All My Children
When we were young marrieds, in the ‘70s,
my wife was addicted to the daytime soap opera
All My Children, which ran from 1 to 2 on weekdays.
Tina never missed an episode, before heading off
to her nursing shift at the hospital. I worked similar
hours at the factory, so it was actually ideal for us,
sleeping in as late as we wanted, sharing every meal.
Then a better-paying spot opened up for her,
and she had to be on the clock from 9 to 5.
This was well before VCRs were invented,
or at least before they became available,
so what I would do, is set up a little cassette
tape recorder in front of the television,
capturing the audible for Tina to listen to
when she got home from work. It was easy
enough to follow the basic storyline
with only the sound to go on, using cues
like swelling music to indicate that something
consequential was about to happen.
I usually read the newspaper during lunch,
but with the TV blaring I’d keep an eye on it,
and sometimes I would leave little notes for Tina
to help clear up any confusion—things like,
“Erica is walking up to her lover’s wife at the end
of the show.” (Erica Kane was the series villain.)
Tina continued to watch that program until it ended,
long after we were divorced. I guess once VCRs
came along, she didn’t really need me any more.
John S. Eustis is a retired librarian living in Virginia with his wife, after a long, quiet federal career. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Atlanta Review, North Dakota Quarterly, Pirene’s Fountain, Slipstream, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere.