"William Murdoch, you had eyes for another woman?"
I smiled to myself, watching my wife's expression go from surprise to curiosity to amusement in a matter of seconds. "Well, yes."
Marie La Jeunesse was an enigma to me. That me was an 18-year-old young man with almost an exaggerated sense of self-awareness. I knew I was different. I knew I saw the world quite differently than the other lads at the camp. I think at times she could see it. Perhaps that was why I was so taken with her. She could see me, or at least in my naïve mind thought then. In her way, she too was different, but I could never quite put my finger on why. Leo O' Rourke did though. He'd speak of it often as we sat around the campfire, drinking or roasting the night's supper. Since we saw her at the first dance the previous year, it was all Leo could speak about and all I could think about. Of course, he never knew, and I was determined to keep it that way because it became crystal clear who exactly she had feelings for. I think of all the things that I admired about Marie, it was her spontaneity, her spunk, and her tenacity that thrilled me. While I was content to admire Marie from afar, I knew Leo was set on eventually making Marie his in every sense of the word. I had never seen a man so determined, so set on one goal before in my existence until then. I envied him at times for his own tenacity. Their connection was palpable, and it seemed when they danced there was no one in the world for either of them, but the other.
In the quietest moments, I marvel at my relationship with Julia and just how much it has evolved over our time in each other's orbit. It seems miraculous. Fantastical. Manufactured from a fanciful storybook. Every triumph, loss, jubilation, and wound. How is it that I still love her so? That loving her continues to overcome me, take me off guard? How can the old familiar, well-worn muscle of my adoration of her still come to the surface when I see her enter a space I just so happened to be occupying? Why is it that I continue to find it fortuitous? As if not 4 hours earlier, I held her in my arms, burying my face in her hair. The hair still transfixes me with its distinctive pattern, color, and texture. I suppose after all this time, one would expect things to settle between us, to get into a pattern of behavior. Things have honestly, but of course, with our dearest Susannah, the energy has shifted once more. Like any marriage, we've had our share of ups and downs. Disagreements fights even. But despite it all, there isn't a place I want to be in the world other than by her side every night. Hearing how her day went. Her latest discovery or loss. Everything. All of it. I suppose all of this is to say, I love Julia Ogden. No, I adore Julia Ogden. She is my wife, my lover, the mother of my child, my colleague, but most of all, she is my friend. My very best and dearest friend. The friend I want to laugh with, to sort through her brilliant, passionate brain. To watch her become animated when she feels an injustice has been done or if a new law is about to be passed that would put women at an even deeper disadvantage. She is a fantastical creature in the very best of ways. A walking contradiction. In her tenderest moments, when the house is quiet and we are barely lit by the moon, I ask her, "Who are you, Julia Ogden?" A Cheshire's grin presents itself to me and I drink in the devious spirit, prepared to have my cup overflow with the intoxication of it all. I am swept up and released to the deepest parts of the sea never to return unless on pain of death. While Marie was unattainable and the more, I contemplate it, a shallow enigma. My wife is an entirely different type. One that I know so intimately, more than I've ever known a human being in my entire life, and yet, not at all. She is a beautiful shapeshifter, with a beautiful array of moods, fancies, and grievances. She is my enigma. That I feel privileged and forever grateful to every power in the universe, my God included that led her to me. My brilliant, complicated, beautiful enigma.
