solve, and I placed my hand on her back in the hope that I could somehow comfort her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
It was a moment before she answered. I heard her sigh as she pulled the covers up to her shoulders.
“Happy anniversary,” she whispered.
Twenty-nine years, I remembered too late, and in the corner of the room, I spotted38 the gifts she’d bought me, neatly39 wrapped and perched on the chest of drawers.
Quite simply, I had forgotten.
I make no excuses for this, nor would I even if I could. What would be the point? I apologized, of course, then apologized again the following morning; and later in the evening, when she opened the perfume I’d selected carefully with the help of a young lady at Belk’s, she smiled and thanked me and patted my leg. Sitting beside her on the couch, I knew I loved her then as much as I did the day we were married. But in looking at her, noticing perhaps for the first time the distracted way she glanced off to the side and the unmistakably sad tilt40 of her head—I suddenly realized that I wasn’t quite sure whether she still loved me.
1 moth | |
n.蛾,蛀虫 | |
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2 flail | |
v.用连枷打;击打;n.连枷(脱粒用的工具) | |
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3 specks | |
n.眼镜;斑点,微粒,污点( speck的名词复数 ) | |
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4 charcoal | |
n.炭,木炭,生物炭 | |
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5 corona | |
n.日冕 | |
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6 realization | |
n.实现;认识到,深刻了解 | |
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7 constellations | |
n.星座( constellation的名词复数 );一群杰出人物;一系列(相关的想法、事物);一群(相关的人) | |
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8 illuminate | |
vt.照亮,照明;用灯光装饰;说明,阐释 | |
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9 sentimental | |
adj.多愁善感的,感伤的 | |
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10 aspire | |
vi.(to,after)渴望,追求,有志于 | |
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11 codified | |
v.把(法律)编成法典( codify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12 quirk | |
n.奇事,巧合;古怪的举动 | |
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13 standing | |
n.持续,地位;adj.永久的,不动的,直立的,不流动的 | |
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14 cape | |
n.海角,岬;披肩,短披风 | |
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15 plumes | |
羽毛( plume的名词复数 ); 羽毛饰; 羽毛状物; 升上空中的羽状物 | |
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16 tighten | |
v.(使)变紧;(使)绷紧 | |
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17 rumbling | |
n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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18 illuminates | |
v.使明亮( illuminate的第三人称单数 );照亮;装饰;说明 | |
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19 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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20 feat | |
n.功绩;武艺,技艺;adj.灵巧的,漂亮的,合适的 | |
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21 sleepless | |
adj.不睡眠的,睡不著的,不休息的 | |
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22 exhausted | |
adj.极其疲惫的,精疲力尽的 | |
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23 blessing | |
n.祈神赐福;祷告;祝福,祝愿 | |
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24 outlet | |
n.出口/路;销路;批发商店;通风口;发泄 | |
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25 anecdote | |
n.轶事,趣闻,短故事 | |
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26 flicker | |
vi./n.闪烁,摇曳,闪现 | |
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27 briefcase | |
n.手提箱,公事皮包 | |
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28 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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29 retrieved | |
v.取回( retrieve的过去式和过去分词 );恢复;寻回;检索(储存的信息) | |
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30 perusing | |
v.读(某篇文字)( peruse的现在分词 );(尤指)细阅;审阅;匆匆读或心不在焉地浏览(某篇文字) | |
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31 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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32 fully | |
adv.完全地,全部地,彻底地;充分地 | |
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33 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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34 shrugged | |
vt.耸肩(shrug的过去式与过去分词形式) | |
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35 inhales | |
v.吸入( inhale的第三人称单数 ) | |
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36 tightened | |
收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 ); (使)变紧; (使)绷紧; 加紧 | |
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37 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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38 spotted | |
adj.有斑点的,斑纹的,弄污了的 | |
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39 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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40 tilt | |
v.(使)倾侧;(使)倾斜;n.倾侧;倾斜 | |
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