The abridged version

For so many reasons, I am usually intensely private about and fiercely protective of my marriage. From the beginning, people have had a lot to say about us as a couple (most of it not kind), and a lot of rumors have been spread about us over the years. Though there have been a select few who have always loved us for what we are together, for the most part, because of the way people have reacted to us over the years, neither of us has ever really let anyone close enough to know any more than superficial details about our life together. 

Yet, as I start to write what may someday become a book, there are parts of my life that I haven’t shared yet but will have to put on the page. My editor reminds me regularly that there are certain things readers are going to need to know about me as a person and that this relationship is one of the most beautiful, powerful parts of my life.

The idea of sharing any of this—any of him, any of us—at this level, with this amount of depth, is enough to make me consider stopping. When I tell him this, though, he tells me to keep going. 

“Tell them all of it,” he says.  “Let them see it.  Who cares what they say?  They’ve been wrong about us for almost twenty-seven years now, why not show them that? “

“Because I was raised to be a lady,” I say, pretending to clutch my pearls and feigning scandal, “and a lady would never do that.”

“Yeah…about that.  Not sure that whole ‘lady’ thing quite took,” he says.  “You don’t even have pearls to clutch.”

We both laugh.  He pulls me close and kisses my forehead.  He’s right—it didn’t, and I don’t. Fortunately.  Very fortunately.

Though I remain hesitant, because he’s been right so many times before, because our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary is approaching, and because the only people reading this are the ones who are, at least to my knowledge, already on our side, I wrote this piece as a way to continue practicing my tolerance for putting things onto the page that I haven’t before.  Some of the small details have been adjusted—this is the internet, after all, and I do have my limits of what I’m willing to share from a practical perspective. 

Nevertheless, here it is, the abridged version, both in terms of details and sentence structure, of the past almost twenty-seven years of our life together.

It’s a Sunday afternoon in March of my senior year of high school when I finally decide to send an email to a boy my friend has been telling me to write to for five months now.  Apparently, there’s something we both say that makes her think we’ll get along well.  

He writes back.  I write again.  So does he. Two months go by—we’ve written to each other every day.   He comes out to visit—our first date is my senior prom.  He holds my hand, and when I want it back, he gives it to me.  Without question. We kiss, and when I’m hesitant to do any more, he stops.  Without question.  The weekend ends, and he has to go back home.  I bite my lip and start to cry.  He gives me his class ring and tells me we’ll see each other again soon.  I believe him.  Without question. 

He joins the Navy, I go to college.  I write him a letter every day while he’s at boot camp.  Without fail.  When he’s done, we talk every day.  Without fail.  This is the most I’ve ever really spoken.  He’s the only one who’s ever really listened.  We visit when we can—taking busses for days at a time just to see each other for a few hours sometimes. 

He buys a ring.  I say yes.  I’m nineteen, he’s twenty-one.  No one thinks it’ll last. Except us. I’m not the kind of girl he is supposed to end up with—she’s too quiet, she’s a snob, she’s not Christian, his family tells him.  He’s not the kind of boy I am supposed to end up with—he’s enlisted, he’s never going to amount to anything, all you’re going to end up being is a housewife, people tell me.   Is she pregnant they ask him.  Are you pregnant they ask me.  No one seems to really understand what we are together.  Except us. 

He gets orders to Florida. I transfer schools to be with him.  One day, I skip class, and we get married. The band-aids from the blood tests are still on our arms as we promise each other forever.  We are Petty Officer Third Class and Mrs. Ainsley.  No one is happy.  Except us.

We move in together.  He teaches me to cook, and notices there are certain foods that make me sicker than others—no one else ever has before.   I teach him how college works, show him how to write a paper, and help him sign up for classes—no one else ever has before.  

We have almost nothing, so we work—endlessly.  He comes home smelling like jet fuel and hydraulic fluid.  I come home with my hands bleeding from bleach burns.  Some days our schedules are so different we don’t even see each other.  But when we do, we spend most of our time laughing.  At night, when we sleep, we cling to each other in the darkness.

He finishes his training, qualifies as a flight engineer, and makes the next rank. The morning of the ceremony, I pin the gold wings to his uniform in an almost empty room. I get scholarships that cover all my tuition and then some. Pretty soon, we have things like a couch, a washing machine, a bed—and a baby.

