What Does It Take? 

 
“Dear Elaine,” she writes on another postcard. “I’ve been thinking, thinking. Today. About my ex-husband. You remember him. Right? The tall guy. Always in a hurry. Yeah. That was him. Couldn’t walk with me like a normal person. No. He had to zoom ahead. Always. Like a rocket. On those long legs of his. And I’d have to yell at him. To get his attention. To make him stop. And then. Watch him look surprised. I mean. He never realized I wasn’t there. Invisible. Evidently. That was me. Spent most of my marriage talking to the back of his head. Conversation. Not his thing. While I was talking. To him. Trying. He’d walk away. Said he thought I was finished. Oh, really? Too hyper. Him. To stand still. To listen. Even though he was chatty. Yeah. He was. Constantly. Mumbling. Mostly. Entire conversations. He’d have. With me. When I wasn’t in the room. Important things. Things I needed to know. He’d say to an empty room. I’d hear a mumbling noise. Somewhere in the house. And I’d have to yell at him. To get his attention. To make him stop. Remind him. You know. That I’m not in the same room. Invisible. In our marriage. Evidently. That was me. So here’s the thing. What does it take for a man to stop? To look you in the eye. Listen. Respond. With more than one word. Can men do that? A conversation. Two people. In the same room. Talking to each other. Back and forth. Give and take. Is that possible? For a man. Any man? Tell me. I’d like to know.”