Four

I'm buttoning up my white shirt.  Easing up the knot on the black tie.  Now putting on the dark grey suit.  M is watching in her black dress.  The same one she wears every week with a pair of smart black pumps.  She always watches me dress.  Well, always on Sunday. 

We are both lean and reasonably fit.  We walk everywhere and eat at the community center and rarely indulge in any sort of meal away. 

I walk with her to the community center.  This is always the happiest part of any week.  The Sunday morning sun as we hold hands and walk. 

Inside, there are 20 or so people.  Sometimes as many as 30.  All in their best.  Despite dirt and evidence of hard work and hunger, they all look eager.  There are just a few men and one of them has on a tie.  The women all have dresses. 

We have a community meal after service, and that's why many of them keep coming.  It certainly can't be because of my rousing sermons.  I'm typically measured, reserved, and thoughtful.  M loves to see me.  She says it is like a performance. She says she can see my heart when I speak.  She says this is why she said yes.  This is what she saw, had seen that convinced her that if I would but ask, she would agree. 

After lunch, M and I make love.  It is always best on Sunday.  Sometimes, she barely lets me get undressed.  I remain amazed at her.  At her body, her desire after almost 10 years of marriage.  My desire is strong, too.  I want her more than anything.  Want her happiness the most.  It is always twice on Sunday.  After the service and meal and before we go to sleep.  Some weeks, that's all there is.  Twice on Sunday.  But most of the time, we'll find a few moments on a Tuesday or sometime on Friday evening.  Or, I'll come in from a long, hot day of trying to recruit new church members and before she can even serve the meal she's prepared, I'll kiss her so hard she knows.  And then, in the narrow hallways of the row house, against the wall or on the floor, we'll unite.  I'm amazed at how our bodies respond.  How we connect again and again and again.  How sparks seem to fly.  How perfect she feels.

I dream at times of a new way.  A decent-sized home with a yard and some pets or maybe even a child.  A car -- maybe both of us could have cars? Some more dresses and shoes for her.  A new suit for me.  A life that includes a sometimes vacation at a place with sandy beaches.  Or a hike in the mountains. 

But then, the night comes and my body aches with a need for sleep.  And the beep beep beep beep of the alarm hits too early and we go on about our work and I smile and laugh and love this life.  And when I am with her, just sitting bed reading, I want nothing more.  But this one thing:  For this to last forever. 

And then I meet Mark or Carol or Jenna on the street at their usual places and I smile and we talk and they smile.  Sometimes, I take one to eat at Subway and we talk about getting them a place at least at the community center and helping them find work.  Sometimes, they want my help.  M works on applications with them and I make sure they get up and turn them in, make sure they show up to the interview. 

Sometimes, they're just hungry.  But they all have stories and tales and sadness.  Infinite sadness. And we share that, all of us.  The infinite sadness binds us and brings us to a place of understanding, and sometimes of joy. 

This can't last forever, I know.  Or, I think.  Or there has to be more.  Or, really, we can't raise kids like this.  It's just not fair to them.  But now.  Right now, this is forever.  This is the best. This is all I want.