Commitment

If it was Hollywood, he'd take her hand

and tell her that he's leaving, that he's

sorry but he has to go, and she would nod

and say, "I know, I've known it many years"

and maybe there would be a tender kiss good-bye

and gentle tears as each one separately left the

restaurant she chose to celebrate their

special day. It isn't California, though, 

not even close, and so the meal, delicious

and expensive though it be, will pass in silence 

till they raise a glass of toast to one more

twelve-month period in which no love has

been expressed, their duties done with

gritted teeth, resentment building

for the next twelve months, the next...

until the need to keep charades in place is gone.

Old school, commitments kept, embarrassment at

letting people know that he has failed to be

the perfect groom who raised her veil to give

her their first kiss as man and wife, that she

was never really what he wanted, needed, but he didn't 

know it then. He didn't know. He knows it now,

but he is of a different generation, the sort who

honors promises, despite the pain. And who's to

say the angels are not watching, quietly applauding

as he helps her with her coat and they walk out

into a steamy Sunday afternoon? And who's to

say the angels do not look at one another

and, instead, begin to weep at so much

wasted time, such loneliness, such anguish?

(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014

A little dark, but no apologies. There are lessons to be learned from those who remain committed no matter what, and from those who, for whatever reasons, do not. Grace is there, regardless.