10 - 14 Temperance

“I can’t do this anymore.” My girlfriend tells me. “I just can’t do this!” Her shoulders sag. Her eyes are squeezed shut. She isn’t quite screaming yet. She’s always had good control of herself like that. She’s never yelled this loud though. Not when she was angry. She’s laughed this loud. She’s laughed much louder. I miss it.

We used to argue all the time. We argued like a cute old married couple though. It was part of our charm. Even as we argued, we’d laugh at each other and smile. We’d gracefully accept when we were wrong and laugh at ourselves for the whole argument. Lately, we’ve been fighting like cats and dogs.

Every little thing sets us off. A window being left open. A few dishes in the sink. Things being left out. Things being moved. I haven’t been this angry since my mother and my brother. I know myself well enough to know the feeling, the anger roiling around in my chest.

Back then, I did the easiest thing I could do. I left. I couldn’t stand being in such a toxic relationship. I needed my freedom. It’s one of the two happiest decisions of my life. The other is standing in front of me. Cheeks flushed red. Huffing angrily at me. I feel it inside myself too: the anger. I want to scream too. I want to agree with her, tell her I can’t do it anymore either. The things we want, the things we need, are just too different. We could never make it work. We could never find a middle ground. It’s the same realization I came to with my mother and my brother. I can feel the words on my tongue. I can imagine them leaving my mouth.

But they don’t. Because this isn’t a relationship I want to run away from. For once, I have a relationship I truly want to fight for.

I take a deep breath. And smile. It’s a genuine one. A warm, kind, gentle smile. I see the look of anger on her face contorting into one of confusion. If this were some fairy tale story, she would break out into a smile too and we would live happily ever after. But it isn’t. This is real. And I need to find the right words. I need to find the words we both need to hear.

“I think you’re mad about that. And that’s fair. That was dumb and careless. But I think you’re also like me. We’ve both been through some of the worst relationships life can throw at us. We know what it’s like to be in toxic relationships and we know what it’s like to be alone. We know it’s easier and we know it can be better.”

“I think somewhere deep down, we’ve also both been afraid of something. Afraid it wasn’t their fault. Afraid there was nothing wrong with them. Afraid it was something wrong with us. Afraid we were the toxin.”

“I need you to know something. It’s because of you I was finally able to understand, to know it wasn’t me. You gave me that confidence. I’m not just a better man because of you. I’m someone who knows I’m not broken. I’m not poison. I need you to know: you aren’t either.”

At some point, I’d walked over to her. Put my hand on her shoulder. The anger in her eyes was still there. Still glinting faintly, an ember you can’t quite put out. But there’s something else too. Something much stronger. Fear. It’s acknowledgment and the desire to overcome it. She’s holding one elbow in her hands, she couldn’t quite look me in the eye as I was talking but she does now.

There’s a smile on her lips. It’s a genuine one. A warm, kind, gentle smile.

“Well then, what are we going to do about the state of this place?”

I can’t make out his face. Or his body. Or anything about him that would let me know it’s him. Is the girlfriend his daughter, now all grown up with a boyfriend of her own? Is this someone new altogether? Or is it from a time before they were married.

“Does it matter?” The Fool asks, frowning.

“No. I just want to know.” I complain. I feel like a child.

“Sometimes, a little mystery keeps the story alive.”

“I can’t do this anymore.” My daughter tells me. “I just can’t!” She stomps her feet on the ground. She stares at my angrily. She isn’t quite screaming but she’s raised her voice. “Why do we always have to clean the pots and pans right after we use them?! Why can’t we eat first? Why can’t we clean them with the dishes?! This is so dumb!” She has one of the pans in question in her hand. She raises it to the air, ready to throw it to the ground. She hesitates. Then sets it angrily down on the counter.

She has her anger. She’s learned when to let it out and when to reign it in. I can’t help but feel a swell of pride knowing she learned it from us. I wait for a bit. I make sure she’s done huffing and puffing. She has a right to her anger. To any emotions she feels. Something else we taught her. Now comes the hard part. The part that requires an adult.

“Are you calm enough to talk about it or do we need to set a different time?” She huffs. Takes a few breaths. Washes her hand. She’s visibly calmed herself down. Her breathing’s slower. Her face isn’t as angry. Her hands aren’t trembling.

“We can talk now.” It’s still there of course. The anger. But it’s been reigned in. We walk into the living room. Take a more comfortable seat across from each other on the couch. We look at each other when I start talking.

