Marriage

If she was going to marry someone, it might as well be Ben, I told myself. I didn't know why I was so against him, in my thoughts and in my conversations with her. Was it an anticipation of buyer's remorse? Marriage was a big deal, and maybe she should have gone through other models before choosing Ben. Although she had never been given many other options, it sounded to me, she might as well shop around as best she could. Did I even believe in love? I questioned after these sorts of thoughts. Ben loved her. There was proof. Why was I so worried about them?

I was tempted to go in her room and read some of his love letters, but my gag reflex was reacting just at the thought. And I didn't think my sister would appreciate hearing about how I had vomited in her room, even if she wouldn't be coming home this summer because she'd be spending it up in Maine with Ben.

I wondered if my parents had loved each other that much when they had gotten married. They probably did, twenty-six years ago. But then something happened, and life became as boring as the monochrome walls in our foyer. I would never know, I guess, if Ben and Elyse would make it, unless they didn't. And it wouldn't be much worth it to worry about it now. Divorces probably hurt just as bad as break-ups, but the pain lasts longer. But everyone had them. The statistics weren't on our side. So I supposed I should stop worrying about Elyse, because her heart was going to get broken either way, or she would live the rest of her life, happy, with Ben. And once I painted the picture out in black and white, I didn't worry so bad.

Why did I always look at life as a romantic, and a cynic, simultaneously? I couldn't divide either set of commentary from anything I observed. But I recognized that both sides were completely lost in their own worries and joys. Yet as I balanced these two opposing viewpoints, scrambling to hold them together close enough to inspect, I lost any ability to reason.