huh.
I don't even know. I was listening to soft songs and thinking about all sorts of stuff and who knows where this came from.
Well, I know. But there are a couple different stories here and some of them might be made up. But it's the first thing I've written for myself since I got here to college. I wonder what I'll think of it in the morning.
---
When he was four and she was three, they would play together as children while their mothers commiserated over the pains of parenthood. The kindest thing he ever did for her was to give her his favorite toy; he did not like to share and would be told by his teachers that he did not play well with others.
When he was five and she was four, they would play together while their families had dinner together once a week because their fathers needed to get out of the house and have man to man talks about the distresses of work. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to braid together three dandelions into a ring to put on his finger; it fell off not three minutes later but it’s the thought that counts.
When he was six and she was five, they would play together at recess, since they both went to the same school. The kindest thing he ever did for her was to protect her from a bully who was two years older and four inches taller and a thousand times meaner than he could ever be. He got a black eye and she held the ice pack for him. They smiled at each other through the tears and the pain and the blessed blessed cold that would reduce the swelling before he got home, and it was different from all the other times.
When he was ten and she was nine, she was the only girl to attend his birthday party. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to give him a book of short stories. The other boys laughed and said it was a stupid girly gift and gave him things like candy and toys and fake bugs but he looked at her and he said thank you and he meant it.
When he was thirteen and she was twelve, they didn’t talk too much anymore; he had transferred schools and she hadn’t followed him for the first time in forever. The nicest thing he ever did for her was to send her a letter for no occasion but just to say that he was thinking of her. In the envelope he included three dandelions. She sent them back, braided into a ring.
When he was fifteen and she was fourteen, she watched him go the divorce of his parents; the mother was too busy being a mother and the father was too busy being a worker and they had found that they just didn’t have enough time or affection for each other. Their son got lost in the shuffle and the squabble and the kindest thing she ever did for him was provide a shoulder to cry on.
When he was seventeen and she was sixteen he watched her go through her first boyfriend, her first kiss, and her first break up in the space of a month and a half. Her parents were going through the same problems that his had, minus the divorce but plus a lot of distrust and dishonesty and displeasure. Their daughter got lost in the shuffle as well and so the kindest thing he ever did for her was cry with her, sharing shoulders.
When he was nineteen and she was eighteen they went to the same college partly by chance but mostly by design because if she could have, she would have majored in him and he in her even though they had never even gone on a date. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to make him tea late at night when he was studying, and the kindest thing he ever did for her was to make sure she stayed on schedule and got her work done.
When he was twenty three and she was twenty two they graduated together after dating for four years and together they moved to a new city and new jobs and new friends and a new everything. His parents were long since remarried to new people with all the same problems and her parents were still married with all the same poison and the kindest thing they ever did for each other was to promise never to be like that.
When he was twenty five and she was twenty four he got a job offer for a new company that didn’t seem like very much now but he really felt like he could be a lot of use and he felt like the company could really go places, and so he accepted. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to trust him enough to uproot their entire lives with no promise that things would work out. They got married that fall, a small ceremony filled with friends and no family. Their parents were too busy hating each other to attend such a happy occasion.
When he was twenty seven and she was twenty six she was pregnant with a little one that they hadn’t expected but desperately wanted and loved almost as much as they loved each other. Life wasn’t quite so simple for them after that, but they managed as best they could, which was often better than any example set for them. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Magdalena in November, and that changed the focus of their relationship from just the two of them to the two of them and their daughter who meant the world.
When he was twenty nine and she was twenty eight she gave birth to a son, who was expected and wanted and loved just as much as his sister. Their life hadn’t been simple for a long time now, so much that they barely even knew what simple was until every night when they could just lie together and remember everything, anything that had happened to them, as long as it was together.
Their life was still full of kindnesses for each other, not always big, but always noticed, and always smiled upon. He would bake cookies or she would make his favorite meal, or he would bring back a present from a trip or she would surprise him by meeting him at the airport with the children, or any of a number of gestures to show that they cared.
When he was thirty five and she was thirty four, he retired from his job where he had spent the last ten years of his life being busy but not too busy for his wife or his daughter or his son, being careful not to imitate his father. She could not retire from being a mother, since it is rather a long-term position, but she was very careful to always have enough time for everybody, including herself but especially her husband.
The children grew up and he and she grew old, but they did it together, and that’s what mattered. The children got boyfriends and girlfriends and went through all the teenage tragedies that were so familiar, and went to colleges and studied things that hadn’t even existed way back when, and moved on and moved out to a new life and new things and places and people, just like he and she had. And all the while, he was with her and she with him, and that made it all okay. The children no longer children took risks, just like they had, and some of them worked and some of them didn’t, but the children had learned from the best and so things always turned out alright, mostly.
When he was eighty and she was seventy nine they had had children, and those children finally had grandchildren who were beginning to grow up, and he and she were so so old now, and so tired, but every day they knew they were still in love. Their parents had long since died alone and low and loveless, and they rejoiced in the knowledge that it would not happen to them.
When they finally died, a funeral was held, a much larger affair than their wedding, which would have been sad to somebody if somebody had been to both occasions, but anybody who had been to both would have known the people all their lives and so would have known that these people lived perhaps the happiest lives they could, and to mourn such a life means that you would never be happy again. People stood in front of podiums and spoke about him and the things he had done, about her and the people she had met, about them and the things they had changed. Nobody talked about how they had been together since forever, even though they had. Nobody felt like they could do the story justice.
The kindest thing they had ever done for each other was to be there when they needed it, and to love each other, completely and freely and forever.
