Mario and I last night |
Marriage:
Four open books, two spiral notebooks, the year-end issues of
The New Yorker, The Sun, The Paris Review,
a cup of tea gone cold, a bottled water mixed with microgreens, and two new
coasters I got for Christmas are part of the clutter on my desk, all of which distract
me as I type. I look across the room at Mario’s
workspace, neat and organized. His daily planner and a sharpened pencil lay next
to his marble-base desk lamp. I need his help. Tonight, exhausted with a bit of
writer’s block, I call out to him across the hall.
“Babe?”
“Yeah?” he answers from our bedroom, then comes into our
office.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What should I write for our
anniversary blog?”
He thinks, then walks to the vertical files next to his desk—where
manila folders are sorted alphabetically—and grabs a book—made from letter-sized
printer paper and separated with tabs—that he gave me last year on our Anniversary:
The Unique Marriage of Janet and Mario.
“Here,” he says. “Why not look at this and get some ideas?”
He hands me the book and kisses me, encouraged by my enthusiasm.
“Where did you get that?
I didn’t know you kept it there!”
He gave me this book last year at this time, but in the
busy-ness of the holidays and the exhaustion of graduation, I forgot where we put
it. He created the book for me—for us—with his whole heart.
It’s half-memory album, half-statistical research that mathematically proves how
we are unique and special as a couple.
I can’t stop smiling. It has been two hours since I started
this blog; I’ve been looking at the book ever since.
The Book |
Mario is now relaxing outside, bundled up in winter clothes,
drinking a hot cup of raspberry tea (with a scotch chaser), smoking a good
cigar, and playing a mindless game. I am supposed to be blogging in here, but I am
remembering why I love him. I am not supposed to
be this distracted—but I love this 30th Anniversary Notebook. I wish Mario was here sitting with me so we
could look at it together.
The book is divided into eight sections: 1. Brazen Princess
(a commemorative blog I published on the day we celebrated 30 years); 2. By the
Numbers (my favorite section—I’ll tell you why soon); 3. 30 Years Ago (What was
happening in the world in 1987, the year we married); 4. Tested (trivia quizzes
that test how much I know about our time together); 5. Marriage (articles and
letters from and about couples who have endured); 6. Over the Years; 7. Unique
Utterances (We love to quote each other); 8. Where Do We Go From Here? (a
challenge to us to continue adding to the book).
As I read The Unique
Marriage of Janet and Mario, I remember falling in love with Mario, more than
32 years ago.
***
30 Years Ago: What
was happening in the world in 1987, the year we married?
In 1986 I had just come out of a turbulent, destructive relationship.
I needed a job so that I could support my new baby (Vince) who had just turned one-year-old.
Since I didn’t have a college degree, my job-options were limited. I took a job at a local State Park as a Park
Aid—Mario was the supervising State Park Ranger.
Mario was a very good boss and recognized that I was a good
employee—able to do more than work the entrance kiosk and perform low-level
office duties. One day, Mario handed me two large books—DOS Manuals—and told me
to learn everything and explain it to him. I did. Later that week, after
learning Multi-user DOS commands, I taught Mario and all the other Rangers about
the new PC, including what prompts and commands were. I didn’t know then, but this knowledge of DOS would
later help me build a quasi-career.
Mario genuinely liked me and believed in me. We were both
single parents and had guilt about failing our former partners, and ultimately
our children. Nevertheless, I didn’t
really think of him romantically. He
wasn’t really my type—even though he was incredibly gorgeous and hilarious—an
athletic, Republican, introverted, logical, moustache-cop. He was also
much older than me (I was 23, he was 32). By the time I realized I was falling in
love with him, I also had to admit that he was way out of my league.
Then, after work one night, I asked Mario for advice on a
parenting matter. He offered his opinion
as a friend, not my boss. The subject
matter led us into deep conversation, and when it was time for me to go, he
walked with me back to our cars.
“Alright, Goodnight,” he said, then added: “Can I give you a
hug goodbye? Hugs are cool between friends, right?”
I almost said no. I knew I was in love with him and I knew
if we hugged he would be able to tell.
But we were drawn together like magnet
and steel. I fell into him, my face
against the warm glow of his neck, our bodies fitting together like puzzle
pieces. It was like heaven opened and the skies parted and angels came down and
drenched us with stars and music.
When we let go—about two minutes later—Mario looked at me, stunned.
“Um, yeah. Hugs are
cool.”
I smiled broadly.
This is still one of my favorite “unique utterances” of Mario’s.
Us in 1987 |
***
Tested:
After the hug, we had to rethink everything, including our
workplace. We had chemistry
that was unlike anything I had ever experienced, and it was very hard to ignore. I had hope that our relationship was
something more than just physical attraction.
We worked well together, knew each other’s values, and most importantly,
we had already seen our long-term relationships fail and we didn’t want to repeat
the past. Thoughts of Mario constantly danced in my head.
One day, not long after we had agreed to take our new relationship
seriously, I was cleaning the office and thinking about how much I loved Mario.
We had already told each other “I love you” and were still in that blissful
state of newness and realization.
