The Ice Below

People often ask what brought me to Louisiana. I say that I married a southern boy but the truth is that it was slush - that unattractive mixture of freezing water, ice and snow that lays in wait for unsuspecting
pedestrians on downtown Boston streets.

We lived outside the city and getting to work involved first Amtrak and then the subway. It was 40 or so cold and crowed minutes on the train to the downtown station. Then a couple of blocks to the subway for several icy stops and finally we would reach Milk Street. I trudged up the subway steps, adjusted my gloves and scarf, made my way through the snowdrifts and prepared to walk the remaining blocks. I stepped onto what should have been the street and the ground cracked then dissolved under my feet and I found myself thigh deep in slush which instantly filled my boots and froze my soul. I cursed God, the weather, the city's snow removal system and New England in general. It was a pivotal if miserable moment, A Gone With the Wind moment as I shrieked curses to the dead gray sky and vowed that I would never be cold again. The following spring, we packed a U Haul and began the journey south.

In retrospect, slush-filled boots on a freezing, windy Boston day are a powerful motivator but it's possible that I overreacted. I was not prepared for the culture shock of moving to the south or the consequences of my husband returning to his roots. People in New England seem to be in a never ending hurry. They are clipped and literal in their speech patterns. They keep their distance. Southerners stroll. They drawl. They embrace it all. I felt as if I'd landed on an alien planet where everyone dressed for the grocery store and never missed a church service. And there was worse to come - unprepared, ill equipped, inexperienced , shy and armed only with reticence and a wedding ring, I had entered the land of the monied.

It is not a land for the faint of heart. This is society page territory where fashion matters and hunting trips are for quail in Scotland. Doors are opened with last names, business is conducted at private clubs, tennis is played indoors and Sunday lunch is served with a very good wine. This is old school, upper class with servants, old money living, a blur of social obligations, charity events, black tie dinners, weekends in Dallas
and membership in the symphony. Small talk has been perfected to a high art and marrying well is required. It was light years away from anything I had ever known.

You can't change where you come from and in the end the differences did us in. We had married fairly young and in many ways had grown up together although ending up in very different places. We went in opposite directions, gradually drifting further and further apart until there was nothing left to keep us together. Two people on a narrow path just get in each other's way unless they travel single file so we moved aside and each let the other pass. It was an amicable and painless parting, much as our being together had become.

Take what you need from people when it is offered. Accept that not every relationship is meant to be and move on. Learn as you go and be stronger for the next time. Keep in mind that things are not always what they seem. We are meant to be teachers as well as students.