In your early middle years you cherished hopes for your children and disdain for your spouse. But by the time you neared 60, you’d gone beyond disappointed with your kids and you began to view your husband with favor.

It’s true. You’d gotten so tired of his jokes and stories that they almost seemed new again. You had to admit that he didn’t look as bad as many other husbands. At least he had the sense to buzz off his thinning hair. At least he still had an ass.

You don’t want to win by default, but it’s starting to look like you two will go the distance and maybe even appreciate one another. Who’d have thought?

Authority? POV? No problem. The speaker is an oddball. In terms of reasoning and confidence, I became an adult before I was 6. I have no affect. Ads and symbols don’t work on me. I don’t detect or react to attitude, so I rarely encounter it. I approach every mammal with respect and I haven’t yet been bitten.

As far back as you can remember you’ve been looking at the other kids and trying to assess who’s happier, and why. Your first recollection of a peer crowd was from kindergarten; even now you can summon that sense of children who weren’t your siblings or cousins or neighbors, sitting next to you on either side and behind you too, children in class with synchronized movements fingerpainting, sipping juice, resting, looking around at one another. You remember being aware of them and puzzling if they were happier than you, more or less frustrated than you with the teacher commands. You wondered then if they were really as excited and compliant as they seemed or if it was an act, and I wonder if you still wonder.

What were they seeking? Did they achieve it?

Your husband is a good soul, even if he isn’t strong. Or pretty. It’s too bad the way men get to smell as they age. It’s unfortunate how most seem to give up and let the chest waste. Sure that’s all physical but then we do have to go there. We’re going to have to mention sex.

Maybe a mention is all it deserves. For all the talk there never was that much of it.

Sure I remember it. I learned the pleasure my body could provide before I was 5. My mother caught me at it, but she doesn’t recall that. I taught my friends but I don’t know if that’s how they remember it. I talked about sex to anyone who would respond, so I knew early that everyone was insecure, and I knew always that folks enjoyed the anticipation and recollection more than the act.

So you’re turning back to love him. It feels like you’ve done what you signed on for – you stayed married no matter what – and now you can reap benefits. Now you will have that companionship. But in fact you’ve been reaping all along. You know how much you traded in order to have the silent cultural approval… Don’t argue! Listen… Every time you two went anywhere, you know what was assumed: that you were a proper heterosexual couple; that you were a natural woman, like other women, and he was an understandable male.

But he smells bad in the morning. He takes up most of the bed. He snores. He’s comfortable with you, which you treasured when you two were new, but now it means you see his hatefulness. Though he’s a good soul.

Really.

And that’s never enough.

Everyone you know has a good soul. Your kids have great souls, and look how disappointed you are in them. And it’s not like I didn’t warn you…

But then, I only warned because I knew you would disregard me. Back when I was in high school I emerged as everyone’s advisor; then my counsel was earnest and willful. Then I expected to be influential. And then I would have felt responsible if my advice had been followed and unsuccessful. So now I am comforted to know my words won’t be effective. Now I can safely speak.

Sure: you did everything that was recommended. Those family vacations covered all the national parks, and the college tours visited most of the name campuses. I should have known what was coming when you joined a church; that’s something no one would have predicted who knew you in college.

I should have known what was coming, but I’ll admit I was shocked. Shock means bad surprise, but still – like all surprise it’s rare, and so a little special, a little cherished. You shocked me every time you subordinated your will or opinion to Ned’s. I knew that was an approved method of achieving the compromise so crucial for a long marriage, but I just couldn’t figure out how you did it. How could you watch him scamming insurance companies and not despise him? Or maybe you did despise – maybe that’s the reason you sometimes filtered information for him; I always thought it wasn’t the act of a friend to withhold news about what might be a better job or weekend. Then again, I’m kind of a idiot-child about the meannesses of adult relationships.

I remember being astounded (that’s more positive than shocked) when you observed how much happier my children are – able to leap tall stories and stronger than an automaton – even though (in your actual words) they are products of divorce, whereas you and Ned stayed together. As if one- or two-parent homes were the actual issue! I looked at you then, to see if there was irony in your grin. No.

I tried everything I could to get you to remember. I reminded you of our young selves and you scoffed affectionately about my memory. I urged you to reread the notes and letters I’d kept in the old footlocker, and you steadfastly refused. WTF? The only reason not to read your old words is from fear of embarrassment, and child-me still doesn’t get how anyone would let that stand in their way. So I watched you romanticize your kids’ infancies and early childhoods and then fear them when they hit adolescence. Borrowing money to plant a lawn for them to play on, when we all played very well on dirt and gravel and in fact awoke maternal wrath when we came home with grass stains on our knees. Suspecting your teenagers of activities totally inconsistent with their personalities or your experience…

I have to tell you something. Jen called me the night before last. She wanted to know if she and her boyfriend could spend the night at my place this Friday. She said something funny had happened. She’s pregnant. She said that wasn’t the funny part: no. What’s “funny” is she’s way farther along than she thought. The local services won’t help her terminate it. And she’s decided that termination is the only way to go. So she has to come here. She’s wondering if she can crash at my place. She’s wondering if she can bring her dog.

I was beyond shocked. It was like hearing instead of seeing a “How Many Things Can You Find Wrong With This Picture.” What a cascade of bad choices! And every indication of zero enlightenment.

I started to ask about you. I think I pronounced “What does you mother – ” before she screeched “Don’t tell her! You can’t tell mom. She’ll just hold it against me.” I’m thinking huh? Hold it against her? Jen’s almost 30 …

You’re scowling. You’re aiming your disapproval face wherever your eyes peer and now directly toward me. You say it’s Jen’s life and her decision to make. It’s clear that you are not going to speak to her about this. “Stop being judgmental,” you state. “You’re being judgmental.” Uh huh. Like a judge. Or a teacher. Or a parent. And even as you say that, I know you’re not going to tell Ned.