PART 1 – AMONG US

MARTHA KENT

The door slams, echoing like a thunder through the night. The whole house seems to shake with the impact, threatening to crumble down like the relationship of the ones who live in it.

Me and Jonathan have been married for eight years. In those eight years, we were able to give each other whatever we wanted, whatever we needed. Without a doubt, the happiest years of my life are the ones I've spent with him. And yet, now, here we are, separated by the walls of a house we built together. I'm nervous. I start cleaning the dishes, that's what I do when I'm nervous. I go through the motions automatically, like an assembly line, and my mind wanders off.

It's not his fault, it's no one's fault. After eight years we learn that...Jonathan...it doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. We are happy together, we have our house, our farm, we live off what we make. We only go into town when Jonathan needs mechanical parts for the truck or some house repairs. We are happy together. We are happy in the life we built together.

If I were to ask anything, not that it matters, it shouldn't matter, but if I were to ask anything, I would ask for...I can't even say it. Why can't I even say it? Has reality fallen so sudden and hard that I can't speak of the shattered dreams that I...that we had? I must say it. I have to acknowledge that...we...Jonathan and I...we can't have children.

Tears roll down my eyes at the thought of that. I stopped doing the dishes a while ago, perhaps I haven't really started doing them in the first place. It wasn't supposed to be this way. We were supposed to have a son, or a daughter, or both. They would grow up and help me and Jonathan with the farm. They would get their partners, bring them over, shyly at first, almost apologetic for the fact they found someone they want to spend the rest of their lives with. Me and Jonathan would make some jokes, get to know them, put them at ease. Jonathan is great at making people comfortable. Then our kids would bring their partners more often. Christmas, New Year's, Easter, birthdays...we would have big "get-togethers", they would sleep over, causing me to worry about cleaning the house and getting the rooms ready.

But all of this seems so strange now. It feels like reflections of a life I'll never have, a life to which I have been denied access to. And all of this because Jonathan...

Oh god...Jonathan.

I run to the door of the kitchen and open it, almost releasing it from its hinges. I look over the farm. Where are you, Jonathan? Think, Martha, think, where would Jonathan go to process what's just happened? You do the dishes when you're nervous and Jonathan...

The barn. Jonathan goes to the barn. Every time he has something on his mind, he goes to the barn. He repairs things, disassembles the tractor and puts it back together, cleans the barn, anything to keep his mind off things. When he was going to propose, for example, he spent hours there, thinking of what to say, how to say it. When his mother died he spent almost two full days in there.

I look over to my left, the big brown building rises, imposing, secure of itself, unlike the people that built it years ago. I run towards it. I must go, I must tell Jonathan that it's not his fault, it's no one's fault. I have to say that it doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter because as long as we have our house, our farm, as long as we have each other, we will be fine.

The door to the barn is slightly open, there's light coming from inside. I squeeze through the gap. Jonathan is sat on the floor against the opposite wall, curled up, crying, sobbing like a child, the child we will never be able to have. This distorted image of my husband, crippled and crumbled, tears me in two. But I must be strong, I have to be here for him. No crying, Martha, you have to be strong. For him.

"Jonathan?" I say, trying to keep my voice as clear as possible. I hear him struggling to stop sobbing, trying, himself, to be strong for me. "I just want to say..."

"I know, Martha." He interrupts, abruptly, with a broken voice. "I know what you are going to say. But I can't stop feeling like I've failed you. I failed you as your husband. I can give you all these things, a house, a farm, a living, but I can't give you a kid. And I know how much you want children, hell, I know how much I want children. I have failed you, I can't stop feeling like I have failed you and..."

To hear him speak like that, putting truth down on the table in such a cruel, raw, cold way...To hear him speak my mind so clearly, to realise that he is still the man I love, the man I married. The man that makes me smile with silly jokes. The man that makes me feel protected yet free. To hear him still speaking...

"Shut up." I say, this time with tears rolling down my own face. "All I know right now is that this doesn't matter. Nothing matters as long as we are here. There aren't any problems, there are solutions. So get up, Jonathan, get up and let's find a solution. Get up and let's be happy."

Somewhere along those lines, he has gotten up and wrapped me in his arms. His hug is still as warm as ever, his chest still as safe as always. We walk out, hands held tight, ready to close the door on our problems and put the barn in the past.

But a strange sound makes us look up.

At first I thought it was a small plane falling down from the sky. That was until we noticed the shooting star, lighting up the night sky like the sun, falling down. A thing of beauty, an image so strong that makes Jonathan and I look at each other. In that moment, I knew we would find the solution. He kissed me and we stood there, in that kiss. A moment that seemed to last forever, cut short by a crashing sound coming from behind the barn.

My hears were still ringing, but over the buzzing sound I heard that someone, not Jonathan, not me, someone else was crying.