informed a new history between us â a history that became instrumental, one way or the other, in every future negotiation.
The first of these post-marital betrayals was magnified by the element of surprise and, in hindsight, fuelled by the underlying, unspoken argument of control. Despite the phone calls and trips to see Marcus, I discovered that when it came to him I was experiencing a severe lack of power. There was no getting away from a certain reality: one parent suffers when the other has the child living with them. Knowing a childâs day-to-day routine, their school programs, concerts, extra activities and general struggles is parenting and when one parent is deprived of that it translates into grief and estrangement.
I could have done more to push against this: been more chummy, for example, or entered into longer and friendlier discourses with Dave. But it wasnât just that I chose not to; I found I was having difficulty sustaining any conversation, let alone long ones, despite this being what Dave seemed to want. The problem was that whenever I tried, he would become tediously circular, talking in platitudes. I simply didnât have the energy or the fortitude to engage. Instead, I led myself down a path of withdrawal rather than be the recipient of a spool of unnecessary chatter. Any reasonable relationship was dying through an over supply of gratuitousness. He still acted as head of the family, even though there wasnât any family. Renny had another label for it: passive aggression. I couldnât fully come at that, however. Despite everything, I didnât want to think Iâd been married to a dud.
To try to make up for some of this and to give Marcus an experience he wouldnât forget, I decided to take him on a trip and, since I wanted it to be special, I made a list of destinations. Fiji, where children were loved, New Zealand, more expensive and perhaps not so much fun for a kid, or Bali â a Bali that was a cinch after other long trips to far stranger lands, trips Iâd shared with Dave. Yes, Bali seemed like the go. A week only, I said to myself, to explore the island. A hut on the beach, away from Kuta and the throng of tourists. I made plans, picked up passport acquisition forms and spoke to Dave on the phone, his normal pressed-surprise echoing into the receiver. âOh, okay, I guess it would be cheap.â (Was he thinking of me?) There was nothing that I took to be negative. Nothing I thought he objected to.
âJust need you to sign the passport forms. Iâll put them in the mail, pick them up next week when Iâm down.â
Renny and I, having had Marcus for the weekend, dropped him off at school and drove to Daveâs. I know, by then, we must have worked hard to get things patched up after the kissing debacle and other disagreements because Renny came with me and we were all being very civil to one another. Dave showed us through the house heâd just bought, was half pulling down, going to begin renovations on.
I remember actually feeling light, literally, because the three of us were behaving the way adults should; we were speaking, even complimenting one another. After fifteen minutes or so we wandered back up the driveway towards the road.
âOh, the form?â I said.
âGeez, nearly forgot.â
Dave turned and, whistling People Are Strange by The Doors, he sauntered off towards the house.
Renny and I bowed our heads. I swung my foot across the pavement in a self-conscious movement, wanting and, at the same moment, not wanting to know what she thought. When she raised her eyebrows at me and smiled, I knew she wasnât thinking much, which was also a promising sign to me.
Dave came out waving the form good-heartedly.
We made friendly, relieved goodbyes and hopped into our car to head back to Melbourne.
âFor a minute,â I said, âI thought he wasnât going to have it done.â
âYou should check,
The first of these post-marital betrayals was magnified by the element of surprise and, in hindsight, fuelled by the underlying, unspoken argument of control. Despite the phone calls and trips to see Marcus, I discovered that when it came to him I was experiencing a severe lack of power. There was no getting away from a certain reality: one parent suffers when the other has the child living with them. Knowing a childâs day-to-day routine, their school programs, concerts, extra activities and general struggles is parenting and when one parent is deprived of that it translates into grief and estrangement.
I could have done more to push against this: been more chummy, for example, or entered into longer and friendlier discourses with Dave. But it wasnât just that I chose not to; I found I was having difficulty sustaining any conversation, let alone long ones, despite this being what Dave seemed to want. The problem was that whenever I tried, he would become tediously circular, talking in platitudes. I simply didnât have the energy or the fortitude to engage. Instead, I led myself down a path of withdrawal rather than be the recipient of a spool of unnecessary chatter. Any reasonable relationship was dying through an over supply of gratuitousness. He still acted as head of the family, even though there wasnât any family. Renny had another label for it: passive aggression. I couldnât fully come at that, however. Despite everything, I didnât want to think Iâd been married to a dud.
To try to make up for some of this and to give Marcus an experience he wouldnât forget, I decided to take him on a trip and, since I wanted it to be special, I made a list of destinations. Fiji, where children were loved, New Zealand, more expensive and perhaps not so much fun for a kid, or Bali â a Bali that was a cinch after other long trips to far stranger lands, trips Iâd shared with Dave. Yes, Bali seemed like the go. A week only, I said to myself, to explore the island. A hut on the beach, away from Kuta and the throng of tourists. I made plans, picked up passport acquisition forms and spoke to Dave on the phone, his normal pressed-surprise echoing into the receiver. âOh, okay, I guess it would be cheap.â (Was he thinking of me?) There was nothing that I took to be negative. Nothing I thought he objected to.
âJust need you to sign the passport forms. Iâll put them in the mail, pick them up next week when Iâm down.â
Renny and I, having had Marcus for the weekend, dropped him off at school and drove to Daveâs. I know, by then, we must have worked hard to get things patched up after the kissing debacle and other disagreements because Renny came with me and we were all being very civil to one another. Dave showed us through the house heâd just bought, was half pulling down, going to begin renovations on.
I remember actually feeling light, literally, because the three of us were behaving the way adults should; we were speaking, even complimenting one another. After fifteen minutes or so we wandered back up the driveway towards the road.
âOh, the form?â I said.
âGeez, nearly forgot.â
Dave turned and, whistling People Are Strange by The Doors, he sauntered off towards the house.
Renny and I bowed our heads. I swung my foot across the pavement in a self-conscious movement, wanting and, at the same moment, not wanting to know what she thought. When she raised her eyebrows at me and smiled, I knew she wasnât thinking much, which was also a promising sign to me.
Dave came out waving the form good-heartedly.
We made friendly, relieved goodbyes and hopped into our car to head back to Melbourne.
âFor a minute,â I said, âI thought he wasnât going to have it done.â
âYou should check,
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