I Was Devastated To Discover My Husband Isn’t Just Married To Me, He Is Also One Helluva Drummer
I have been married to my husband, Colin, for 3 years. We were together for 2 years before that. So, you can imagine how fucking baffling it was when I heard him just wailing on our neighbor’s drumset last weekend at the first block party of the year. And we’re not talking about keeping a basic beat. Colin was straight shredding and, at a few points, he might’ve slipped into some polyrhythm stuff.
Cool if you’re in to drums. Devastating if you’re in to honesty.
How did this never come up? Colin and I work hard on having a relationship rooted in openness, and, outside of a recent rough patch where I was problematically attracted to my boss, our relationship seemed stronger than ever. Now this. My trust in him is shattered. He was absolutely pummeling the toms, and with such technique and speed that it was almost melodic. As anyone who saw me storm out can tell you, I was dizzy with betrayal.
I believe we can work through anything, as we did last year when I cheated on Colin with his brother. But this isn’t just a one-time slip up on Christmas Eve after everyone else had gone to bed. This is years of deception; years of not knowing my husband, my best friend, was able to anchor a rhythm section in virtually any genre of music.
What hurts the most is he had endless opportunities to come clean.
For our second wedding anniversary, we went to a blink-182 concert. I splurged and bought front row tickets after I accidentally texted Colin some dirty messages I meant for our landlord. We had a great time and talked the whole ride home about drummer Travis Barker’s amazing performance, which was playful, innovative, and funky. At any point that evening, Colin could’ve told me he would absolutely punish Barker in a drum-off.
But he didn’t. He never did. And now here we are.
When I married Colin, I held his hands, looked into his eyes, and vowed to love him no matter what. But I had no idea that those hands could groove in such complicated time signatures. Before our therapist stopped our couple’s sessions because I made sexual advances on him while Colin was in the bathroom, he used to tell us how difficult it is to reconcile how much you love someone and how much they can hurt you. I know Colin loves me, but I also now know he is nearly virtuosic at creative drum fills that don’t compromise metronomic precision.
At this point, all I have left is hope; hope that the lies end here, and, more importantly, hope that Colin is as good at rebuilding trust as he is at keeping a backbeat.