He leaves for a six-month deployment only five and a half days after her birth.  I’m alone to deal with the flashbacks of the first time I gave birth.  By the time he gets home, I’m suicidal and beg him to let me die. I tell him they will both be better off without me and that he will get over me soon. He can find someone else, and he and his new wife can raise our daughter—she’s so young she’ll never know the difference, she’ll never miss me.   He will never get over me he says.  He doesn’t want anyone else he assures me.  And she will know—she will miss you he promises.  I’m not sure about any of that, but he’s been right before, so I say I’ll try to hang on for him, for her, for them.

Each night, he holds me down, stopping me from getting up to kill myself. His arm pins me to the mattress, and his knuckles turn white from grasping the edge of the bed to keep me there.  I cry myself to sleep.  I don’t think he sleeps at all. Each morning, we get up, and he flies planes while I finish school. We both take care of our daughter.  In public, we smile like nothing is wrong.  We repeat this for almost a year and at some point during that time, he requests orders to Spain. When the time comes, the movers pack up the little we have, and we both hope the change will help.

I get a job on base, my first real one after school.  The Spanish women in the office love and take care of me in a way I’ve never been loved or taken care of before.  There is something about me, they say.  Sometimes different. Something special. They bring me breakfast and make me coffee. They take me to all the places in town that Americans usually never go. They make me one of theirs.  Between his love and theirs, I start to heal. 

When I’m doing well enough, he asks if he can get out of the Navy and go back to school.  Yes, absolutely, I say—whatever you want, we’ll do.  It will mean I won’t have a job or real health insurance, he says. We’ll make it, I say, I’ll make sure of it.  He’s not sure he’s smart enough to do this.  I know you are, I tell him.  

We leave Spain for school in the States.  He works on his bachelor’s and joins ROTC. I start my PhD and get sick the first semester—too sick for the student health clinic to handle, too sick for the student health insurance to pay for the medicine I need.  He wonders if he should quit and just re-enlist so I can get treatment.  I won’t let him.  We’ll make it, I say.  I’ll make sure of it.  The only medicine we can pay for makes me sick for a few hours every day. I learn to take it at night, so no one hears me throwing up.  In the morning, I smile like nothing is wrong. 

He commissions—he’s the distinguished graduate of his class and has finished not only his bachelor’s but his master’s as well.  See, I told you you could do this, I told you we would make it, I whisper to him as I pin the gold bar to his uniform in front of a room filled with a few people.  We are Ensign and Mrs. Ainsley.  No one thought we would make it this far. Except us.

He leaves for training.  Our daughter and I stay where we are until he gets orders to his first duty station.  We move there and start to settle in.  I am finally able to get medicine that works to make me a little less sick and I can finish my PhD. I start a tenure-track position soon after.  We are Lieutenant Junior Grade and Dr. Ainsley.  No one thought we would make it this far.  Except us.

Soon, it’s time for his next assignment.  Our daughter and I stay where we are—she’s doing well in school, and I’ll be up for tenure soon.  It’s just a few years we say, we’ll find a way back to each other for the next one.  He leaves early one morning, and as I watch him go, I bite my lip and start to cry. 

Ten years go by, and each time he moves, we say the same thing. It’s just a few more years—we’ll find a way back to each other for the next one—but we never do.  Most years, we only see each other once or twice, but when we do, we spend most of our time laughing. At night, when we sleep, we cling to each other in the darkness.

Eventually, the stars align.  I have enough flexibility in my career that our daughter and I can go with him for the next assignment.  We move back in together, and it’s like no time has passed at all.  We eat dinner together every night, we finish raising our daughter together, and we immerse ourselves in the community, doing our best to make a difference for those around us each day.  We are Lieutenant Commander and Dr. Ainsley.  No one thought we would make it this far.  Except us.

He promotes one last time—much to our surprise.  The day of the ceremony the room is filled with more people than we ever could have imagined would show up.   I pin the silver oak leaf on his uniform, knowing that no one else there knows what his knuckles looked like so many years ago as he held me down and kept me alive. He looks at me, knowing that no one else there knows what my hands looked like so many years ago when they were bleeding from bleach burns.  We look at each other and know that there is no I, there is no me, there is only we.

We are Commander and Dr. Ainsley.  No one thought we would make it this far.  Not even us.  Our daughter moves out for graduate school, and we start to settle into life the way it started so long ago—with just the two of us.  We do the best we can to make a difference for those around us each day.  Some days, our schedules are so busy that we barely see each other, but when we do, we spend most of our time laughing.  And at night, when we sleep, we cling to each other in the darkness.