"I need your help." I swear, that's what her email said. It came in last night; I reread it before it disappeared—stolen away by mischievous monitor pixies. Yeah, I have them, don't you? The steal emails before I can read them; they post unbelievable lies on my screen; they send me spam for spawning salmon photo shoots.
"I need your help." That's what MyUnwife said. The screen still agreed. I blinked. The email remained. I forwarded it to a friend "What do these words mean?" He must have been confused; he never replied. Must have thought it was his pixies too. I was shocked, I couldn't move. I haven't moved. I probably should, I need to pee. That's why I'm late with my blog: I haven't moved.
"I need your help." I don't remember the last time she said that. Maybe the last time we played Star Wars? She was Princess Leah, I was one obi clad Obi-Wan searching for a space damsel to subdue.
"Help me Robby-Wan you're my only…." She usually broke into laughter here. That's what I get for marrying an independent woman.
Now I'm divorcing one, or one's divorcing me, either way, she's still independent, and I'm still a knight without a kingdom. I don't begrudge her, her independence was one of her key draws. She was strong and self sufficient, I'd been saving too many lost waifs, she was a welcome change. Her confidence allowed me freedom. I think it also built a distance, but that's all hindsight talking. Hindsight may be 20/20 but it's got no peripheral vision. There is no panorama to give you the scope and scale of that which is clearly behind you.
"I need your help." So what did she need? Well really it was something only I could do: It had to do with some issues surrounding our divorce. If it were a plumbing issue she's have called a plumber, but in our divorce, I'm her goto (or is that "run from") guy. Either way, so long as I can help. It's what I do. She also mentioned some computer problems. I tried o help through email, and she was kind enough to let me. Maybe this is our way of shaking hands after a big match.
"Good game."
"You too."
"Sorry bout the black eye."
"Couldn't be helped. Can I get you ice for your groin?"
"Thanks that'd be swell."
I struggle for her independence, and she lets me feel needed. It's not the best arrangement, but it's working for us. So far, it's a friendly divorce. Damnit! I know how to be friendly, this I'll do! Later this week, she'll come over; she needs my printer. We're even having dinner. It'll be weird. It's been months since we've seen each other. Still, I have hope for us. Not as a couple, but as two independent people moving forward. Two individuals that are too proud to say "I need your help," but are learning ways to communicate it anyway.
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