He didn't say, Why had I gone. He didn't say, When would I return. He didn't ask anything about my plans, or tell me anything about him. Instead, when at last he spoke, Dennis said, "I'd be curious to know what you think marriage is. If the word marriage has any meaning for you?"
What an excellent question! It was elegant, succinct, dignified, painful, and utterly shaming — a beautiful response.
On the highway trucks blew past. I stood in a hot wind, clutching the receiver, trying, against daunting odds, to compose the felicitous answer his query deserved. Nothing would do. Not the intimidated child's "I don't know." Not the political campaigner's "I'm glad you asked." Not the overextended adulterer's "Please don't question me now." After a long, potentially fertile, but finally unproductive silence, I said, "I think when you and I got married, we felt we really loved each other."
And canny Dennis said, "I ain't talking about love.