Pas de Deux (Plus Baby)

Bruce and I were watching a recorded episode of So You Think You Can Dance in bed the other night.  Recording shows and watching them later is a gift to parents, who can't focus their attention away from their children for longer than two seconds.  It is a luxury afforded to us by Bruce's parents, who have the fanciest cable package.

I started to drift off.  I was awakened by my dear husband, telling me to get under the covers and by the way, "You just missed the most amazing dance.  I'm not kidding.  It was so good." 

My husband, you see, is really a very advanced man.  The ideal man, really.  He's completely macho and loves his football and baseball and beer.  He's refined, waxing poetic on the flavor notes of that beer he's drinking, probably a rare microbrew.  He's also unafraid to tap into his cultural, some would say, softer side.  He can view a program where the men twirl around in tights with almost as much veneration as he would the Thursday night game.

The next morning, Bruce urged me to watch the dance.  He seemed emotionally affected by it, in his manly way of not really saying anything at all.  The fact that he was bringing it up again said everything.  So I put the show on:

The first time I watched it, I thought, "That was really impressive.  The dance symbolizes so much about loss and pain, especially in cultures that have been persecuted."  It reminded me of the end of Fiddler on the Roof, where the Russian Jews are forced out of their village.  But I couldn't understand why it had so much impact on Bruce.

Today, in the shower (I do a lot of thinking in the shower) it hit me like the girl running full force into the guy's arms: THIS IS OUR DANCE.  If you look at the dance from a different, more personal angle, it is an artful representation of Bruce's and my struggle.  It is a couple united, without a home, clinging to their possessions like a trophy of the past.  Their frustrations and angst come out in silent screams.  If a baby was added to the routine, I would think the choreographer had us in mind when he created it.

These obstacles we are overcoming are hard on Bruce, too.  In many ways, harder.  So maybe he won't admit it, but I think this dance spoke to him.  About being a husband, about feeling lost.  Even though we aren't actually homeless, aren't actually alone (rather, the reverse - it's crowded here), that's how it seems sometimes.

Like the dance, our plight will come to an end.  But the love I have for my husband will play on forever.