Love and Life

He was young – not that young to be impressionable, but still exceedingly susceptible to matters of the heart. She was older definitely, but the number of years did not matter, it never matters in these cases. She had a laughter that would tickle your funny bone and your heart equally. She was sweet, kind, and had a dazzling vitality that made her ageless. Was he smitten? There sure were signs of it. Did she reciprocate? Not at first, but all that attention must have surely rubbed off at least some of the prudery that she must have felt.

They worked together. They sat side by side. Although the work was demanding enough to keep them busy through the day, there must have been a silent tension, a closeted anticipation that built up an aura between them, around them. Those who were intuitive enough could feel the vaguest of a tingle on their skin. But there were not many intuitive ones out there. Working in shifts, with an eye on the clock and frantic fingers on the keyboard, we just barely existed. For most of us, life just was, it had no potency to become.

Time moved on. Some of us quit. Some of us stayed. Some of us got married, became pregnant, got divorced. Some of us relocated. The pregnant ones delivered. There were maternity leaves, baby showers, wedding receptions, wedding anniversaries, coffee evenings, hackneyed stories, more work. Did their love bloom? Had there ever been a spark? We were busy honeymooning and changing diapers to notice.

There was a marriage proposal for her. She told us in a whisper when we had all gathered together. “Good for you.” We, the smug married, were proud of her. She was becoming one of us, she was conforming to undefined rules of correctness. But, she did not want to marry the man, she stated quite vehemently. He was too old, too mature. He was not interesting. We were grossly offended. Those were all part of the game called life. We tried to make her understand. But there was a dreaminess to her stubbornness that made us suspicious. Was there somebody else?

Yes, of course there was.

That was okay. We were all broadminded enough to accept that. Was he somebody we knew? Yes. With cold deliberateness, we wheedled out his name from her and then gasped at the apparent outrageousness of it. He was too young, we argued. She was too old, we claimed. We didn’t care whether we hurt her sensibility. It should never happen. She would be unhappy the rest of her life. We poked, we prodded. We raved, we ranted. We wove ethics. We wore morals. We planted a seed of confusion in her mind, a tiny kernel of self-doubt, of drab responsibility. We just could not let love be.

Later, we spun our web of practicality around him too. Labeled him callow, innocent, idealistic. We convinced him to grow up, to give up. Or so we thought.

Time moved on yet again. All of us changed jobs, had more children, became older and triter. We heard they parted. We heaved private sighs of relief. Things were as they should be.

Or were they? A new rumor has it that they never did part. In some secret world of their own, they still love each other. Love works in mysterious ways.

Or maybe they did part. Perhaps, they did not love enough. When will love be enough? When it escapes practicality and jealously-guarded narrow-mindedness?

We smugly turn our heads and finally mind our own businesses.