half-time

Rock comes round just after seven with a box of fish and chips. We sit at the island bench, polish them off, retire to the lounge with cups of tea. He’s here to plan a bike ride with me, and then to talk about the big things. We haven’t talked about the big things for a while; too busy, both of us.

I fire up the interweb and we study distances along the new Goulburn High Country Rail Trail, settle for overnight in Yea followed by a longish day to Mansfield, no ducking off at Cathkin to Alexandra. The first half-day from Tallarook to Yea is 38kms, the second from Yea to Mansfield 83kms. Hybrids with knobbies or MTBs will get us there.

Ride organised, I ask about him and his (third) wife. She moves out next week to live in a rented house on her own. The move’s been coming for some time. They get on fine, no animosity, but also no passion, no intimacy. They’re best when off camping or exploring the outdoors, but that’s not how most people live most of the time. So they’ll live apart, see each other as they feel the need.

After ten plus years he describes their relationship as being at half-time.

I reflect about where I’m at with my good woman. Right now it’s a mystery, will probably be so for a while yet. Much is unresolved. Our ability to speak the same language has left us. For the moment it seems better not to speak.

We’ve agreed to spend Sunday afternoon together. We also agree that no heavy conversation will occur; we will simply spend time together, do something: walk, movie, meal? I hope we laugh; it’s been too long since we laughed.

Last Sunday I think it’s game over, but perhaps it’s half-time, time for a breather, time to recoup energy, to pause to reflect on the game-plan, maybe to explore other options.

Rock on.