To Love a Woman

e did not understand her. He never had. She had gotten this way many times before, too many times to count it seemed. It would always start with something small; something as simple as leaving the afternoon's mail on the dinner table instead of placing it on the coffee table where she liked it. Sure, she had her quirks; perhas more than other women but they made her who she was, the woman he had married. She was an intricate woman of many oddities yet, despite her peculiariyy, she was an amazing female who had been, from his point of view, unfortunately blessed by some Divine Creator with a quick, sharp intelligence. Her mind was strong and at its best when she could sense a weakness in his defense. It was as if she could see him begin to crumble before her piercing eyes. She would berate him for a meaningless, absent-minded act in the beginning but not long after she would be upset about everything and of course, it was his fault. Somehow, some way, it was always his fault.

He had never been the type of man to drink alone, especially when it was beer, until he had gotten married fifteen years ago. Some say she had driven him to drinking as much as he did and as often as he did but he knew that she was not the real reason. He knew his drinking was not caused by her but by something more compelling and deeper inside of him. The reason he drank so much, as far as he could understand, was to attempt to capture something he had never found in his youth. Something confusing to him that he could not quite place his finger on but was most definitely there, taunting him every morning when he awoke and every evening before he slept. It was something he remembered having felt when he was young and free from the worries and concerns of an adult life, but had not felt since he had gotten married. He had never captured the essence of life, as he saw it, and the days of excitement and adventure had long ago passed him by. When he was younger, much younger, he had talked about a life that was mystical and amazing but had accomplished nothing beyond that meaningless bullshit. He knew he drank becuase it made it easier to reminisce of what could have been for himself and he knew that reminscing comforted him more than anything else in his life. He could sit on a bar stool, drink his beer, and forget all about his boring, monotonous life. He could relive his youth and remember the days of old when the world was his to conquer and new adventures seemed to invite him on a daily basis. This was his reason for drinking and naturally explained why he had begun drinking so heavily when he had gotten married. With marriage came the long-term responsibilities he had tried desperately to shed all his life. But, along with his wife, whom he loved dearly, he made a vow to give up his freedom as an individual, unattached man, who was ready to go anywhere and do anything on a moments notice. He gave that up for the woman he had loved and, looking back over his years, he wondered if it had been a fair trade. He did not regret his marriage, he never had. There were many times when he believed it was the best thing he had ever done. He knew, with or without his wife, he would never have become the adventurer he had dreamed of becoming. He was a dreamer with many grand ideas and a hopeless romantic for seeing the world, but he lacked the ability to carry out his dreams, even the most realistic ones. He had never regretted his marriage, not even when the ugly talks of divorce were prevalent. She was, and always had been, a source of comfort, security, and love. She made him happy; happier than he could have ever been by himself. The only thing he had given up to marry her were shattered dreams of seeing the world. He realized it had never been a fair trade because he had gotten so much more when he married her than he could have ever hoped for alone. He knew that long ago, without his wife, he would have died of a broken heart.

No, she was not the reason he drank. If she had anything to do with his drinking, she kept him from drinking more than what he did. She had a personality sweeter than his margarita's and a temper hotter and swifter than the whiskey that he cherished. He did not know her anymore, or so he thought, because of her ever present temper that seemed to lash out at him all too often. She had a grip on him that no longer allowed him to blame his problems on her. He knew she was good to him, for the most part, and that he was horrible when it came to treating her the way she should be treated. She was so much better for him that he had often wondered what had attracted a beautiful lady like her to a pathetic bum like himself.

"Another."

"I just got here for my shift. What are you having?" In his misery and self-pity he had not even noticed the new bartender. The man was young and handsome and looked very familiar to him but he could not place the face until it hit him. The young bartender reminded him of himself when he was that young.

"Beer. Give me a couple of shots of tequila, too." He planned on drinking heavily tonight. They had never fought like they had tonight. They had had some intense arguments in the past that had once even resulted in his spending a couple of nights on the couch but this one was different from the others they had had in their fifteen years of marriage. Her voice seemed unusually vicious and seemed to contain an unfamiliar tone that implanted in his mind the fear of her leaving him. She would not do it, would she? They had been in love since high school and their feelings had not changed since. At least, his had not. Maybe, after all the years of living with him she had fallen out of love with him. A lot of people fell in love, he thought, but was it possible that the opposite could happen? Could a person fall out of love as quickly as they had fallen in love? After all, it was possible that she had finally realized the truth and decided that she was too good for a low-life bum like him.

