Love On The Rocks, I Know It Well

I sat in the front room of my house and watched a couple walking down the street. To be more precise, I watched them start and stop walking down the street. It took them several minutes to make their collective way past our front gate. They were deep in conversation, or what appeared to be conversation. It was very intense. It wasn't loud, which was a feature of many of the discussions that have taken place on our street over the years. I watched the man reach for the woman's hand, as if to beg her indulgence. She shrugged and pulled away. He stomped away for a few steps, then returned, hands on hips. There was another brief exchange before he threw his arms up in the air and retreated back down the sidewalk.
As this dance continued, I tried not to stare from my window. There have been occasions when these interactions have not worked out quite as politely. There have been times when a call to the police has been necessary to keep the relative calm. Something about being out on the street must make people imagine that they are somehow invisible, not unlike the illusion created by getting into your car: no one can see you picking your nose or singing along to ABBA at the top of your lungs. When you take your relationship problems out into the world, everyone can see and hear it.
I know this because I have been there myself. I have succumbed to the tunnel vision of male/female discord on a number of occasions. It was only now, as I watched the sad couple in front of my house that it ever occurred to me what I might have looked like in that same predicament. No one ever called the cops on me. Maybe they should have. I have been plenty loud, even when I'm getting along with my mate. As the anxious couple continued on past our house, I wondered if I might see them again. Only this time they would be strolling hand in hand, not saying a word.