Exhausted in America by Hong-My Basrai (that summer book .txt) 📕

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After the births of their boys five years later, Merry no longer had any illusion about her husband, his love, or her married life. This marriage would never bring her the love she dreamed and her married life was never going to be wonderful. Perhaps her idea about marriage and love was flawed. Perhaps, like Vince said, the wonderful notions about marital relationship had been sold to her by commercial books and advertisement designed to satisfy the wish list of a single woman. False pretenses like cosmetic products and stylish clothing only attracted love equally fake and easily washed off.
All had changed now that she learned first-hand the dirty tricks and multiple faces of marriage. She now knew she was just a fish baited and jerked at the far end of her partner’s pole. From seeking the sweet taste of marriage she had given up her freedom. From adapting herself too swiftly into the role of a wonderful wife, trusting to her mate everything that kept life going forward from finance to driving to planning for the future, she had forever forfeited her independence.
Once a self-driven individual, she realized too late that she had succumbed into the pathetic role of a back-seat passenger bewildered by the fast passing scene outside her window and ignorant of street names and directions. Once a professional full of confidence, she had been reduced to a housebound wife marveling on her husband’s expertise with handling loans, bills, car repair and maintenance and myriads other things out of her grasp.
Slowly she had gotten used to asking him for money for every little purchases, even waited for him to buy what little she needed from groceries to household appliances, from children’s toys to shoes to bigger purchase like mortgages and car loan—for he had a way to hunt for the best deals and blow-out bargain.
Her dependence on him grew with each year and with each additional child. It first grew on what she thought was her husband’s caring. Then the little attentions that during their courtship had flooded Merry with a warm joy became manipulative, controlling tactics bordering on tyranny. Sharing one car, she had abandoned the wheel to Vince entirely. Whenever she had to go places, she waited for him to drive her. This he did uncomplaining until he realized, without him, she was totally helpless. She had not driven a car for so long she was sure she would not know when to shift, how to make a three-point turn, what to do at the roundabouts and, Oh God! Which street was one-way only?
One time, Vince told her, “Since you’re so clever, why don’t you drive yourself to Kim’s party?”
He had promised to go with her before she accepted the invitation of her friend. She begged him, “Please, don’t be mad at me. I didn’t mean to correct your mistake. I meant well.”
He slammed the door after him and mounted the stairs to his room.
That night she slept alone, shivering from the lack of his warmth. She had never gone to bed without him.


She called her friend to be excused. She had got the flu and couldn’t go. “Let Vince come alone. C’est tout à fait d’accord avec nous,” protested Kim.
Merry coughed out a dry smile. She thought, “He didn’t care a hank for you. He did this to make a point with me.” But she said to her friend, “Oh. He sends his apology. He will not leave me alone at home. You know how he is.”
Kim laughed, giving Merry the impression that her friend was not easily fooled. Merry pretended a headache and hung up.
That was the beginning of a worsening deterioration. For each car ride Merry begged and waited, palpitating until the last minute not knowing the turns of his mind.
But one thing remained with her for many more years. Vince, aloof and irritable during the day, cruel when she needed his help, torturous when he decided to assist her, Vince who was moody and withdrawn, who let Laurence cry upstairs until the little girl’s voice grew hoarse while his wife, one hand on her ear and the other holding tight to the mouthpiece trying to listen to a customer describing his symptoms and asking for health advices; Vince who shrugged his shoulders coldly when she bolted upstairs to calm their hysterical daughter until the telephone shrilled again for her and the only option left was to work with the drowsy girl in her arms, was the same Vince who sat gloomily in front of his accounting book, penning numbers and calculating loss and profit.
That same Vince, morbid and complaining during the daytime instead of being capable and helpful, returned night after night for her--tearing, hurting, and seeking with fervor.
She did not imagine love this way. In reality, love was not as noble. Not as that sparkling concept she had when she slept alone. Love did not make her bed warmer or nights less lonely. In fact, what a burden it was for her—a restrainer on her neck, a dull weight around her ankles. It had become even more elusive when it moved on top of her, panting and grunting feverishly.
But because of that, Merry no longer thought she was too repugnant for love. And she was pleased.
The benefit of having love consuming her nightly was that it had devoured all her superfluous layers of fat. Her slacks no longer showed the little pillow in her stomach, her thighs did not scrape onto themselves, and her slender arms floated imperceptibly under the sleeves of her dress. Marriage, then the birth and nurture of three children while working full-time as the only bread winner of her family, like a chisel in the hand of a marvelous sculptor, had reshaped Merry’s body into one of exquisite curvature—round where round should be and tight at the places that mattered most to a woman’s self-image.
The features of the young mother she found each day in the mirror gave her the confidence that her pharmacy diploma did not. It was a good and fair price to pay for love.

(to be continued)

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Publication Date: 06-09-2011

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