“We told you when you were a lot younger why we cleaned everything right after we used it. You were so young you might not have understood what we really meant back then.” I smile at the memories of her. “Let’s make sure we’re on the same page first. Why don’t you tell me why we do it?” I ask her. I’m careful with my words. With my tone. Something I learned from him. If our daughter is anything like me, she can pick up on the smallest things. From those things, she can learn things about the person they don’t even know.

“You do it so it’s clean and ready for whoever is going to use it next. Which is fine, but it would still be ready if we just did it after we ate or with the dishes!” She counters. She’s getting angry again. I nod with her in agreement.

“And we’ll talk about that in a little bit. I want to focus on the reason right now okay?” I mean it. We will talk about a solution later but she still needs to understand why we do it this way. She’s got part of it but not all of it.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms and looks off into the wall.

“You’re partially right. It’s so it’s clean and ready for whoever uses it next. There’s a couple of other reasons why. Your dad has had to live in pretty horrible conditions where things were left uncleaned for weeks and things were literally growing in the pots. So—”

“I’m not going to leave it for weeks!” She screams. I nod in understanding. I let her anger lash out at me. Then paint an understanding smile on my face. He pissed me off about it before too.

“I know. He knows too. I just want you to know why he, and by extension, me, are so sensitive about it. Give you a little context. Okay?”

“Fine. Whatever mom.” She crosses her arms again. Looks off into the wall.

“The other reason, and probably the most important one, has to do with responsibility.” I can see her chest starting to rise and fall quicker. She must feel like I’m accusing her. I wait for a few seconds. I let her find her calm again. “Your dad and I have always been super proud of you in that regard. We still are by the way. Again, just wanting you to know the reasons. Fair?” It was more of a question then I meant but I’m glad I asked it.

“Yeah, mom. I get it.” She sighs. It isn’t the angry huff from before. It’s a sigh of: I’m not quite happy, but I understand. It makes my smile beam with pride. She grew up amazing.

“Cleaning up right after you cooked was sort of an all-encompassing idea of cleaning the kitchen after you finished cooking. It was the—”

“Leave things in a better condition than you found them. I remember mom.” She sighs exasperatedly. I’m glad she remembers. Glad she internalized the belief. Though I wish she would say it a little better. Can’t win them all I suppose.

“Exactly. It makes happy you remember that by the way.” I see the ghost of a smile tug at her lips. She’s just like we were when we were her age. I wait for a few seconds. Let it sink into her. Let her slip her mask of anger and apathy back on. “The person who makes the mess is responsible for cleaning the mess. Your father also just believes the hot metal helps you clean it.” I add hastily.

“I get it mom. I do. I just think it’s silly and dumb we have to clean it up right after. Especially when we’re cooking for the whole family. Who else is going to use the kitchen? We’re all eating!” She’s shifted from anger to outrage. It’s a pleasant change.

“Okay. I think you’re right but before we get too far. Well, I think you know what I’m gonna ask.” She sighs knowingly. As much as I wish she would say it with a smile on her face, I know that’s not likely to happen.

“You want to make sure we’re on the same page. The reason you and dad make me do something dumb like cleaning the pots every time after I use them is so they’re clean and ready to use for the next person. It’s also so the person who made the mess cleans up the mess. And dad is right. The heat helps clean the pots and pans. It also ruins the anti-stick coating and burns my hands. Am I right?” I can’t help but laugh at the last comment. A smile cracks onto her face just long enough for me to see it.

“You’re right. You’re right. And I agree with you on the heat thing by the way. So, let’s talk solutions. You know why your dad and I want you to do it now. What can we do differently?”

“Wash the dishes after we eat.” I saw that one coming. She says it like the most obvious thing in the world and really, at this point, it is. But I can’t give in that easily.

“Well, you said, and I agree, that works when we’re all eating as a family. What about when we aren’t eating as a family?”

“Same thing! It’s not like it takes that long for you to eat!”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, it takes us a while to eat and we just don’t realize it. We still need to think of something for those times. You get distracted by your friends, tv, games.” She rolls her eyes, but she nods her head. She might not like it but she does understand what I mean. “How about this: when we eat as a family, we wash pots and pans after we eat. If you make food on your own though, you clean everything up before you eat.” She turns it over in her mind. She nods every now and again. Eventually, she sighs.

“Okay. I guess I’ll go wash those dishes now.”