ERNIE AND ERNESTINA: Searching
Book Two, Chapter 254: Bridges
When Ernie and I were newly married, I thought of his penis as a bridge between us. I thought this penis bridge would connect us and make us feel close to each other.
But the penis bridge wasn’t strong enough to carry the full weight of the relationship. Soon the trip became tiresome for both of us. Eventually the bridge turned rusty, grew obsolete, was abandoned.
Ernie and I had a writing bridge, too, a narrow bridge that spanned only our minds — and only the critical, judgemental part of my mind. The creative, imaginative part of Ernie’s mind was largely unrecognized by me, and that part of me was severely underdeveloped.
Ernie and I — and Joshua — also had a work bridge. This was the bridge most used. We went back and forth on it every day to bring in money from turf articles, rentals, the tip sheet, paper routes. No one worked any more or any less than the other. We were donkeys, burros, mules. We were pack horses. We carried weight. We grew tired. We spent ourselves.
Ernie and I needed a triple-tiered swinging bridge that spanned our minds and hearts and bodies. Not a drawbridge that closes when threatened but a swinging bridge — flexible, adaptable, moving. Always open. Always there.
We never built this bridge.