A Matter of a Slight Argument
Peter and I rarely disagreed. We had a very special relationship. We both had left previous marriages that were sadly cantankerous and full of ire. When we met, we both felt that we had found a very special and loving person in one another. We valued each other’s positive traits and we considered ourselves very blessed to have at last found our soulmates. We both realized what we had was very precious and had to be cherished. We did practically everything together and enjoyed each other’s company. One day, however, we had a little disagreement. I think it had something to do with my fussing over him and insisting on his eating the salmon that I had made for dinner. Peter had high cholesterol and had a problem with his heart. Because of that, he had a special diet filled with fatty fish, walnuts, porridge, bananas… Whatever the doctors told me, I followed. I watched him like a hawk. I tried so very hard to keep his diet healthy and him safe. On that particular day I served him grilled salmon marinated with ginger, honey, garlic and wine. “I do not like salmon!” he exclaimed crossly. “You know that.” I must have prepared salmon twice that week. “It’s really good darling. Try it. It’s good for you.” He must have had a bad day at court. “You are my wife, not my mother! Don’t tell me what to do!” Now it was my turn to have a mini tantrum. I decided to give him the cold treatment. I turned my back and walked out of the room. I did not prepare any meals the next day. I was aloof and overly polite; I spoke to him as if I was speaking to a total stranger. Peter had already regretted his outburst, but I was smarting. That afternoon I purposely went to visit my cousin, without telling him where I was going. Usually we would call each other during the day. That day we didn’t. I stayed at my cousin longer than I had intended. Suddenly I noticed the skies were getting dark and ominous. It was time to go home. I had never had a good sense of direction, but to my credit, when I got lost, I would discover an interesting place to visit afterwards. That was not the case that day. It began raining very hard. I missed a turn. I tried to correct myself and got even more lost. The rain was rushing down in sheets. Claps of thunder drowned the sound of the rushing rain! The skies lit up with bolts of angry lightning. The streets became unfamiliar to me. By now I had been driving around for close to an hour. The homes where I was, were not well maintained; I could even say ill-kept looking. I began to feel uncomfortable. My heart was hammering against my chest violently from fear; my breath was coming out in little gasps. I was completely lost in an unfamiliar seedy-looking neighborhood! I finally decided to swallow my pride. I would eat humble pie. I would call Peter. With panic in my voice and perhaps a little sob, I dialed his number. “Where are you, Stella?” he asked, with relief in his voice. “I don’t know! I am lost.” “Give me a street name,” he said. I peered through the dark night filled with pouring rain. It was impossible to see anything. I got out of the car and walked closer to a street sign. I quickly ran back to the car before I got too sopping wet. I told him the name of the street and the cross street. He was the opposite of me when it came to directions. He had the most acute sense of it. He knew his way around the Tri-State area as if he was a taxi driver. You could toss him into the middle of the ocean and he would find his way back home. “No problem,” he said. I put the phone on the seat beside me. His gentle, sweet voice patiently led me back home. I was no longer agitated. As I reached home, it was still pouring. The skies were still putting on a grand show with the thunderbolts and the lightning. There was my Peter standing in the middle of the street, in this deluge, soaking wet; upon his face was the hugest smile. He walked to the car. We hugged each other tightly as we walked up the walk and into the house arm in arm. So he did not want salmon, serve him cod fish. So he eats chocolate chip cookies on the sly, let him be happy. What does it all matter in the end? We had a sweet life together, and that is all that counts.