Misguidance Counselors: THE JOB
by Sarah Goeke
FACT: Time no longer exists post-lockdown.
It is not even a flat circle - it is a blackhole.
This is why we refuse to say that ur Misguidance Counselors have been away for a bit.
Well that, and a pioneer stubbornness as deeply rooted in our Midwestern DNA as casserole hotdishes, saying “Lemme just squeeze past ya there” when walking through a 10-foot clearing, and a Route 44 of pop (not soda) from Sonic.
We’ve been here the whole time… GOT IT?!
Someone who IS making a big return to MC, however, is
! I’m sure you’ll remember her first big hit with us “INT. SMALL CHURCH.”Sarah’s latest story is about a very special night for married couple - Marge and Mark. The sitter has been called and you know what that means… *fire emoji, purple devil emoji, clicking champagne flute emoji*
Let’s watch, Campers… Like, share, subscribe!
LYLAS,
Marilyn and Sam
Ur Misguidance Counselors
(@misguidance4u)
INT. AT THE DINING ROOM TABLE, 2002
MARGE and MARK both scooch into their chairs at the table. MARGE has prepared an under-seasoned, diet-conscious dinner for them tonight. It’s March 4th, MARGE’S BIRTHDAY.
MARK: Looks great, Margey.
MARGE grins. MARK’s gift to her was special this year. She’s feeling flirty.
This year MARK got them tickets to Michael Bublé at the Oklahoma City Civic Center.
They’re having dinner early to get to the theater on time. The kids are at her parents' so it’s just them, these green beans, mashed potatoes, and a roasted chicken.
MARGE slides the cloth napkin onto her lap. She’s done something special, a little romantic, and placed their seats next to each other on the long side of the table. They face the window to the side yard.
MARGE glances at MARK tucking into the mashed potatoes first. His favorite.
MARK is truly a simple man. The amount of satisfied people on earth is small. To be satisfied is to be happy where you are and most people aren’t. MARK’s satisfaction is the kind that seems to come to men who were thanked their whole lives for showing up. The idea of trying for approval or attention never occurred to them, so disappointment is rare. What a gift.
MARK loves easily, he’s easy to please. MARGE loves this about him.
MARGE notices the lines on his forehead and thinks back to when they met in college. She thinks about the way he looked laughing across the room at the game night where they met. Things have changed so much. She thinks about the pants she wore that night, she could never fit into them now.
MARK continues eating mashed potatoes. They’re extra buttery tonight. A treat!
MARK: Mmm, the potatoes are great, Margey.
MARGE realizes that since it’s just them, no kids, he called her “Margey,” not “Mom.” She hadn’t realized how much she missed hearing him say her name.
MARGE, despite appearances, is a tender and thoughtful person. Her anxiety stems from loving so much and wanting to be everything to those she loves. It leaves her feeling empty and forgotten most of the time, but she doesn’t know any other way.
It’s better than the way her mother loved and so it’s good enough for her. She’s usually caught in an endless cycle of loving to the point of resentment; pushing people away and then working to pull them back again.
But hearing her name from her lover’s mouth feels like a poem. A poem about how easy it is to care for and hold her. How effortless. And she forgets the resentments that having children with a “content man” can bring. It brings her such tender joy to hear her name from his mouth that her eyes well a tiny bit.
MARGE leans over, kissing him on the cheek.
This surprised MARK a little bit. He looks over at her. He smiles.
Suddenly - like all those tiny moments in life that mean nothing and hold everything - they see each other. They see the person they’ve met over and over again - across years and lifetimes. They see the worst and most beautiful moments of their lives. The sunshine and rain, moss and snow, sad brick buildings and historic monuments. They see themselves in each other. And they love themselves.
MARGE kisses him on the mouth.
MARK's potatoes sift behind his teeth, slick and diluted with spit. He kisses her back, fork still gripped in his right hand, hastily trying to swallow. His head is turned so his throat isn’t in the right position, so he coughs lightly.
MARGE retreats.
MARGE: Sorry.
MARK drops his fork, grabs his water, and takes a quick drink.
MARK: No no, I’m sorry. Went down the wrong pipe there. (beat) That was nice.
MARGE beams and then picks up her fork. She spears some green beans and takes a bite.
In the light of this moment, where she sees time stretching before and after her, with all the versions of herself within it, she realizes: she doesn’t like green beans. She’s just so used to making them. She puts down her fork and chews in disappointment while looking at her plate. She could’ve tried cooking something new for once.
MARK takes a big bite of potato and chicken next to her.
The first time MARK came over to MARGE’s place, when they were dating, she cooked for him. MARGE can’t remember what she made. But MARK ate it with the same level of grateful enthusiasm he’s eating with now. He’s a good man.
MARGE lightly places her left hand on his thigh.
MARK is floored. A kiss and a hand on his lap in one night. MARK looks down and then over at MARGE.
MARGE has done special eye makeup tonight, and while he doesn’t understand the logistics of eyeshadow and liner, he notices that her hazel eyes look bright. She doesn’t look tired, or annoyed, or overspent.
MARK suddenly remembers going out for drinks with her after work one day, when they were first engaged, and the way she looked at him over her glass of wine. MARGE looked so beautiful and alive that he’d wanted to take her face with both his hands and just hold her.
MARK didn’t do it. But he remembers wanting to. Of wanting to claim her as his and not let her look away. Like no one else was there. MARK isn’t a dramatic man, but the way he loved MARGE in that moment was the biggest feeling he’d ever had. And he was so sure about marrying her. He’s still sure.
MARK suddenly wants to hold her face. The way he didn’t that night.
