Mary and Harry
They have three kids, a mortgage and condo fees. They pay hydro, water, heat, cable, internet, cell phones, a land line, the lease of two cars and cereal boxes fill up the kitchen cabinets to the brim. It is a cliché, but it’s not my fault: karate classes for their twin sons and ballet lessons for the girl.
Despite their best efforts, bills are starting to pile up. Mary “The Web Designer” and Harry “The Speech Writer” are turning into “The Juggler Couple”. And they are working harder than ever to avoid becoming “The Insolvent Couple”.
Their life is the archetypical fairy tale. She was born in Canada, moved with her family to Australia, Brazil, New Zealand, England and, 10 years ago, back to Canada. He was born in Australia and jumped with his family all over the world including, of course, the same countries Mary lived in (or their marriage wouldn’t be the archetypical fairy tale). They lived in England at the same time a few blocks away from each other. They were members of the same gym, bought their books at the same little neighbourhood bookshop, and even attended a book launch by their favourite author. They were in line to get an autograph roughly at the same time.
They met in Toronto waiting for a table to have brunch and read the Saturday paper at Shopsy’s at Yonge and Front. It was a freezing, late January, gray, good for nothing morning. He arrived one second after her. Mary was with her back to the door, stuffing her backpack with several layers of clothes. She let her long dark brown hair flow freely and its perfume was the first thing that Harry noticed. The second was that his wristwatch got caught in it when he removed his coat.
Lightning struck. Thunder clasped. Angels sang. And a waitress asked: “Table for two?”
Mary and Harry try to go to the same Shopsy’s with the whole family now and then but with all that is going down with the economy it’s been a few months since they managed. Mary’s cascading brown hair is gone and rarely makes an appearance as anything but a ponytail. Harris’s greying hair reminds them that time never stops. So does his growing pot belly, attributed to all those hockey nights, the Maple Leafs’ poor performance and copious amounts of Keith’s.
Kids get sick. They need attention and doctors. Mary takes thyroid medicine and Harry’s blood pressure is way above what it should be. Gym? No time, no will, no money. Two weeks ago they had a fight. Another fight. They went way past the “we-need-to-talk” talk, into “I’m-taking-the-wedding-band-off-until-you-decide-what-you-want-to-do” talk.
They love each other. They love their family, their life, their stories, and their past. They don’t know about the future. Money is a big problem and they don’t remember the last time they had an “alone time”. It has been a rough couple of years.
But they are fighters. They fought over space and time until that freezing morning when they met. They are sure they can make it work. That’s why Mary and Harry are going to meet, at the Shopsy’s at Yonge and Front for a brunch on Valentine’s Day. That will be the central pillar, in the middle of the river, that will keep their bridge up. Forget “The Jugglers Couple”, “The Insolvent Couple” or “The Fighting Couple”. Here comes “The Happy Couple”.
