This Story Takes Place In Minnesota

Rebecca hurried from the office. She jumped into the front seat of her car, tossed her bag down next to her, threw the key in the ignition, then suddenly paused.

There was a stranger sitting in the backseat. Rebecca pulled out of the lot and headed towards the highway while trying to avoid looking in the mirror. An awkward silence hung in the air. Rebecca refused to be the first one to say anything.

When she finally pulled into her garage, Rebecca grabbed her bag and hurried into the house. She hoped the man would be gone by the morning.

Awkward

It was another one of our awkward silences. We stood their staring into the distance, afraid to make eye contact. We sedulously avoided entering each other's personal space. We danced around each other with delicate steps, on tiptoe, a deeply ingrained choreography learned after years of rehearsal.

Words only came painfully, weighed down with uncertainty and despair. The forced cohabitation doomed us to this daily ritual at least twice a day, and though our encounters were always brief, a few minutes at most, the memories of them lingered.

The question always hung between us, why we ever agreed to marry.