Jericho: Double Wrap

I'm walking down the street, leaving work. This guy steps from the crowd in front of me. I'm used to the beggars by now. They are aggresive and demanding. I pay with plastic - I haven't had change in my pockets for years.

On he comes, I steel myself for the confrontation. This guy is different, he isn't "shabby yet clean and comfortable" like the rest of the jerks hustling the pedestrians. His jaw is set and his eyes never look away from mine. I find I can't break the lock, I can't look away and ignore him.

He stops, well within my space. The street is crowded and I'm trapped. He has me and I know it. Either this guy is going to ask me for money or mug me, I just know it. He's so close. He could do whatever he wants. Short of decking him or crying out for help, I have no choice but to face him. He never breaks the stare, deep into my eyes. Then, he speaks:

"You married?"
"Say what?"
"Married. Are you married?"

Stunned. I realize I'm standing there with my jaw a gape. I have no idea how to respond to this guy. I could push into the crowd and escape, but some morbid curiosity glues my feet to the pavement. This is either the worst approach for money I've ever seen or the best rap ever laid on a white man. I hold up my left hand and wiggle my ring finger. The white-gold ring glitters in the neno and mercury light.

"Um ... yeah."

After opening my mouth, several thoughts occur to me at once. The first being how lame a response that was to this man. Secondly, how stupid it was to show off the only piece of jewery I own or wear to this questionable person. And third, I'm struck by how silly wearing that ring really is - I know I'm married. We wear these rings so that other people know we're married. But, what business is it of theirs? And, if I'm going to the trouble of wearing this ring, why can't this ... person ... take the time to look at my hand before asking this question?

I put my hand down and look back at this guy - our eyes have never disengaged. Again he speaks.

"You married?"
"I just told you."
"You married?"
"Yes!"

He closed his eyes. This was the first time he broke our eye contact. It was brief, almost a blink, but a fraction longer. He looked as if he was composing himself for the big question. I wasn't sure where this was going and I wasn't eager to find out. The crowd had thinned around me and I could easily leave - but, again, I had to know what he wanted. An attraction to insanity has long haunted me, I was getting my fix. He opened his eyes.

"Why?"
"Why am I married?"
"Why?"

My head began to gently shake involuntarily. The crowds were nearly gone and I nearly walked on. There is no easy answer to this simple question. I think I have as many answers as I have days that I've been married and not all of them are positive. Not all of them are for remaining married, most, but not all. I don't have one answer. I just don't.

"I love her and she said yes."
"Right. Excellent."

The man, the bum, the beggar, the person before me turned on his heel and walked away from me. I was left standing on the empty street corner as it began to rain.