If I said, “Shakkah,” how would you respond? Would you give me a weird look and say, “What in the world is wrong with you?” Probably. Not my husband, though. I know as he’s reading this he’s thinking, “When the walls fell.” The meaning, to us, is clear – failure. And you would only know that if you’ve seen the episode called, “Darmok” from Star Trek, The Next Generation. Likewise, if one of us says, “Zinda! His face black, his eyes red!” the other knows that someone is very, very pissed. Yes, we’re weird. That was never in question. My point is that over the years we’ve developed our own language of sorts, based on things we love, or hate, things we have in common, that allow us to communicate with one another in ways no one else understands. We have our own little clique.
That particular episode of Star Trek happens to be one of our mutual favorites, so we’ve glommed onto a few lines. We also had an affection for Paul Winfield, the principal non-TNG regular in that episode. He did the voice-over work on City Confidential, as well; another of our favorite shows.
Because of the exclusive little clique we’re in, when my husband is reading at his computer and mutters, “Ow,” I know he’s come across a butchery of the English language, whether it’s spelling, punctuation, or grammar. He can tell by the way I sigh if it’s an angry sigh, a frustrated one, or a tired one. We know each other’s jokes and stories, habits, quirks, likes, dislikes, tastes, and distastes. This is our club.
It occurred to me over the weekend that I’ve never been in a clique before. Not as a kid, not in high school, and certainly not in my 1st marriage. I don’t know why it was that way, but it was. I can’t really explain why what I have now does feel like a clique, either. It just does. There are times when the Biblical line of, “The two shall become one,” finally makes sense to me. There’s a blending, a merging – of thoughts, ideas, beliefs. Not to say we don’t have our, “Dammit, you are really pissing me off!” moments, but they’re pretty rare. Half the time we’re finishing each other’s sentences. You’d think that would get annoying after a while but it doesn’t. There’s a sort of comfort in knowing that someone else knows you that well, almost better than you know yourself, and likes you anyway. We belong. Darmok and Jalahd, at Tenagrah.