What lies beyond this Sea of Merlot?

I wonder if they truly know ,

what lies beyond this Sea of Merlot…

When the last drop is poured, and the bottles run dry,

would they be disappointed

if water fell from the sky?

Smile and nod.

Squint, but not too much. Show her you care, but don’t be patronizing.

Don’t show your teeth. Your teeth are buck-wide and prominent… and your gap is unsettling.

Just grin without opening your mouth. There. That way she knows you’re happy… not too wide, you’ll look smug, pretentious.

She’s trying to read you. Her blue eyes bounced briefly when your mouth changed shape. They went from your eyebrows to your lips, back to your eyes. She’s looking for confirmation. She’s processing your face.

Say something supportive.

Good.

Her eyes are softer now. She’s comfortable, knows you understand, knows you’re listening.

She’s unhappy. She’s trying to be positive though, and that’s… refreshing.

Don’t give advice, she doesn’t want it.

She just wants someone else to know… She just wants to share her existence with someone and have it mean something.

It does.

She’s kind. Her profession is fulfilling but draining, and by all accounts, she’s an incredibly impressive individual. A district attorney… in… escrow? She doesn’t need anyone, but she’d like a partner to share her day, and that’s nice too.

The two of you are left alone on the couch in a cleverly architected plan. The familiar laughter of family and friends surrounds you comfortably. It’s your first time together at your best friend’s place and the grey L-shaped couch separates the spacious living room from the dining area. They’ve tastefully decorated around a rustic mahogany table, and this is the fifth opened bottle from a fridge built only for wine. Her wine glass trinket is a blue and white llama straddling the rim, and your llama is brown and orange.

You gaze comfortably into the crystal eyes of a woman who embodies everything your aunts, or uncles, or cousins, or friends hope for in your spouse, and everything seems to be going… really well.

But they never asked.

You never shared, to be quite fair, but they never asked about your last partner. The one you met in a place with no wine fridges or bathroom potpourri. The one you met working a few years showering out of buckets and squatting over holes. The one who huddled under lamp light patiently teaching you gin rummy and a new language she absorbed much quicker than you.

They knew of her, of course, but they never asked…

Be present.

Smile and nod.

Laugh gracefully, that was funny. She’s funny.

She’s a talker too. That’s good. Thank god she’s a talker. Lord knows you don’t have much to say. Fewer words and broad implications, that’s what you learned.

Swish your wine… Sip it. Don’t avoid eye-contact too long, show her you’re listening.

She likes musicals! That’s pretty cool… Miss Saigon was moving and Phantom was iconic, but your students performed songs for independence day once, and nothing has quite compared since...

But you can’t say that. It sounds eye-rolly. Like you’re laying it on thick, or trying to name drop another country. It sounds pretentious like you're trying to steer the conversation towards something you did... and no one here cares about that place.

You overhear some hearty laughter and chatter over by the bar. Someone doesn’t really like a newly opened bottle of wine. Sounds like your cousin’s husband. It’s too sweet. He prefers a full-bodied Cabernet to the Argentinian Malbec, so they open another. These words mean nothing to you. When did everyone get into wine? You haven’t had wine in three years.

You had cibwantu though. Fermented maize milk with sugar and chunky corn bits that got stuck in your teeth. You’d swirl the colorful plastic cup, kind of like wine, so the big bits don’t sit at the bottom… A woman you called grandmother made it best. She spent her days seated on the floor shucking corn with her granddaughters in preparation. You wonder what they’d think of the wine.

You can’t say that. It sounds self-righteous more than curious… and it’s a dead-end conversation.

Be present.

Don’t dwell on the past.

Find a connection.

But what connection do you even have here? While friends and family were buying homes and settling down, you were nowhere to be found. You were elsewhere, working your way into an entirely different culture and falling in love with a coworker.

They would have liked her though... even though they never asked. But they know it’s over now and it’s time to be realistic. They know it’s time to settle down, get a real job, work towards a dual income starter home in LA, like this one, and maybe find a more... suitable partner.

Even though both of you did work quite well together.

