… and then, there is the couple to my left. They are unhappy, but trying to make it work. The both came here from work. They are both well dressed and they both have a tremendous sadness about them. He has barely said a word to her all night and looks intently at the big screen TV mounted on the wall behind her. When Vancouver scores, he cheers loudly; for a moment, his burden disappears. He looks at his wife and smiles an obligatory smile. Silence again.
This is a tradition for them. This is the place they met. It was seven years ago, but it seems much longer. He was celebrating ‘rocking the bar exam’. He had planned to go to Mexico or Vegas with some friends, but ‘fate got in the way’. They met. She was a waitress at the time. She offered to drive him home– he was reluctant, knowing how drunk he was and not wanting to spoil his chance. His buddies assured him he would be o.k. and told him he deserved to ‘get his dick wet’. He puked in her Jeep that night, and though she was non-nonplussed at the time, the story would be regurgitated at their wedding two years later.
Since then, she has kept ‘her little party animal’ on a short leash. They are trying for a baby: they have been for almost two years. He wonders if he’s ‘shooting blanks’. They have tried every conceivable position. She drums on the table, as she always does when its time to go. You can see the disgust in his eyes as she does so. ‘She is so fucking predictable’ he thinks to himself. They pay the bill using their joint account and go home to try and make a baby.