Well, I know. But there are a couple different stories here and some of them might be made up. But it's the first thing I've written for myself since I got here to college. I wonder what I'll think of it in the morning.
---
When he was four and she was three, they would play together as children while their mothers commiserated over the pains of parenthood. The kindest thing he ever did for her was to give her his favorite toy; he did not like to share and would be told by his teachers that he did not play well with others.
When he was five and she was four, they would play together while their families had dinner together once a week because their fathers needed to get out of the house and have man to man talks about the distresses of work. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to braid together three dandelions into a ring to put on his finger; it fell off not three minutes later but it’s the thought that counts.
When he was six and she was five, they would play together at recess, since they both went to the same school. The kindest thing he ever did for her was to protect her from a bully who was two years older and four inches taller and a thousand times meaner than he could ever be. He got a black eye and she held the ice pack for him. They smiled at each other through the tears and the pain and the blessed blessed cold that would reduce the swelling before he got home, and it was different from all the other times.
When he was ten and she was nine, she was the only girl to attend his birthday party. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to give him a book of short stories. The other boys laughed and said it was a stupid girly gift and gave him things like candy and toys and fake bugs but he looked at her and he said thank you and he meant it.
When he was thirteen and she was twelve, they didn’t talk too much anymore; he had transferred schools and she hadn’t followed him for the first time in forever. The nicest thing he ever did for her was to send her a letter for no occasion but just to say that he was thinking of her. In the envelope he included three dandelions. She sent them back, braided into a ring.
When he was fifteen and she was fourteen, she watched him go the divorce of his parents; the mother was too busy being a mother and the father was too busy being a worker and they had found that they just didn’t have enough time or affection for each other. Their son got lost in the shuffle and the squabble and the kindest thing she ever did for him was provide a shoulder to cry on.
When he was seventeen and she was sixteen he watched her go through her first boyfriend, her first kiss, and her first break up in the space of a month and a half. Her parents were going through the same problems that his had, minus the divorce but plus a lot of distrust and dishonesty and displeasure. Their daughter got lost in the shuffle as well and so the kindest thing he ever did for her was cry with her, sharing shoulders.
When he was nineteen and she was eighteen they went to the same college partly by chance but mostly by design because if she could have, she would have majored in him and he in her even though they had never even gone on a date. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to make him tea late at night when he was studying, and the kindest thing he ever did for her was to make sure she stayed on schedule and got her work done.
When he was twenty three and she was twenty two they graduated together after dating for four years and together they moved to a new city and new jobs and new friends and a new everything. His parents were long since remarried to new people with all the same problems and her parents were still married with all the same poison and the kindest thing they ever did for each other was to promise never to be like that.
When he was twenty five and she was twenty four he got a job offer for a new company that didn’t seem like very much now but he really felt like he could be a lot of use and he felt like the company could really go places, and so he accepted. The kindest thing she ever did for him was to trust him enough to uproot their entire lives with no promise that things would work out. They got married that fall, a small ceremony filled with friends and no family. Their parents were too busy hating each other to attend such a happy occasion.
When he was twenty seven and she was twenty six she was pregnant with a little one that they hadn’t expected but desperately wanted and loved almost as much as they loved each other. Life wasn’t quite so simple for them after that, but they managed as best they could, which was often better than any example set for them. She gave birth to a beautiful baby girl named Magdalena in November, and that changed the focus of their relationship from just the two of them to the two of them and their daughter who meant the world.
When he was twenty nine and she was twenty eight she gave birth to a son, who was expected and wanted and loved just as much as his sister. Their life hadn’t been simple for a long time now, so much that they barely even knew what simple was until every night when they could just lie together and remember everything, anything that had happened to them, as long as it was together.
Their life was still full of kindnesses for each other, not always big, but always noticed, and always smiled upon. He would bake cookies or she would make his favorite meal, or he would bring back a present from a trip or she would surprise him by meeting him at the airport with the children, or any of a number of gestures to show that they cared.
When he was thirty five and she was thirty four, he retired from his job where he had spent the last ten years of his life being busy but not too busy for his wife or his daughter or his son, being careful not to imitate his father. She could not retire from being a mother, since it is rather a long-term position, but she was very careful to always have enough time for everybody, including herself but especially her husband.
The children grew up and he and she grew old, but they did it together, and that’s what mattered. The children got boyfriends and girlfriends and went through all the teenage tragedies that were so familiar, and went to colleges and studied things that hadn’t even existed way back when, and moved on and moved out to a new life and new things and places and people, just like he and she had. And all the while, he was with her and she with him, and that made it all okay. The children no longer children took risks, just like they had, and some of them worked and some of them didn’t, but the children had learned from the best and so things always turned out alright, mostly.
When he was eighty and she was seventy nine they had had children, and those children finally had grandchildren who were beginning to grow up, and he and she were so so old now, and so tired, but every day they knew they were still in love. Their parents had long since died alone and low and loveless, and they rejoiced in the knowledge that it would not happen to them.
When they finally died, a funeral was held, a much larger affair than their wedding, which would have been sad to somebody if somebody had been to both occasions, but anybody who had been to both would have known the people all their lives and so would have known that these people lived perhaps the happiest lives they could, and to mourn such a life means that you would never be happy again. People stood in front of podiums and spoke about him and the things he had done, about her and the people she had met, about them and the things they had changed. Nobody talked about how they had been together since forever, even though they had. Nobody felt like they could do the story justice.
The kindest thing they had ever done for each other was to be there when they needed it, and to love each other, completely and freely and forever.