A Mixed Marriage
Sometimes we wonder how long our love can last — when I use a PC, and Ken uses a Mac. He says, “Command.” I say, “Control.” Neither of us obeys. He sends me documents in Pages; I respond using Word, hoping for the best. I have an Android. Ken holsters an iPhone. When my texts turn green and emojis don’t translate, he pretends not to notice. Yet somehow we share Wi-Fi, printers, passwords — and a life. Perhaps this is what a true marriage is like: different systems, same network and someone with whom you love to troubleshoot and reboot. — Peter Pereira
Not a Mystery to Me
The flowers arrived on a Saturday morning. My husband was in the back room asleep, nearing the end of his battle with cancer. The arrangement was beautiful, but the card was blank — no message nor signature. When our children arrived on Sunday, they saw the bouquet and asked, “Who sent the flowers?” I answered, “Someone who wants me to remember that I am strong and loved.” They responded with a quizzical “hm,” and left it at that, never guessing that I had sent them to myself. — Molly Hill
‘Who Is That?’
I first noticed Dominic during a bomb threat. Our ad agency shared a building with Penguin, which received multiple threats over Salman Rushdie’s “The Satanic Verses” after Ayatollah Khomeini called for Rushdie’s death, sparking worldwide outrage. In short: bomb threat, satanic verses, a call for assassination, worldwide outrage. My reaction: Who is that? This mystery man was a “suit” from the fourth floor. I was a third-floor “creative” in ripped combat pants held together with safety pins. Third and fourth floors didn’t mix. But still. Now, 37 years later, I look out across the yard and notice him. Still. — Pamela Zarrella
She Covered My Ears
At 18, I was admitted to a residential eating disorder treatment facility. When my sense of self and reality were most distorted, my only rational fear was hurting my little sisters — devastated they might believe the same cruel thoughts about themselves that I believed about myself. Three years into recovery, I still worry about what my 11-year-old sister internalizes from the world. Recently, a GLP-1 ad interrupted our movie. She sprang up; whispered, “Close your eyes”; and cupped her hands over my ears. For as much as I try to protect my baby sister, she tries to protect me, too. — Te Maia Wiki
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