She smoothed down the sides of her loose, grey lace dress, aware that she looked just a bit older, a little fussy, somewhat frumpy in the roomful of other people her age, who were wearing brighter colors, shorter tighter dresses, jewelry, like vivid bursts of life as they laughed and chatted. She had always been praised for her quiet modesty and self effacing manner, and those had become second nature, to be the pliant, agreeable, compromising one in the group. That was what she was known for, such a helpful, pleasant woman, never gossiping or contentious.

Her eyes roamed restlessly till she spotted her husband, sprawled on the sofa with the other men, loudly discussing some thing, his face bright with amusement yet intense in his desire to win the argument. So completely her opposite, he was passionate about everything, uncaring about who he offended or scandalized. He was not an easy person to know, and people would often shake their heads and ask her how she tolerated such a firebrand in the house!!! They thought she was a saint for putting up with him, she must have real patience and poor thing, he must just walk all over her!!! He too often repeated how lucky he was to have her, so caring and tolerant.

She would laugh self deprecatingly and murmur that he was very special to her, his excited animation was fun. And no one ever believed her, praising her for her forbearance. No one even suspected the consuming fervor with which she needed to possess him. Deep beneath the placid calm manner, there was a steady watchfulness, monitoring him constantly for any possibility of unrest. That was her darkest fear, that one day he would realize she just wasn’t exciting, and walk away, leaving her alone in her beige and brown life. She had no doubts their friends would forget her, they might remember her once in a while and invite her, but he was the one people loved or hated. When she had first met him, he had been on the rebound from a fiery relationship, and her calm, accepting arms soothed his rasped feelings. But she knew it wouldn’t last and so she had desperately cast around for a solution. “Accidentally” getting pregnant wasn’t the most ethical way to get married, but she soothed her conscience with the knowledge she would manage his life far better than he ever could.

And she had!! She worked tirelessly to make sure he had no unexpected surprises, instead his life followed the most predictable secure path she could craft. She would gently, insistently work on his weaker moments, when he would get bored or impatient, steering him away from his impulses, keeping him from flying too far, even inventing tiny crisis to nudge him back on the ideal path. She had made sure he had everything she knew would make anyone happy, a home, a family, stability. Not that he really appreciated the effort she went to, instead finding new things about which to complain. There were days, she was exhausted with the work of smoothing his path, keeping him occupied, creating problems only he could solve, about the house, or garden, or kids. Some days she hated him for making her toil that way, carelessly unaware of how much she needed him. But then she looked ahead at life without him, and shuddered, and got back to work making sure he stayed with her.

She was extremely, consumingly passionate about that.

©alka