There we were, standing in the hall waiting for the elevator. I had just put on a brand new beautiful black leather winter jacket that Chuck had never seen. And he didn't even notice. He was oblivious.

"You didn't even notice my beautiful new leather jacket," I reproached him after waiting ten minutes. My newest resolution is always to give him the benefit of the doubt. So I wait ten minutes.

"I'm sorry," Chuck said contritely. Chuck likes to say I'm sorry. He says I'm sorry whenever he can now. It's a brand new habit he's acquired. It's useful, and I like it. It indicates how sensitive he's become after all this time. He's almost perfect now, except for a couple of remaining flaws. Like, he has trouble noticing things. And also listening. He gets oblivious.

"I like it when you notice me," I reproached him kindly. My other newest resolution is to reproach him kindly. Which is why I added, "Attention must be paid." We had just seen Death of a Salesman, and Chuck loves this line. So I've started incorporating it into all my reproaches. It makes him happy to be reproached.

Sometimes Chuck forgets to listen, too. Like the next afternoon, at the Yo-Yo Ma concert. Chuck gave his opinion concerning the performance. I listened attentively. Then I gave mine.

"I think I have a problem with Yo-Yo Ma," I explained. "He's trying to do too much at once. I don't like the way he's developing. He's developing horizontally instead of vertically. He's not developing in depth. He's developing in breadth." I was about to launch into my unique theory about how his scoliosis operation affected how his technique. That's when I noticed that Chuck had stopped listening. He was oblivious.

I tried to give Chuck the benefit of the doubt for ten minutes. But I couldn't, because I was annoyed. So I reproached him sooner. "You're not listening," I objected. "Attention must be paid," I added, to keep him happy.

In spite of hearing this phrase constantly in my reproaches, Chuck still likes it. So he laughed good-naturedly. "I wasn't listening," he replied, "because I was still thinking about your last remark. It was brilliant."

At first I had no idea what remark he was referring to. But I was happy anyway. Anyone would be happy to know that that their last remark had been brilliant. Until I realized what an impossible burden this would impose on me. Because a brilliant remark is a hard act to follow. And what were the odds that my next remark would also be brilliant? To be perfectly honest, not very good. I mean, how many brilliant remarks can I be expected to make? How many brilliant remarks can anyone be expected to make? Not too many. In fact, there are probably a fair number of people who never make a single brilliant remark during their entire lifetimes. Let alone two. That's how rare such remarks are. So who knows when I would make my next brilliant remark. Or if I ever will. Considering the odds, it's pretty unlikely.

So if Chuck will only pay attention to my brilliant remarks, he might never pay attention to anything I say again. Which would be terrible. He'd stay oblivious.

I decided I'd better say something.

"I don't think it's right if you're only going to pay attention to my brilliant remarks," I scolded him. "I think you should listen with respect to everything I say. In fact," I went on, getting really excited now, "I think you should listen with respect even to the silliest thing I say."

"Wait a minute," Chuck said. "This needs time. Don't say another word. I'm trying to figure out whether this is the silliest thing you've said so far. I want to be sure. Because if it is the silliest thing, I really want to respect it."

So the rest of the evening, Chuck went around listening with respect to everything I said. He said he was finding it pretty difficult to figure out what was the silliest thing I said. But that, even though it was harder than he expected, he was determined to find out. He was making every effort possible. And if he could figure out what the silliest thing was, he was really going to respect it.

I must admit there was no way that I could even reproach him. I mean, without sounding silly.

But why would I reproach him, anyway? I was getting exactly what I wanted, wasn't I? Finally, he wasn't being a bit oblivious. Attention was being paid.

February, 1999
BB