MARK drops his fork and turns with both his hands up at the same moment MARGE goes to take her hand away from his lap. They jostle, cajoling each other lightly in between their two bodies - both awkward in their unclear yearning for each other. Like fumbling teens.
MARK’s fingers lightly graze her chin as she looks back at her plate. She stops and turns back.
MARK’s hands find both sides of MARGE’s face.
MARGE gets a light zip up her spine. Something really special is happening. Like maybe, they both feel the same way at the same time.
The longer MARGE lives, the less frequently she feels the exact same thing at the same time as other people. Even though she’s often stressed or scared, she’s present right now with his hands pressing on her jaw. She doesn’t care that he might mess up her carefully done makeup, or that there’s a speck of potato at the corner of his mouth. In fact, she gets the urge to kiss that piece of potato. Or lick it. She loves the potato, too.
THE DINING ROOM TABLE witnesses that MARK and MARGE are two imperfect sparks in the universe that have aligned at this exact moment to see each other completely, beautifully, and tragically. And, in doing so, are being born and dying over and over again in this moment.
This couple is the center of the universe. They are the earth experiencing itself and loving itself for all its past and future disappointments and miracles. They are stardust in their ironed jeans and date-night sweaters.
Now that they are here, MARGE never wants to leave. She never wants to feel anything other than this. How could she forget she could feel like this? That love felt this good, like a real thing, like a plant or a shower or a first kiss.
MARGE reaches down and slides her hand on the zipper of his jeans.
MARK is electrified.
MARGE’s heart rate skyrockets.
MARGE keeps going, and MARK holds her face. They stare at each other like they’re both amazed. Like someone else is doing this and they’re just watching.
MARK has not gone shopping for himself since they were married. He just isn’t a shopper and MARGE is always out running errands and notices everything, so he’s never run out of anything. Lately, MARGE has been so busy with the kids- Lizzy is 6, and Stephie is just 11 months -so she hasn’t bought him new boxers in a while. Which means, he’s wearing an old pair that naturally falls open nice and easy. The small button that connects the two sides has been gone for at least a year.
So as MARGE continues to work, he has come out of his boxers… flush with the zipper.
The prickle of the metal threatens, but he stays strong.
MARGE is starting to grow doubtful. Maybe she doesn’t remember how this all goes. Or maybe she’s never known. It came easy when they both were young-bodied; she never had to think about technique or methods. She just wanted him.
Gently, and with grace, the feeling of understanding the universe passes. They remain mid-hand job, mashed potato, and green beans congealing without judgment beside them.
But, like actors in a show, you can’t just drop your arms and walk off stage. Things need to be finished.
MARK almost winces as MARGE, feeling the understanding of the expansive love of the universe pass from them to the next well-met organisms in perfect harmony, applies more pressure, hoping to continue, even elevate, the pleasure.
But the zipper - it bites into him. MARK starts to lose it.
NO! MARK closes his eyes, desperate to keep things the way they are. Not ruin this moment.
MARGE sees this and takes it as a sign that the pressure worked. MARGE applies more.
Overwhelmed, MARK only sees two possibilities: First, something he’s never done before, to stop mid-intimacy to ask her for something different. Or, second, something else he’s never done before: fake it.
He tries to think of a thing to say for the first possibility. Something like…“Like this” or “Let’s go upstairs” or “What if I do this?” Anything, really. But it’s too much. Maybe if the feeling of understanding the universe were still here he’d know what to say. He’d be brave like when he took her face in his hands. But he can’t.
Suddenly, MARK remembers he can just take off his pants! He gets so excited he grabs his pants button. As he does, his elbow hits his forgotten fork lying on his plate. It tumbles, launching potato flecks onto MARGE’s pants.
Whoops. MARGE startles. MARK becomes deeply self-conscious for wanting to take his pants off at the dinner table. He panics. MARGE, confused, thinking maybe this was a spasm of pleasure, keeps going.
Ok so… He’ll have to fake it. He bites his cheek and goes for it.
MARK moans, grunts, then lets out a stuttering-
MARK: Euugh… gh… uh.
MARGE stops.
What- Is that? Did he?
MARK opens his eyes, looking at MARGE. She looks surprised. Did she buy it?
She smiles at him. They blink at each other. Their breath is still quick.
MARK: Thank you.
MARGE is shocked but still smiling. She faces her plate, clears her throat, and takes a drink of water.
MARK kisses her cheek as he stands to go to the restroom.
MARGE takes a bite of green beans, forgetting again that she hates them.
MARK steps into the bathroom, just for a break.
MARGE’s food is cold. She falls into herself. Her inner voice is so thunderingly loud some of it accidentally slips out.
MARGE: ….so stupid.
MARK comes back out. He picks up the fallen fork. He kisses the top of her head and sits back down at the table. He’s optimistic that after the concert they will continue. They won’t. MARGE is now so deeply in her head, there’s no hope for that.
MARK takes a big bite of potato. It’s cold. MARK doesn’t mind. MARK loves potatoes.
THE DINING ROOM TABLE is once again just a table; not a witness to the universe to experience itself. It holds only plates, candles, and placemats. Later, it will hold field trip permission slips, keys, ear muffs, and bills. It doesn’t judge. But it remembers.
THE JOB by Sarah Goeke (@sgerk)
~*JOIN THE CONVERSATION*~
What’s the lamest or grossest or strangest way you realized you loved someone? Was it farting in front of your bestie? Communal binge eating with a lovah?
Tell us, tell us, tell us!
Save us from our shame by leaving a comment!
 | A guest post by
|
I realized I loved @sarahgoeke over brunch with a mutual friend’s mother. We had never met before, so it was love at first sight.
Ooof. Always can feel every emotion Sarah writes about. This one left me so sad. And really wanting some carbs.