The bartender set the beer and shots of tequila on the cold, gray bar counter. The bum grasped a shot of tequila and swallowed the liquid fire. He could feel his throat burn as the tequila shot past his lips and over his tongue to his stomach. For a moment, the recognizable warmness in his gut reassured him of his masculinity and security. He knew, and he feared that many other people knew, that underneath his outer shell which portrayed a man unaffected by anything, he was an insecure man with problems that reached beyond his troubles he had with his wife. He was a tired, old man who had lived in one town his entire life, had never traveled anywhere, and had never done anything exciting and, more importantly, had never provided the life of excitement that he had promised his wife before they were married. He was a failure at the age of eighteen as far as his parents were concerned because of his refusal to attend college. He had desperately clung, his entire life, to the only love he knew -- her. She had always been there for him. Until now, he had never thought of himself without her. What if she did leave him?

"Hey, buddy? You okay?"

"What?"

"I said, 'Are you okay?'"

"Oh, yeah. Fine."

"Just checking, you looked a little down. Say, you sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine. I'd like to get drunk alone." He rebuffed the bartender harshly. He knew he was too wrapped up in the emotions brought upon him by the thoughts of his wife.

"Okay, okay. Just trying to be helpful."

"Well don't. I don't need your help or anyone else's. Just remember that." He was on fire now, a dangerous mixture of tequila and the emotions surrounding him and his wife. The young kid had done nothing to incite him, the bum knew that. He also knew he was drunk and angry. He was mad at himself for taking out his problems on this innocent bartender and wanted to apologize but he could not. The outer shell of a man unaffected instantly sprang into effect after so many years of practice.

"Hey, I'm sorry about that, pal. Tell me, you married?"

"Yea."

"Do yourself a favor. As soon as you get home, even before you take your coat off, walk to your wife and tell her you love her more than anything else in the world. Don't hesitate to do it either. Do it tonight because you never know when she might need to know that."

"Say, you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, dammit. Listen, do like I say, and you'll be able to fall asleep tonight secure in the knowledge that when you wake up tomorrow morning, even before you open your eyes, she will still be lying there in your bed with you."

"You're right. I dread the day she should ever leave me. I couldn't get along without her. She means a hell of a lot to me. I don't know what she sees in a guy like me. I'm nobody special. Nobody important. But whatever it is I hope she continues to see it as long as we both live."

He swallowed his final shot of tequila and felt the drunkenness wash itself over his entire body. The shots were gone and the beer had begun to mix with the liquor. It was eleven o'clock in the evening and he drunkenly realized that he had to do something for his wife and himself. He laid a twenty dollar bill on the bar counter and walked out the door without even a word. In the background he could hear the young bartender asking if he needed a cab. He did not care about the cab. He did not care about anything other than his wife.

The cold autumn air slapped him in the face as he exited the bar and instantly he began to feel better. There was something to be said about the cool night air for sobering up a drunken bum.

He started his truck and felt the whir of the engine. He envied the engine at that moment. It was strong, continuous, and it never let him down. Always there for him when he needed it as long as he took care of it and treated it right. He was a man, he thought, not an engine.

He drove home with thoughts of his fifteen wonderful years of marriage blasting his mind's eye. He could feel the tears form in his eyes, making it even harder for him to see the road. At that moment, for the first time in his life, he prayed. "God, if you'll listen to this bum, please let me get home safely and please, God, let her be there."

He walked through the door of his two-storied house with an anxious knot in the bottom of his stomach. Without taking off his coat, just as he had instructed the bartender, he walked upstairs to the room in which his wife slept. He looked down on her beautiful face and the thoughts of their wedding day flooded his memory. He leaned down, smelled her sweet, gentle scent, and lovingly kissed her on her perfect cheek and whispered in her perfect ear, "I love you." At that moment, while he stood above her sleeping form and thought of how much she meant to him, he knew that everything would be fine.

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