“I shoulder a burden you will never understand,” a woman scolds her daughter in Pearl, the 2022 horror movie Crankenstein half-watched last night while finishing some work. The character’s middle-aged husband is paralyzed and unable to speak, and the 1918 influenza pandemic has driven their small family deeper into isolation. “Spend my days feeding and wiping the snot off the face of the man I married,” she continues, her voice rising. “You dare sit there and talk to me about regret? I was supposed to be his wife, not his mother!”
That’s when Crankenstein looked over at me in a way that felt pointed and then quickly looked away. If we had a different caregiving dynamic, maybe I would’ve first felt pangs of guilt and sympathy rather than incredulity. Maybe I wouldn’t have said, after a moment’s reflection, “If that look was about me, you’re not my mother yet. But I’ve been yours for a long time.”
Our anniversary is coming up, as our niece recently shared with her school bus driver. It’ll mark 10 years together, seven married, and that niece, then a newborn, was our youngest wedding guest.* When I look at photos from that day, I remember its warmest and funniest parts — and the saddest, and the relief we felt once it was over. I also feel disappointed because Crankenstein knew some very important things I didn’t. My smile in those photographs is that of a dupe and a dummkopf.
There were also guests we didn’t know were in attendance: ‘Niles’ was not yet ‘Niles’ and we were oblivious to the early-stage Parkinson’s that was already underway. Does Crankenstein, so radiantly happy that day, look at those photos now with regret? “I’d do it all over again,” she’ll likely protest of our marriage. But is that really true? After the movie was over last night, I thought about her mournful glance in my direction and the way it poked at me.
I’d probably misinterpreted it as a commentary on the present when it was more about the future. Though she does more at home now than in the past, like regularly helping with grocery shopping and occasionally feeding Muriel breakfast, the division of labor in our relationship remains mostly unchanged: she focuses on her career and I handle everything else (if not always as quickly or as well as in the past). I don’t think she’d be satisfied with any other arrangement. With that in mind, would she have really married me if she knew about the YOPD? I’m doubtful.**
Crankenstein accepted my Maxim de Winter nonsense and bumbling strangeness — not to mention the multitudinous inflammatory diseases that made it even sexier — because it was part of the package, not because she found any of it alluring. She wanted a dependable partner to rely on for the rest of her life, someone who understood her baggage (which could admittedly fill a half-dozen jumbo-sized hotel luggage carts) and wouldn’t shirk commitment. My job was to outlast her and keep her safe at home if she lost her physical or mental health. She thought she’d never have to worry about her future once we were married. Now all she does is fret.
I don’t know what any of this will ultimately mean for our marriage, but I reacted so strongly to her reaction to Pearl’s dialogue because the burden she now shoulders isn’t one I’ll “never understand.” It’s the same that I’ve carried for the better part of a decade when it comes to her struggles.
The two of us aren’t fighting, this is just a ‘stuff I’ve been thinking about’ post. In fact, she subjected me to “Hocus Pocus” tonight, a Halloween staple of hers that I normally barely tolerate but welcomed as a distraction from the VP debate. I’ll tune into “Morning Joe” tomorrow for a recap, but sincerely hope that Springfield, Ohio was left alone. I used to have family there and can’t imagine how residents must feel as this idiotic nightmare has dragged on and on.
* Or maybe second-youngest: another guest was very pregnant and gave birth just a few weeks later.
** If she knew we’d have to contend with YOPD and ‘Niles,’ that would’ve been a definite no. Those two are as terrible together as Lily Tomlin and John Travolta in Moment by Moment.