Stories from the life of another person, part I

We came home from our honeymoon in Cloudcroft, NM. My dad always said that honeymoons were for "getting to know one another" for "just being together." If that was the case, then I guess you could logically state that happened. However, deep down I felt otherwise. Can't remember what day we got home, whether it was Friday, Saturday or Sunday. I just remember being so glad to be around people again - people who talked and communicated freely without any inhibitions. It was good to be "home," even if home really wasn't. It would continue to be less and less like home and more and more like a dwelling where two strangers stayed when they couldn't find anywhere else to go. The second Sunday of our "union" (the first being the day after the wedding) we went to church. Don't remember what happened, if anyone extended any type of congratulations. It was June so there weren't many students left in town. After service, we went home. I was so excited to be making our first meal together as a married couple, so nervous about the turnout.

I decided to make a casserole my Mom made for us growing up. It was a favorite then and continues to be a favorite now. I figured it would be simple enough, but most enjoyable. The perfect first luncheon together. I stood in the kitchen for an hour or so, preparing all the ingredients for the casserole and then combining them to create what would I was hoping to be the best meal either of us had ever had. Placed the pan in the oven... waited 'til it bubbled.... and voila! Perfection.

We didn't have much of a dining room. Our kitchen table and four chairs were placed behind the love-seat, close to the wall so as to whisper the idea that it was another room. I placed the pot holders down, delicately placed the casserole, corn and tortilla chips on the table. This would be the first time to use our new plates! I set them out along with our new flatware. This was sure to be a success!
"Lunch is ready."
"O.k. Be there in a minute."
"O.k."

That minute turned into several hours. I can't remember when it was that I decided to eat, but I did. I was determined to enjoy the meal even if he wasn't sitting at the table. But the fact that he wasn't sitting at the table filled me with unspeakable sorrow. Was the computer game that important? It's homecooked food. He's a man. What's his problem? Eventually I cleaned up the table and went to the bedroom to take a nap. I don't think he ate any until later that evening.