She said, “You don’t understand what I said”
I said, “No, no, no, you’re wrong”

~The Beatles She Said She Said

“I’m ready.”

“Now you’re ready?” If there was a hint of exasperation in his tone, it was only a fraction of what he felt. He wanted to let her know he was frustrated, but not make an issue of it.

“Let’s go,” she said, picking up her bag. If she noticed the edge in his voice, she didn’t let on, except perhaps by a slight curtness in how she spoke and stiffness in her posture.

“Good, let’s go,” he muttered, tossing aside the magazine he’d grabbed to occupy himself while he waited for her. He was tempted to say, “It’s about time,” or something of the sort, but he knew that would set her off, and he didn’t want a full-blown argument. He’d gone out of his way to be home before five, just as she requested, to avoid a fight. She’d made a point of saying they had to leave at five sharp, and now it was five-fifteen and she didn’t seem to be in a hurry at all. It made him fume. If he had another twenty minutes at the office, he could have responded to his emails and been finished with the day’s work.

Even as they drove off, he couldn’t help feeling peeved. He hated leaving unfinished business at the office because it stayed on his mind and bothered him until he returned to work and took care of it. He’d start the next day off on the wrong foot because he’d already be behind. It was just a fetish on his part to clear his desk each day, and he shouldn’t be so hung up about it, but it made him feel better to polish off the day’s work, so why not just do it? He couldn’t talk to her about it and explain how much he hated leaving work undone at the office, because she’d just scoff at him for being in thrall to his corporate masters. They’d gone down that road before. But that wasn’t it at all. Away from the office, he didn’t want to be thinking about it. He wanted his mind clear and relaxed. The project he was cooking up in his head would enable him to leave his job some day and be his own boss. But now he was irritated and unable steer his mind back to where he wanted it to go. Once again she’d hijacked his thoughts, and that was what really annoyed him.

“Something wrong?” she asked after they drove in silence for a while. She wasn’t asking if something was wrong—it was clear that there was. What she wanted to know was what was eating him, because she felt she was the one who had reason to be annoyed. Her anger had been building from the minute he walked through the door, saying, “I’m here! Ready?” with an air of Aren’t you going to congratulate me for being on time? She’d had a rough day. Instead of making progress on the piece she was working on, she had to undo some of her previous work and was getting behind schedule. Besides that, she’d been to the clinic for a Pap smear and mammogram, which she’d scheduled together to get them over with. As much as she disliked the exams, waiting for the results and imagining how she might react if something came back positive was worse. She knew it was silly to worry before there was anything to worry about, but she couldn’t always avoid the trap.

That’s why she planned a special evening in the first place—to get her mind off useless speculation, but he spoiled it by his attitude. He was so wrapped up in himself and his work that he barely seemed to notice her or think of her needs. She didn’t expect him to remember her medical appointment, but why couldn’t he at least show some affection, some enthusiasm about the evening ahead of them? She tried to get him to relax and suggested that he have a glass of wine while she was getting ready, but instead he picked up a magazine and hovered over her, making her feel rushed.

“Uh, no, nothing wrong,” he mumbled, annoyed to be on the defensive. “I was wondering, how did it go today, I mean your exam?” He wanted to say something just to change the mood, which, if not hostile, wasn’t exactly warm, but couldn’t think of anything else to say, and ended up blurting that out. Her appointment had been in the back of his mind all day, but he didn’t want to mention it because the thought of the exams made him a little uncomfortable. If he asked how it went, she might describe things he’d rather not hear about. He disliked talking about medical procedures almost as much as undergoing them, and he wouldn’t think of telling her about his prostate exams. But there it was—he asked her about the very thing he didn’t want to hear about.

Maybe he should have had a glass of wine as she suggested. He might not be feeling as uptight as he now did. The only reason he didn’t was because he figured that as soon as he poured it, she’d say she was ready to go and he’d have to swig it down or throw it down the drain. Doing either of those things would have annoyed him. It was safer to just wait there and be ready to leave the minute she was. He wanted to avoid a situation that might sour his mood further, but in this particular instance, he regretted not having some wine, since, as it turned out, he had plenty of time to sip it in a leisurely way. That’s the way it goes, he thought. Sometimes you end up in the situation you were specifically trying to avoid.

“You remembered?” She asked, surprised.

“It was on my mind all day.”

She was confused and then angry. Why didn’t he ask her that when he came home? That would have been the normal thing to do. He could have given her a kiss, put an arm around her and asked how she was doing instead of being impatient because she wasn’t ready yet. That’s what she really wanted from him, a feeling of warmth, a sense of his being present instead of lost in his own thoughts, in his own world. It hadn’t always been that way. She thought back trying to figure out when the change had taken place, but she couldn’t pinpoint a particular time. It had happened so gradually that there wasn’t a defining incident or event to tie it to. The seeds of his obliviousness had been there from the start, but back then she saw it as an endearing absent-mindedness. Had he always been the same and was she the one who had changed?

“It was okay,” she sighed.

He grunted to acknowledge her response, glad that she wasn’t inclined to tell him all about it. He wanted to say something nice to her, something to change the dynamic between them, but what would it be safe to say. He could ask her how her work was coming along, but every time he’d done that in the past, she became impatient with with him for not understanding what she was trying to do. Maybe he should just smile at her, and her attitude would soften, and the words would start to flow, but when he looked over, her eyes were closed and she seemed to be in a deep, peaceful sleep. Better not to disturb her. If he said the wrong thing, he’d only make matters worse.

Her mind was in turmoil. Somehow she didn’t realize until that very instant that they were over, finished. They might have been over for a long time, years maybe, but it never occurred to her before. Now, after the exchange of a few words, she understood that they had nothing to say to each other. Did they have any feelings for each other other than scorn and annoyance? Had it always been like this? She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t sure. What she did know was that it couldn’t go on. All at once it felt intolerable and she had an impulse to jump out of the moving car. Instead she kept her eyes closed tight, attempting to shut out the new reality she found herself in.