All these constituted justifiable sacrifices in Tony’s mind. After all, the result was not simply an overabundance of education (which in Brittany’s mind equated with “underemployed”), but finally Tony would have mastered Chinese-ness. For it was this elusive quality that propelled his studies, and it was frankly only his unacknowledged privilege as a white man that allowed him to think he could acquire this “othered” illusion. For Tony wanted to capture the exotic Chinese culture for himself, embody it as only a Euro-American could desire. Only then would it relinquish its fascinating hold and he could become human again.
Thus from Tony’s point of view, things were pootling along admirably well. He had just discovered that his TA-ship would be extended into the spring term and in Tony’s view, this meant additional steady income until the end of the school year.
As for Brittany, she ought to appreciate not simply the promise of more income, but the effort Tony was putting forth. He was, in his own eyes, truly holding up his end of the bargain, for not only was he successfully progressing in his academic pursuits, he was working, as well. As for the time spent on these occupations, again, their result, in both his success and an additional $775 per month before taxes surely added up to seven-hundred and seventy-five points in his favor.
In Tony’s mind, Brittany was “only” working full-time, and though she was making twice his salary and half yet again, still it was all she had to do. That, and cook. And perhaps clean. Nevertheless, she was clearly not juggling as many responsibilities as was Tony. Which reasoning led to Tony’s slightly dismissive responses towards Brittany. Tony, after all, was certain that, at the end of the year, during Christmas holiday, Brittany would understand the subtleties of his decisions, appreciate their eminent logic and just-ness, resulting in total vindication of himself.
In real terms, in spite of all lofty justifications, the money Tony was making was rather paltry. In addition to which the work occupied a majority of his spare time. Spare time slated for Brittany.
The situation between them became increasingly tense. Plaints beginning with “Tony, honey, can we…” were rejoined with “I’m sorry, Brittany, I’ve got grading (or lesson-planning) to do.”
Because the month leading up to Christmas was comprised primarily of variations on the above theme, let us draw a veil over that period and skip directly to that esteemed holiday, or rather, to the week of classes preceding the four-week vacation. This week proved particularly trying for both Brittany and Tony. On Brittany’s side, the stress of work had increased exponentially because of her boss’s pregnancy. Delivery of said pregnancy, that is. Most women proclaim that the first trimester is the worst, hormonally speaking, but Brittany’s boss was determined to buck that trend. