Can this marriage be saved?

An American Civil War amputee, who still lived despite his injuries.
A public domain photo from WikiCommons and the Mutter Museum.

If at first you don't secede, try, try again.

Please.

* * *

Sometimes marriages sound like a good idea at the time. Couples start out with the best of intentions--either full-on love or I-have-some-doubts-but-you-seem-into-it/our-families-expect-it/you-are-pregnant/this-is-what-grown-ups-do-isn't-it?

Nothing lasts forever. Not the full blush of love or the peaceful coexistence of two very different people. So perhaps inevitably, irritations develop. They start out small. You talk funny! You've got more people and hog all the bed!

And grow. I don't like the way you own people and make them work your land! I don't like your telling me how to run my economy and treat my Negroes! And before you know it, it's make-up to break-up to make-up to break-up, to a hostile separation, a bitter divorce and a vicious child custody battle. Over Kansas ferchrissakes.

But wouldn't you know it? Old habits die hard. Despite the hostilities and out-and-out war, sometimes stars fall on Alabama and doesn't that make her look lovely in the moonlight? New Jersey starts calling himself the Garden State, and my my, you never realized how really lovely the Pine Barrens can be in the spring. Just like home!

You consider your dating options. Canada. Mexico. Really? Has it come to this? Before you know it, each of you is looking more attractive to the other. And think of the children! Colorado! Utah! The Dakotas! And wouldn't it be nice to give them some brothers and sisters to play with? And to keep Miss Frosty-Pants Canada and Mister Hot-to-Trot Mexico at bey a little longer . . . ?

So even though your true friends tell you no, what, are you insane?--and all the others just laugh behind your back--you remarry.

But things are never the same, even after he accepts your friends--a Virginia planter who went to college at Princeton, a peanut farmer from Georgia, a wonkish lothario from Arkansas--as his own. You try to like his friends, too. That nice old fellow from California, well, he reminded you of your dementia-afflicted grandfather, bless his heart. And that other one from California with the jowly face, he really, really seemed to appreciate you. Too bad your husband dumped in during that late unpleasantness over politics. And Lord knows that one from New York with the nosy wife hung around long enough, showing her butt in places that she just had no right to do, but he at least gave you some nice presents like roads and rural electrification. 

But Massachusetts, Massachusetts, Massachusetts. What is it about Massachusetts? Is there something he's trying to tell you? Oh, he says he likes country music, sweet tea, and NASCAR, but he keeps going on about medical care, minorities, and summers in Maine and Michigan. Over time, you discover that he likes apple-picking in the fall, surfing, and higher education. And what was that? Is he checking out that tramp Canada again?  While Mexico's got his hands all over you! That bastard.

And then he forms a fast friendship with some man who claims he's from Hawaii. Hawaii. Is that even a real state? You're so not sure. Oh, he's well-spoken and -groomed, you'll grant him that, but he does go on, talking at you more than with you. Plus, well, he's black, you whisper to your grandchildren. Yes, you know, that's not something that you're supposed to say, but . . . well . . . you're just stating the obvious.

And my, now that you husband is good "friends" with that rather odd black fellow, doesn't he go on and on about racism and, pass the smelling salts, gay people. Hmmm. A more suspicious mind . . .

But hold on, before we get to that, it's back to his favorite topic: health care. Please God, shut up about it already! For one thing, nobody's gonna tell you what to do with your body--unless it's a legislator with curious ideas about rape and a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do attitude toward abortion. For another, good people don't get sick. And if they do, they have enough of their own money to take care of it. They don't come calling on their friends to help them out in a time of need. That's what prayer and capitalism for. Everybody knows that. Or at least they should.

And oh no you and special friend didn't just go and give all those poor people what we had to fight long and hard for/be born into/marry into/imagine ourselves lucking into despite all evidence to the contrary! How dare he!

You don't even know him. And he doesn't look as handsome as he used to. Have you ever been to Pennsylvania? A lovely name, some old stuff, some nice trees, but, hmmm, they don't call it Pennsyltucky for nothing.

The children are all grown up, except for little, adopted Puerto Rico, and well, that was his idea, not yours.

So it's back to divorce court. No, this time you mean it! Look, you're heading out the door! Don't try and stop you!

* * *

Seriously, secession? You're welcome to it, but it's not like it's ever been a peaceful, fun-loving, hey-kids-let's-put-on-a-show process.

Life as we know it, however middling, is disrupted. Battles rage. People die. Your "side" and mine, too.

Mind you, I'm not opposed to your moving on and moving out. People need to go their own way, follow their own piss bliss.

Have at it. We'll be fine with alternating weekend visitation rights to Florida and New Orleans.

Buh-bye. Don't let the door hit you on your Mississippi on the way out.