whispering into the old soil

“So tame for you. It’s so sexist.”
“Really? Good.” I felt the response was sexist so I said it.
“Yea Yea Yea,” she responded, but the cat was already out of the bag and I was already sold and soiled and done. I had special knowledge and this knowledge wasn’t going to let me sink.
“I find it interesting that you choose sexist because you clearly expect and play to gender roles in your private life. It’s only the public realm and in the public realm that you object. This is significant for me.”
“Yea, because it’s too personal.”
“That’s my gig, that’s exactly the point.”
“I don’t know, who does it serve?”
“Myself for sure but I think it may serve a public who senses the same thing I do, that oppression is arrived at through lack of disclosure. Speak the people and insist on equality or some such shit.”
“It’s still lame for you.”
“More like, it is lame for you and your circles. Maybe you’re not my audience.”
“Eh.”
And then we were done and on to other topics, Sex and marriage.
“So did you fuck on this vacation?”
“No.” spoken in jovial tone.
“Really, and this is what you choose?”
“Not exactly choose but this is what it is.”
“This. This is what it is.”
“Half of the moms I know don’t have sex or very rarely have sex.”
“Jesus.” I felt dumb and blind. Why would I care? But I knew why.
“I want children but I can’t imagine the compromise. I couldn’t fail them like I failed myself. I couldn’t take the risks.”
“Don’t do that to yourself. Dear God, don’t do that to them.”
I heard her. I believed.
“Whispering into the old soil,” I breathed.
“What?”
“Nothing. I hear you. I see.” And I saw. I saw it all laid out. I saw my knuckles laid bare. “Thanks. I’ll go. I’ll be back in the morning.”