Hopes for a non skim milk marriage
“You’re saying, no, state marriage [is] the full marriage, and then this sort of skim milk marriage.”
– Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg, on the two-tiered system of marriage that has emerged for same-sex couples
For the past several days, I’ve been watching updates from the Supreme Court Blog. Leading up to the 9 o’clock hour, my hands start to shake, my whole body tenses, I have a box of Kleenex and sick bag nearby. Not knowing which I will need to grab.
9 people hold a great deal of power for me. It’s less than an hour until I find out a decision that will affect the rest of my life, and the lives of so many others.
In case you do not know a gay person, I wanted to introduce myself to you. I’m Lisa and I live in Tennessee. I had a normal childhood. No abuse. No absentee parents. Raised in the country. Roots in a 3-times-a-week conservative religious organization. I don’t do drugs, smoke, drink. (Although I used to in college and have stories-don’t get it twisted.) I do cuss in varying levels because I am a budding computer programmer. It keeps me from the aforementioned vices. I don’t murder. Have I covered all the major sins? I try to be a good person, be helpful, be kind, and follow the golden rule.
Two and a half years ago, I first met Carson. Despite it being a cold November night, we met for frozen yogurt at Sweet CeCe’s in Hillsboro Village. She was wearing a red trench coat, a gray sweater with a lamb on it, bright blue jeans. She was reading the latest Nashville Scene, as I was running late from a networking mixer (I was job searching). I had switched to a clutch purse for the mixer and forgotten my dairy digestive supplements. I started to panic. “Why don’t you just get the sorbet?” she suggested. She had strikingly bright skin and a beautiful smile.
We had been talking for weeks on OkCupid. I explained that after a dozen dates from the site, I never seemed to meet anyone that became more than just a friend, and that was all I was looking for. But she had a plan. A week later, she wanted to show me The Family Wash, a cozy local dining spot where I’d never been, known for Shepherds Pies and live music. The lighting was magical; the music was peaceful. Toward the end, she suggested I move my chair to her side of the table so we could both watch the show. About that time, the singer/songwriter started to heckle me. “Well I got that girl in the green sweater to turn around, so I must be doing something right.” When it came time for the check, “Just one,” she said. And that is when the friend-zoning stopped and the dating began.
And on and on it has been for two and a half years. More dates. First hand-holding in a Belcourt movie and a first kiss later in the parking lot. Making it Facebook official. Living between two homes. The upsides and downsides of our careers. A six hour midnight wait in the ER while on my deathbed from a stomach bug. The eventual moving in together (we made sure to use a U-Haul). Spoiling and Instagraming our cats like children. Her face in the audience at my first technical talk. Her support through my going back to school to learn programming. The challenges and running out of money I’m experiencing with starting at bottom in a new career. The way that I can’t spoil her on dates while money is low, but I make her bed each morning. The bowl of oatmeal she makes for me each morning, and the few times she has placed chocolate chips in a heart pattern. The surprise trip to NYC (my first love) where she proposed in our hotel room, away from onlookers and the bustle of the city, where I could ugly-cry. The ongoing agony and loss I feel since telling my family that I am gay.
When I think of marriage, I think of a scene I witnessed while working at a senior living community. One day, a man rushed in to the office, asking about where his car was located and asking questions on a story that I could tell happened years, maybe decades ago. I was confused, but trying to be helpful. He started to get upset and agitated that no one understood him. Shortly after, his wife came into the office. “There you are,” she said. The sun wrapped them both in light. His face was like a child, sad, confused, tired. She looked into his eyes, she saw the whole span of a person and beyond where he was in that moment.
I also think of my grandmother, and how my grandfather stayed with her, even as her dementia got so bad that she would physically attack him in a confused rage. And later, as she was in a nursing home and slowly forgot how to eat. And finally, on a snowy day in January, when I saw her wedding ring in the casket, and his ring on a hand gripping the end of a chair and him trying not to cry. The partition closed, the casket closed.
It’s not every day, or even every lifetime, you meet someone that you could spend the rest of your life with. I feel so incredibly lucky to have found this. I’d like to show my commitment to Carson on the highest level. I would like to merge our finances and home ownership. Maybe have a child or adopt one day (or maybe just stick with the less expensive cat version). We’ve discussed how we would like our final wishes executed. But as it stands, we could not carry out those wishes for each other.
This is what I think of more than all the glamour of a big wedding day. I think of the lifelong commitment. And I have hopes for a non skim-milk marriage.
