Unexpectedly, Milo - Matthew Dicks [10]
Though the walking initially seemed like an opportunity for them to reconnect, the extended time that the couple spent together circling the neighborhood only served to enhance and expand a rift in their relationship that had probably been opening for longer than Milo had ever suspected. He had sensed this almost immediately and felt the strain that these walks were putting on the marriage, but to quit them would have been impossible. It would have meant admitting that the two of them were incapable of sustaining half an hour of conversation.
Instead, Milo attempted to fill the void between him and Christine with as much conversation as possible, while at the same time Christine seemed intent on perpetuating the silence, exposing the problem like the festering sore that she saw it to be. Milo would ask Christine about her day, and her responses would be short, abrupt, and she would fail to reciprocate with a similar question. Milo would then attempt to summarize his day as best he could, despite the lack of prompting. Christine’s purposeful disinterest became so palpable that Milo began slowing his rate of speech, pretending to search for words or phrases in order to prolong his stories. He began to set goals for himself: I will find a way to keep talking about work at least until we reach the corner of Garfield and East Mill Street, and only then can I mention the plans for Mother’s Day.
This cat-and-mouse game went on for more than four months. Eventually Milo developed additional strategies to combat the situation. He began creating lists of possible conversation topics while at work and would review the list on the way home. When this failed, he told stories about his childhood, seeking out visual reminders in the neighborhood to make the impetus of the stories more feasible.
“Hey, check out that crab apple tree. Did I ever tell you about the rotten apple fights that my cousin and I would get into behind my grandfather’s garage?”
And though the story might go on for three or four solid minutes, Christine’s purposeful lack of interest would eventually cause even these childhood tales to peter out prematurely.
Finally, Milo turned to the neighborhood for inspiration, commenting on the landscaping and overall appearance of homes in the area. It was as if he and Christine were playing chicken, waiting for the other to blink.
When Christine finally did, it wasn’t pretty.
“I’m not sure what my plan with Christine is,” Milo finally said to Edith. “I’ve never been separated before. I guess I’m just waiting to hear what the therapist says. He’s the expert, right?” After a sip of tea, more welcome than usual, and another insistent conflagration (They’re getting real close now, he thought), Milo added, “Do you have any suggestions?”
Though he sincerely desired Edith’s advice, conflagration made it almost impossible to focus on his client. The words were less than twenty seconds apart now, and he felt like his skin was beginning to crawl. Antsy is how his mother might have described the sensation racing through his body, but Milo thought that this word didn’t come close to the degree of restlessness and distraction and genuine pain that he was now feeling. It had begun as a headache, the feeling that his skull was being squeezed in a vise, but now it felt as if acupuncture needles were being inserted into his brain. Before long, his entire body would be drenched in sweat. Beads of perspiration were already forming on his forehead, and he could barely remain still. It took all his mental effort to remain seated in front of Edith, awaiting her response to his question, and even then he wondered how long he could maintain his composure.
Edith smiled. “Listen, Milo, I don’t know how this is going to turn out for you, but I know that you’re young enough to survive