The Shuttle

The elderly couple climbed the steps into the airport long term parking shuttle with some difficulty, There bags were placed in the shelves by the driver and they sat opposite each other and slightly offset. Her first comment was delivered with a shot of venom “Did you get all of the bags?” “Are you sure?” They counted the bags, there were only two, one for each of them. “How about your backpack?” It was between his legs. He nodded in response to each question or interrogation. He looked haggard, his head hanging, beaten up and it was just past six in the morning. He was destined for a long long day. They had been married for 47 years – that’s a guess, but it takes years to ingrain conversation patterns this deeply. She was dressed a little like an eastern European peasant but slightly upscale. Sensible shoes, leggings and wool socks with a skirt over, and several layers of sweaters and coats – a funny hat like a workers, with a small bill and flat cloth top. “Did you bring a hat?” His response was indecipherable, but I sensed anger or animosity, perhaps it was humiliation or resignation, and the draining of any last semblance of testosterone. I sensed that she was convinced she was doing her job, playing out her roles as they had defined over the years. Had he ever forgotten a bag? I could be wrong, perhaps he was a perpetual screw-up who needed constant care and feeding – but I doubt it. But it didn’t matter, her role was the sweeper, the fixer, the preventer, the guide, the backup, perhaps the one who expected to get the blame for whatever went wrong. So make sure that nothing goes wrong. She had played this role with the children, grown and gone now. Perhaps they were traveling to spend some time with the grandchildren. But the tone and pattern had become bitter, accusatory, and controlling. Had he begun their relationship as a strong person who stood up for himself? Had she beaten him down, eroded his character over years of constant pressure? Was she stronger and had she been from the start? Did he just not care? Or could he excuse himself by having been a good provider? Is he living in a healthy fantasy life where he is a Clark Gable type character, a place to retreat to when the noise becomes too persistent and painful? Quiet desperation.
I suspect that if their interaction was videoed and played back to them they would not recognize themselves, and they would reject that they had fallen into this pattern of sparing, positioning and control. Even more, I doubt that they would have any idea about changing, even less the skills or motivation. This was how they were – and how they were going to be. How Sad.