Saturday, August 4, 2012


           This week in the Times, the article, “Long Island Man Faked His Own Death, Wife Says” caught my attention. Raymond Roth, a forty-seven year old man was thought to have drowned at Jones Beach—according to his twenty-two year old son, Jonathon. The police and other agencies conducted a full-fledged air, water, and land search for him. His wife, Evana even started arranging a funeral, until she found emails exchanged by Raymond and his son (her stepson.)

            It turns out that he’d planned this whole fake death with Jonathon and was found (alive) in South Carolina, driving down a highway.

            The fact that this article even has to exist pains me. The fact that this sort of thing isn’t terribly uncommon is worse.

            It all started with two people falling in love—they had to, in order to say “I do.” Eventually, the whole “We’re a Happy Family” scenario was crushed when Mr. Man-of-the-House was fired from work…after threatening to kill supervisors of his. Evana says she suffered mental abuse from Raymond, who was an alcoholic. The thing is, Evana and Raymond were married for over a decade. Obviously, their marriage wasn’t healthy.

            I don’t know if any marriage is healthy. It seems like humans are unable to completely dedicate themselves to another person. Feeling that ultimate “it” (lust? love?) and then signing a bunch of papers won’t guarantee that you’ll never get bored. Eventually that spark will fizzle out and the “magic couple” will be trapped in the same, drab routine decided by stupid mistakes. Every last drop of divine affection has probably been squeezed out by then. It’s like when you hear a song for the first time and love it, but then hear it again a million times and realize that it’s not that great and just one song, out of trillions, and there’s probably some other song that’s better, making it not special anymore.

            If Evana and Raymond can’t love each other with the same burning passion they did twelve years ago, trying to fade away from what they were stuck with must be way easier.
o o o o o

This reminds me of Bones. I've been watching a lot of Bones lately.

            I like Bones.

(I kind of want to be her.)

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