Tale from the Tech Booth

So I'm up at Centerstages helping to light a show and an acquaintance, one of the regulars out there, drops by the tech booth to chat. As we talk theatre stuff and inconsequentials, she steers the conversation toward the subject of Connie and Bruce. This is a pattern I have grown to recognize. I begin to pull in my emotions and prepare for an uncomfortable moment or two.

It usually begins with commiseration, "I don't know how you got through it," or some such. Then a gentle tugging, an attempt to pull out my feelings, i.e. "It must have been rough," etc. I usually try to be honest without being explicit or detailed.

This time I said, "It was the worst thing I've ever been through, and it's probably obvious I'm not completely through it yet."

She said, "I don't know Connie very well, but from what I know of Bruce I can't find it in me to respect the man."

"I'm sure he has his good qualities, but he is not one of my favorite people right now," I offer, "I guess everyone would expect that opinion from me."

"Well, I don't think much of him, going after another man's wife like that, and there was that other married woman he was also seeing at the same time he was seeing Connie."

I'm stunned. I wonder what this is all about. The acquaintance doesn't seem to be eyeing me to see my reaction. I judge she is just venting her own feelings. I manage to tell her my feelings and then stop, "I'm sorry to hear that. It makes me sad."

"Well," she said, "I may be wrong--maybe it wasn't while he was seeing Connie, but it was just before she left you."

"I still love her, and I hoped at least one consequence of this mess might be she would be happy." I shut myself down.

I kept myself from saying more. I was about to spill over. I've decided if talking about it could have saved the marriage, then it would have been saved, because I have a lot of words. They flow from me as if I have what my mother so crudely use to call "diarrhea of the mouth." I'm glad I didn't let myself be pulled into giving details.

"I don't know," she is dropping into a tone of wry regret, "a man who doesn't respect other's wedding vows probably won't respect his own. I couldn't be happy with someone like that."

I have nothing to say. I don't dare open up any more. After a brief silence we drift back into conversation about inconsequentials.

Afterwards, I'm sad for days.