Silencing Rob 

“You’re speechless?” That’s the Pirate Queen.  She thinks I’m lying.  I’m not. I’m speechless; how can I lie?

People who know me know that I enjoy talking.  Right now MyEx is flipping through the dictionary looking up “understatement.”  Yeah, I have a few other words she can look up too…

“That Rob, he’s a talker.”

No I’m not. I’m a blogger, not a talker.  I do enjoy conversation though.  I grew up an only child in a large family.  Oh sure I have sisters, but by the time their pictures turned into talkies, it was too late. I was already too old to appreciate it. 

When I was a kid, I was alone, except at family gatherings. Gatherings were big when I was a kid. These were Dennis Loren postered, Grandma’s house venued social events, drawing in family from all over.   I learned early, that at family gatherings, I wasn’t the only one who wanted to talk.  Family gathering’s evolved in volume. They were survival of the loudest.  Topical relevance was for vocal amateurs.

That’s how I grew up a competitive communicator. So long as I have something to say that’ll top the last thing said, I’ll take the table ready to eat and compete.  My dad takes a book.  Verbal competitions were never his thing. Give the man a conversation, he’ll eat for a day, hand the man a book, feed him for life.

He tried to teach me his peaceful ways, but I was too young, too belligerent. I was the table warrior, hopping on the tableau, steak knife and a meat fork primed and tined, “Nobody touch the turkey until I tell you about the bathroom at the library!”

That’s where I learned to weave conversations over and under the white noise of others voices. Grandma’s house was a training ground for the guerilla dialogist. When you could create a coup d’état on a tête-à-tête it was time for you to leave.

That’s why when the Pirate Queen says, “you’re speechless?”  It seems like a big deal.  It’s not.  It happens at the appropriate moments.

“I’m pregnant.”  Yeah, that’ll do it, but that’s not what she’d said.

Coming from a large extended family. I’m used to shock and awe conversation techniques. Silencing the din by dropping a bomb is almost a cliché.   Pirate Queen knows this.  She comes from a larger family too. We’ve compared war stories.

A large family.  I like that about my favorite pirate.  I don’t know why but I love the close community of family.  I’m not close with mine.  Oh, I mean I love my parents and my sisters and I would do anything for them, but I’m a settled SoCal guy and they’re scattered.  I don’t get to see them more than once a year at best. 

I miss the family fellowship of my youth.  Once, when I was younger, I fell for a girl because of her family. Oh, she was nice, but her family was great.  Her mom was the ever-vigilant cookie mom, and her sisters were friendly and witty.  Her dad was a man’s man, but not too manly. He liked to talk about cool things other than sports and cars.  He was quick with a beer and a joke. 

I want to tell you all about the girl, but I don’t remember anything but her family.  They were great.  Unfortunately when She and I broke up, her family went with her.  I tried keeping touch, but the cookie plate came back empty, and there was no more beer in the fridge for Rob.

They say when you divorce; you don’t divorce your in-laws. I suppose that’s true, but I don’t really know mine.  I met MyEx’s dad once, and if he offered me a beer, it was from my fridge.

“Yeah, sure I’ll have one thanks.”

“Great, while you’re up getting one, bring me one too, Rob.”

That was MyEx’s family dynamic.  She had a mom and a sister, but I never met them. They made my family seem like the Cleavers.  And no, I wasn’t the Beaver. Thanks for asking.

I don’t know, I’ve always liked the family dynamic: the feeling of inclusion, of being part of something special.  I guess that’s what I liked about marriage itself.  Besides all the things I loved about MyEx--the things that made her special—I loved being part of a family.  For us it was a family of two, but “where two or more are gathered…” It was enough.

Towards the end though, we both took that for granted. Our inclusion turned to isolation, and we built walls because that’s what we knew. That’s what we did, until the only thing that made us special was how alone we were while remaining together.  All the family in the world could never have saved us from that. It was something we needed to work out for ourselves. 

And we did—in our own special way.

“I’ll take the table, you can have the entertainment center.”

“Fine, but I get the car…”

So for the past 2 years I’ve rebuilt myself and re-established my family. It’s nothing special, it’s just Persephone and I, but we do all right.  This is where the pirate queen sails in sharing her treasures from foreign shores.  She brings tales of dueling dialogue and limitless family. 

She regales. She listens. She sparkles against the trinkets laid before her.  Then one moonless night she tells me I’m special.

Now I’m speechless.