I told Marcus once that if he ever were unfaithful to me, I didn’t want to know.
“Don’t come to me with one of your American guilt trips, pouring your heart out over your infidelities to get it off your chest,” I said. And I meant it, too.
Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente, they say. Out of sight, out of mind.
If I don’t know about it, it hasn’t happened. But if I did find out, well. Well, frankly, I didn’t know what I’d do.
I asked him what he’d do if he ever found out I was unfaithful.
“I would put your stuff out on the street and kick you out of the house,” he said calmly.
“You can’t do that!” I laughed. “This is the twentieth century! You don’t kick someone out of the house because they slept with someone else. Anyway, it’s my house, too!”
“I don’t care,” said Marcus. “You’d be out. You broke the vows.”
I couldn’t believe this was my Marcus talking. The man who made love to me in the teacher’s lounge.
“Marcus, that’s unreasonable,” I said, and I was serious now, because I could see he wasn’t joking. “What if you’re the unfaithful one?”
“I would never do that,” he said.
“How can you know that?” I countered.
“I wouldn’t,” he said again.
“But how can you know that?” I insisted.
“Because I made a decision,” he said and took my hand. “I married you. Forever. Because I love you. Because I don’t love anyone else. Because I didn’t love anyone else. And I won’t break this marriage. And I won’t be unfaithful.”
With Marcus there are never ambiguities. He listens, he analyzes, he weighs. But in the end, things are black and white for him; right or wrong.
I’m a waffler. My decisions change with circumstances; plans with me—as my friends well know—are like air. That’s why I love Marcus. My anchor.
My transparent Marcus.
Or maybe not so transparent. If you say something long enough, you come to believe it, even if it isn’t true. And if you believe it, then I guess it becomes true. Maybe that’s all I need—to be a little more like him. I need to believe.