Unspoken words

Beth dragged the bulging bag outside enraged.

You would think after 20 years of marriage her husband would get the hint about his responsibilities around the home. You would think that friendly reminders would do the trick. You would think that circling the days of garbage pick up on the fridge calendar would jog his memory.

Well, think again.

 “He’s just so dense.” Beth muttered to herself when all the recycling and garbage was neatly put to the curb. 

She slammed the front door behind her and stalked into the brightly lit kitchen to fix up supper.  Seeing how badly the pale blue paint on the walls was peeling made her even more furious. Beth had always envisioned their homey bungalows kitchen being renovated when they bought the place, 14 years ago, but George had insisted he was handy enough to deal with it himself. That was 14 years ago and the kitchen looked more or less the same as it did the first day they moved in minus a couple of pipe fixings and appliance upgrades. 

How many times have I suggested we go to Home Depot to pick up some paint? More than I care to count!  She fumed inwardly. 

The clattering of pots and aggressively cutting the vegetables did little to calm her nerves. She heard George predictably coming up the drive way and putting his keys in the door at 6 o’clock sharp. She gritted her teeth as she heard him like clock work leave his shoes and coat askew in the hall way and rustle through the mail she had just organized. When he came into the kitchen her back was towards him as she rummaged through the pantry. 

“Hi. Something smells good.”

His greeting was met with an awkward silence. 

“I closed the deal with Hartman. That was a doozy.” George waited for Beth to praise his achievement or to at least show interest.

All he received was a curt nod as she turned to him with her hands holding the stark white napkins she was searching for. “Oh, nice. Well, supper is ready. I need to get started on the dishes before it gets too late. I have an appointment in the morning. Are you ready to eat?” 

Well, I am hungry-- for a decent compliment!  Is that too much to ask for? George kept the thought inside as he shrugged nonchalantly, “I guess.” 

They sat down at the kitchen nook. Ever since their only son, Steven, left for University Beth had been serving their dinner in the kitchen. Beth preferred it this way, it was much more efficient for clearing and she didn’t have to be reminded of Steven’s absence when she’d set the table. 

They ate in silence as they did most nights. 

I miss having a meal in a normal table setting. I don’t understand why we had to change our seating... And why do I always have to be the one to initiate conversation? I’m sick and tired of having the refrigerators hum and the lightbulb’s buzz as background noise to our chewing. George sighed inwardly as he asked, 

“So, how was your day?”

It was a mess! I had a splitting head ache, was on the phone for hours with the car insurance about the new policy (which you said you would take care of) and don’t get me started on how behind I’ve been on the housework. Oh, did I mention I took care of the garbage for you, again?  Why am I the only one taking care of this house? We both live here! 

Beth wished she could just say it like it was, but instead she replied, “fine. Yourself?” 

George gave a detailed account of how his day at the office went. He kept waiting for Beth to add her own comments into the conversation, but no such luck. At the end of his monologue Beth stood up, “Well, sounds like it was a good day.” And began to clear the table. 

That’s it? You have nothing more to add? Don’t you care about what I just said?  You’re not a mannequin, Beth. Talk to me! George sat there ruminating as his fingers tapped a rapid beat on the worn tabletop.

Beth dumped the dishes into the sudsy water and wiped them with the sponge vigorously. 

Both of them were lost in thought. 

Why won’t he offer to take care of the dishes? I wish we would both be pitching in with the home. 

Why won’t she just sit down and talk to me? I wish we would just spend time together. 

After dinner George went to turn on the T.V to turn on their weekly show. Beth followed behind shortly after with a box of missing socks to be matched. Her hands always had to be busy. George could never understand it. 

“Why don’t you wait till after the show? Socks don’t run away on their own.” He pointed to the neat pile and smiled.

“They also don’t get put into the drawers and matched on their own.” She scowled.  

They both turned back to the screen. 

Beth’s face was sullen as her mind raced with negativity, 

You don’t appreciate how much effort I put into keeping our home in shape. Just because I’m a homemaker doesn’t make my work any less demanding. Sure my day doesn’t involve papers and meeting fancy clients, but that doesn’t mean I don’t work hard!

 “Why do you look all upset?” George inquired as he noticed her expression. 

“Me? Upset? I’m just tired. The show is half way through. I’m too exhausted to watch the rest, I’m going to bed.”  She announced as she got up and threw the box of socks onto the couch. 

George gave an agitated nod and turned back to the screen as he ruminated, 

 Can’t you stop for one second just to fully be in the moment with me? I come home and want to have some private time with my wife. Are we roommates or are we a couple? Sometimes I wonder…

George finished the episode and headed upstairs. They busied themselves with their sleep routines, gave each other a perfunctory kiss that was more out of habit than out of affection and turned off the light. As each of their heads met the soft down pillows they thought simultaneously.

I wish my needs would be heard.