It’s interesting how we can sometimes relate with things that are so far from reality yet, at the same time, we all have a sense that we know what it’s like.
I am a waiter. No, I don’t mean the type who waits on people at restaurants to bring them food or anything they desire (although I may be that sort of waiter soon.) I mean . . . I wait for things, constantly. I’m the woman left behind, waiting for her love to come back to her, safe and sound. I am used to it, but that is what I am: the waiter.
There is a book . . . a favorite of mine . . . called, “The Time Traveler’s Wife”, by Audrey Niffenegger. If you haven’t heard of it, it’s about a man who has something genetically wired to make him spontaneously time-travel. One minute, he’ll be in the library working, and the next he’ll be naked, vomiting, laying on the sidewalk in Michigan. Literally.
Claire, the main woman character in the book, meets Henry – the time-traveler – when she is 6 and he is 36. She sees him over a course of 12 years; once she is 18, he tells her that he will not see her again for a few years. The next time she sees him she is 21, and Henry is 28; this is the first time he has met her.
Complicated, I know, but it was wonderful to read.
Anyway, continuing: Claire is constantly waiting. He leaves spontaneously, having no way to stop it. She is constantly worried about him, hoping and praying that he doesn’t fall in a time that has him shot, or hit. I know how this is. I know how this feels.
You’re probably thinking to yourself, “Yeah, sure, this woman has a man with a mutate gene code that forces him to spontaneously jump from certain times.” No, I don’t have a man who spontaneously time-travels, but I do have a man who is forced to spontaneously leave me behind.
He is not in the army. He does not fight for his country, or risk his life day in and day out fighting criminals. But he is continuously forced to leave me behind, most of the time without even a warning.
It seems petty, speaking of this. I feel like I am complaining, but I’m not meaning to portray it that way. It is hard to be put through this constantly, blow after blow with no break in between. It is hard on our relationship, and it is hard on us emotionally and mentally. He cannot be there for me like he wants to be, and I cannot be there for him like I want to be.
I am a waiter. I am constantly waiting. I do not complain, I patiently wait, praying and hoping that he is safe, for that is all I can do.
When I was reading the novel, I could not put it down. The similarities, the familiarity of the feelings that Claire felt, was frightening. I knew exactly how it felt to be constantly waiting, feeling as if you were in the dark and never knowing what was going on, if they were safe, fighting, upset, or anything, and most of all . . . not being able to help them when you knew they probably needed it.
Now that I’m done relaying my thoughts, I should probably explain why I posted it in the first place.
My honey is wondering why, every time I see the trailer for this novel-turned-film, I practically jump out of my chair (I even wacked him in the jaw one time, accidentally, from excitement.) Well . . . here you go, handsome. This is why. I wrote this for you, so you could understand.
Don’t feel bad about it . . . I will wait. Like the woman said the other day . . . I am patient. :]
Now that I’m down with all of this . . . goodnight.