在朋友对她的新欢赞不绝口时，我又重新审视我的旧爱。丈夫斯科特和我结婚快20年了，其间，他的体重增加了15磅，曾是马à松选手的他，如今却只能从楼上跑到楼下的医院大厅。他的发际线不断后移，从他的体形可以看出，他经常超负荷地工作，并且甜食吃得太多。但约会时，餐桌对面的他仍能向我发出种种眼神，而我则心领神会，结账回家。 当朋友问我“是什么使你们的爱持续至今”时，我毫不犹豫地列举了一些显性因素：承诺、共同的兴趣爱好、无私、身体吸引力，再有就是沟通。当然，还有其他诸多因素。我们俩的相处至今仍是其乐融融，一些欢乐时光常常不期而至。昨天，斯科特把捆报纸的橡皮筋à了下来，然后调皮地弹向我，一场“战争”由此à开了帷幕；上周六在杂货店，我们把购物单一分为二，比赛看能先抢购完，到达收银台；即便是一起洗碗，我们也要嬉闹一番。
只要在一起，我们就很开心。我们常会给对方带来惊喜。一次，我回到家，发现门上贴着一张小纸条，纸条指引我找到了另一张纸条，接着又是一张，最后，在纸条的指引下，我走到小储藏室，推开门，发现斯科特站在里面，手里捧着 “金罐子”（我的蒸煮锅），还拿着一个装着“财富”的大礼包。有时我也会把给他的纸条贴在镜子上，并偷偷地在他的枕头下藏一个小礼物。我们都理解对方。我理解他为什么一定要和老朋友出去打篮球。而他也理解我为什么每年都要离开他和孩子，去与姐妹们聚会，连续几天，无休止地聊天说笑。我们同甘共苦。我们不仅彼此分担家事的忧愁和身为父母的责任，而且也分享各自的见解。上个月，斯科特参加了一个会议，给我带回一本很厚的历史小说。虽然他比较喜欢惊怵和科幻小说，但他还是在飞机上把它读完了。他说自己这样做是为了在我读完后，能和我交流见解。听了这番话，我感动不已。
我们彼此谅解。当我在派对喧闹而胡闹时，斯科特谅了我；而当他用我们的一点积蓄炒股赔了钱，并向我坦白时,我抱紧他，安慰道：“没关系，钱乃身外之物。”
我们心有灵犀。上周，他回家，一进门我便从他的神情看出，他今天过得很不开心。他逗孩子们玩了一会儿后，我问他怎么了。他告诉我,一个60岁的老太太得了中风。当回想到病人的丈夫站在床边爱抚她的手时，他哭了。他实在不忍心告诉病人的丈夫，与他共度了四十年的妻子可能永远都不能康复了！我的眼泪也不由自主地流了下来，为那可恶的病魔，为这世间还有维持40年的婚姻，也为丈夫这么多年来在医院目睹了无数垂死的病人后还能有如此的同情心，还能感动！
我们都有坚定的信念。上周四，一个朋友到我家来，向我诉说了她的忧虑，她担心丈夫会逐渐丧失与癌症抗争的勇气和信心。周三，我和一个朋友吃午饭，她正努力使离婚后的生活步入正轨。周四，一个邻居打电话告诉我，可怕的老年痴呆症正困扰着她公公。周五，小时候的一个玩伴打来长途电话，告诉我他父亲去世的噩耗。我放下电话，心想，一周内竟连续发生这么多令人揪心的悲剧。泪水模糊了我的双眼,我走出家门，想做点什么，却发现窗外橙色的剑兰花竟开了。儿子和伙伴们玩耍的欢声笑语传到我耳边，邻居正在举办婚宴，新娘子穿着缎面且镶有蕾丝花边的婚纱，正把花束抛向欢呼雀跃的朋友。
那一夜，我把这一切都讲给了丈夫听。我们相互慰藉，人生轮回，悲欢离合总会伴随我们。我们将这样相濡以地生活下去。最后一个因，我们互相了解。我知道斯科特每晚都会把换洗的衣服扔向洗衣篓，却总也扔不进去；我知道多数约会他都会迟到，因而会吃掉剩下的最后一块巧克力。他知道我睡觉时喜欢用枕头把头蒙起来，我时常忘带钥匙，进不了家门，而我也会吃掉最后一块巧克力。我猜想，或许是舒适的感觉让我们的爱延续至今。不，天空并没有变得更蓝，跟昨天的一样，它仍是我们熟悉的颜色；我们也不再有年轻的感觉；我们经历的太多了，而正是这些经历促使我们成长，让我们更理性；我们曾为此而付出过代价，也因此收获了更多的回忆。
我希望我们已经得到了使爱情延续的秘诀。结婚时，斯科特在我的戒指上刻上了罗伯特·布朗宁的诗词“陪我到老！”我们始终恪守这一誓言。
执子之手，与子偕老
A Gentle Caress
达芙娜·勒南 / Daphna Renan
Michael and I hardly noticed when the waitress came and placed the plates on our table. We were seated in a small deli tucked away from the bustle of Third Street, in New York City.
Our exchange was lively, if not profound. We laughed about the movie that we had seen the night before and disagreed about the meaning behind the text we had just finished for our literature seminar. He told me about the moment when he had taken the drastic step into maturity by becoming Michael and refusing to respond to "Mickey". Had he been twelve or fourteen? He couldn't remember, but he did recall that his mother had cried and said he was growing up too quickly. As we bit into our blueberry blintzes, I told him about the blueberries that my sister and I used to pick when we went to visit our cousins in the country. I recalled that I always finished mine before we got back to the house, and my aunt would warn me that I was going to get a very bad stomachache. Of course, I never did.
As our sweet conversation continued, my eyes glanced across the restaurant, stopping at the small corner booth where an elderly couple sat. Her floral-print dress seemed as faded as the cushion on which she had rested her worn handbag, The top of his head was as shiny as the soft- boiled egg on which he very slowly nibbled.
She also ate her oatmeal at a slow, almost tedious pace.
But what drew my thoughts to them was their undisturbed silence. It seemed to me that a melancholy emptiness permeated their little corner.
As the exchange between Michael and me fluctuated from laughs to whispers, confessions to assessments, this couple's poignant stillness called to me. How sad, I thought, not to have any thing left to say. Wasn't there any page that they hadn't yet turned in each other's stories? What if that happened to us?
Michael and I paid our small tab and got up to leave the restaurant. As we walked by the corner where the old couple sat, I accidentally dropped my wallet. Bending over to pick it up, I noticed that under the table, each of their free hands was gently cradled in the other's. They had been holding hands all this time!
I stood up and felt humbled by the simple yet profound act of connection I had just been privileged to witness. This man's gentle caress of his wife's tired fingers filled not only what I had previously perceived as an emotionally empty corner, but also my heart. Theirs was not the uncomfortable silence whose threat one always feels just behind the punch line or at the end of an anecdote on the first date. No, theirs was a comfortable, relaxed ease, a gentle love that knew it did not always need words to express itself.