Because the office was quiet and the other ranger was out in
the field, I decided to cross a major boundary and go into Mario’s office and
tell him I loved him—again. When I stood
in his doorway, he didn’t look up, but continued typing on his desktop PC. Because I was so 23, and believed every
Cosmopolitan article I ever read about a woman’s ability to derail her man with
body movements and innuendo, I wasn’t discouraged.
“Hi,” he said, suddenly, looking up from his work. “How can
I help you?”
“Um,” I said, trying to look coy. “I was curious about something.”
I walked over to his desk and knelt down next to him, an action which made him
uncomfortable. Nevertheless, I persevered.
“I think of you all the time,” I whispered.
“How much do you think about me?” I was smiling, excited to be close to him
like this at work—it felt forbidden and
dangerous. Instead of the Cosmo reaction
I was hoping for, Mario looked up to the office ceiling.
“Hmmm,” he said. “That’s an interesting question. Can I get
back to you?”
Mario’s businesslike answer was clearly meant to sober me
up, which it did. I stood up, feeling foolish,
and started to leave the room. He
stopped me.
“I’m serious,” he said.
“I’ll think about it and get back to you.” Then, he returned to his work.
I tried to keep busy the rest of the day, as Mario continued
to type away in his office. I chided myself for my immature behavior. Mario and I had agreed to keep our work environment professional
and our relationship on the down-low. That afternoon, I was too
embarrassed to say goodbye.
“Wait,” Mario called from his office when I tried to sneak away. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t
want to disturb you again, and…”
“But I’ve been
thinking about your question,” Mario said.
I heard him stand up and then he appeared in his doorway. By now, all of
our coworkers had gone home, so he seemed less guarded.
“You asked how much I
thought about you, and I was thinking it’s pretty close to ten per cent of the
time.” He smiled triumphantly.
Because I was already embarrassed, I didn’t feel like joking
around. From the way he was watching me, like he was waiting for my reaction, I
suddenly realized he was serious.
“You think about me ten per cent of the time?” I asked, letting
go of the doorknob. The door closed
behind me.
Mario nodded, but he seemed to notice that his answer offended
me. “That’s a lot!” he said, ready to defend his answer. “Ten percent of the
time is a big chunk of my day.” He looked
in the office cubby holes for new messages or mail, almost nervously. I had
never before seen Mario nervous.
“Really?” I asked, my face reddening. “Because to me, that
seems like…not a lot.”
I left, and he didn’t try to stop me. I made the long drive home, crying big, hot tears that I
couldn’t stop. I knew that Mario didn’t love me like I loved him—the kind of love that makes you want to marry
that person. By the time I picked Vince
up from the babysitter, I was a mess—and this whole thing was breaking my
heart.
***
By the Numbers:
I walked in the door and my Mom told me that Mario had
called, very concerned about me.
“He asked me to give you the message to call him back as
soon as you get home.”
I called him.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Mario said. “I know you’re
upset, but I want to apologize.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved, but still mournful. “I shouldn’t have
done this at work.”
“Yeah,” Mario said, and I could tell he was relieved I said
this. “We have to be professional at work, even if we’re alone.”
“I know.”
“But I’ve been thinking more about your question, and I
realize now that I think about you at least twenty per cent of the time.”
I froze. Was he joking? There was silence on the other end
of the phone.
“Really?”
“Because I was thinking that I sleep about a third of my
life, so that’s thirty-three per cent right there.”
I wasn’t sad anymore; I was angry.
“Mario, listen,” I said.
“I’m going to save you a lot of heartache and grief here. The next girl you date, just tell her you
think about her all of the time. That’s
all you need to say, Okay?”
He sighed. “But that
would be a lie.”
“Just say that. Girls
like hearing that.”
Then, I hung up.
I went to work the next day, accepting that Mario and I were
not meant to be. When I got to work at
8:00, Mario was already there—he wasn’t scheduled to arrive until ten.
“I need to talk to you after you hang the flags,” he said, authoritatively. He stood up straight, looking a little like Chuck
Norris.
“Alright,” I said, casually.
After I hung the flags, I went into his office. He shut the door and asked me to sit down. When I did, he took a manilla file folder and
handed it to me—inside was a pie
graph.
The pie graph was literally drawn in pencil and crayon, since Mario had young boys with their coloring stuff at
his house. He had color-coded the graph
to show how he saw the division of his time.
“When I say I think about you twenty percent of the time,
this is what I mean,” he said. "Do you
see this? That percentage is you and this is how much I think about you and to me that’s a
whole hell of a lot. Here’s where I
sleep, and I don’t consciously think of you, even though sometimes I do dream about you…”
I smiled, which relaxed him.
He pointed to each piece of the pie graph, showing me how logically
minded he was. As he spoke, I wondered
about something: what if Mario was serious?
What if twenty percent of the time is a whole lot? What if I have a logical man who will not lie
to me just to make me feel like the heroine in a romantic comedy? I wasn’t
sure what I was going to say, but I suddenly wondered if this man in front of
me, showing me a crayon pie graph that took a lot of time to think about,
measure, and present to me… what if he really did love me?
That would be the best thing ever.
So, you see, "By the Numbers" is my favorite section because only Mario can make numbers soothe me. This section shows me that even statisticians can learn how to schmooze a woman, after years of living with her.