(Something I wrote a year or two ago that I dug up recently. It's non-fiction, with names changed. No, it's not one of those things where you discover it was all about me in the end; it was someone I knew)
It is Wednesday evening. Jane hums a tune as she prepares a family-sized dinner in her college apartment. Carbohydrates, vegetables and protein. The tune she hums is upbeat and cheery; however, it is no tune in particular. It simply consists of some happy and meaningless stretches of the vocal cords. Jane seems to love life, but has she sat down and thought about which specific and unique things she loves about it? Doubtful. Jane sees the glass half-full; she always has. Sure, she may love flowers and smiles and butterflies, but has she come to realize the triumph in refining her individuality, the adrenaline rush of tip-toeing on the edge, the joy in overcoming true sin?
Jane smiles and hums some more. Matthew walks in the door of her apartment. She smiles absent-mindedly as she stirs the vegetables in their pan. Her failure to greet Matthew is not rude. They are comfortable in silence for a few moments while she finishes portioning out the hearty yet healthy meal onto two plates. This occurs daily. It is as if he is Husband coming home from work, and she is fulfilling her wifely duties. They sit down, pray, and begin eating. Husband strokes her back, and Jane asks how his day went. He replies with a less than amusing and less than dinnertime-appropriate anecdote referencing a liver he dissected in a class of his today.
Jane nods and says something generic about her day. They continue eating. They continue talking. Topics with no meaning; subjects with no substance. When Jane has something to say, she says it with the voice of an eager mother bird explaining the complexities of life in the simplest of terms to her nesting baby birds. But when someone converses with Jane, they do not get the sense that she is condescending. It is clear that Jane is speaking to the psychological child inside herself. Growing up is her greatest fear, yet she craves motherhood and the lifestyle that accompanies it.
When anyone asks, Jane insists Matthew is only her "best friend." However, Matthew is Husband. They play "house." Husband walks into her apartment unannounced, takes out her trash, eats her food, makes meaningless conversation with her, cuddles with her on the couch, and looks at her, eyes dripping with devotion. Matthew is Husband.
After dinner, they find their way to the living room and take turns reading verses of scripture. They make commentary as they go, often mentioning the common minor downfalls of "less faithful" members of their church. They speak of sin with disdain, as they should, but it is a foreign concept to them. They speak of sin and Satan the way a child might speak of a politician that their parents dislike. The child knows nothing at all about the politician. The child simply knows that the politician is to be loathed, and the child follows the rules. The child always follows the rules.
Once Husband has left, Jane starts settling down to go to bed. It is 8:30 p.m. She showers and braids her hair, then slips under her covers and dreams of the day when all her fears and ambitions will come true; the day she will become a mother. This is the day when she will stop torturing Husband. This is the day she will stop playing "house." This is the day she will have a real husband. This is the day that the psychological child inside of her will die, and a living, breathing, crying, human child will emerge. This is the day Jane will mature.
