She said, “You don’t really know me,” —
that after twenty-five years of marriage.
He didn’t know whether he was being
told in an accusatory tone that he
hadn’t cared enough to find out or if
that tone was one of pride that some-
how she had spirited away her soul so
he could never know. He said, “Well, if
you had told me, I would have known.
I can’t know anything without being in-
formed.” “If you truly loved me, I wouldn’t
have had to tell you; you would just know.”
“Oh, come on. That’s not fair.” And with
that he knew the tone was a little of each.
And with that memory, he turned to his
introverted wife of twenty-five years and
said, “Tell me, dear.” She just furrowed
her brow.