Even though your contracts finished at the same time and you rented that tiny apartment when you got back. She collected complimentary ketchup and chili packets like they were trinkets of gold. You helped her cook chickens' feet, and shrimp heads, and grew vegetables from snippets out on the windowsill. And once a week, you’d splurge and get Mcdonald’s breakfast to make the workday easier. You'd work side by side on your laptops, take strolls during the sunset, and play Monopoly Deal to decide who did the dishes… In the evenings your bodies meshed, and held and fit together like legos.

Be present.

Take smaller sips.

She had tacos from that food truck that you love last week. It's a great spot, but you’re uncomfortably full right now because the food on that mahogany table was delicious. Perfectly tender pink ribeye slices, crunchy asparagus soft in the middle, and specially ordered sushi on the side for those who won’t eat red meat. It was good, you hear, but there’s this place downtown with sashimi that would melt on your tongue…

You ate a rat once. Your partner did too. You can’t say that. It’s not proper dinner talk. Your friend will probably bring it up later though, he loves to do that. You told him a couple of weeks ago while he was fishing for a story and he never misses an opportunity… He thinks he’s throwing you a bone so you have something to say for once.

If he does bring it up, indulge them so they can grimace and squirm and laugh at the strangeness of it. For their amusement mention the crunchiness of the tiny bones and the oiliness of the skin, and that you felt the skull pop when you took one bite from the head to the base of the tail…

You’ll feel guilty afterward reducing a delicacy like that into something your friends can turn their noses up at, but no one here quite understands turning necessity into a delicacy anyway.

You can’t say that. Remember to smile politely when you share that story.

You hear your cousin is talking about his watch again somewhere by the kitchen sink.

Focus. Stay engaged in your own conversation.

Don’t divert your attention.

Don’t make an irritated face, she’ll think it’s because of her. She’s talking about her little sister now and that would be an unfortunate correlation.

But you had a little sister once. Well, you called her sister. You called her sister like they called you brother or son… nothing biological, just easier to keep track of people and it's a sign of affection. She was in 7th grade and you’d spend two hours on Saturdays teaching her how to read. There were about eighty kids in her class, and eighty more in every room. It was a tough way to learn, and a tough way to teach. It was no one’s fault. Some things just need more time.

Except when one of her classmates got pregnant. That was someone’s fault. When you saw your student with a yellow bucket and a swollen belly kneeling in a river digging sand, that was someone’s fault. You asked her what she was doing, she said she was working. You said you hadn’t seen her in class in a while. She said she wasn’t allowed. With your broken language skills, you asked her why she was digging sand, and she said it was to make cement for the library.

The library was your project.

You tried to tell her not to work like that while she’s pregnant and she laughed like it was a joke. You searched for something to say, but swallowed dryly instead. After a second you asked if she still remembered the four types of hardware from Computer Theory class. She said input, output, storage device… and you finished for her when she paused and said processor. You thanked her for remembering. You said she was brilliant and asked if she would be back to finish ninth grade after the baby. She smiled and with the cadence of someone reassuring a child said, of course, she would...

You can’t say that.

Be present.

You overhear your friend’s wife doesn’t like her six-figure job.

It’s not her fault.

She’s entitled to feel how she feels. You’re irritated. Your irritation is not with her it’s with yourself. Be better, make more money, workout, fix that gap in your teeth, and find a wife your family will finally accept already.

Fit in.

Adapt.

Say something...

But looking around in all this comfortable overabundance, all you see are chili packets and soy sauce sliding in the trash, and all you hear are conversations about extravagant watches and which wine is best, and all you can feel is indifference to the problem your friends seem to carry, and all you have to say is… nothing.

Don’t be rude.

Nod and smile.

Nod and frown.

Laugh, not too hard.

But at some point, you have to tell her. You need to say that even though she’s undeniably exceptional, even though she’s brilliant and funny with joyous starburst eyes, your heart is far off. The gates are closed. There’s no entry beyond this point.

And you will. At some point, you will…

But for now, just smile and nod.

Swish your wine, take a sip…

Smile and nod.

I wonder if they truly know

what lies beyond this sea of Merlot…

When the vines shrivel up and their lips run dry,

Would they turn their heads up towards the sky ?

Open their mouths agape for a sign

And be disappointed

when the heavens rained water,

instead of wine?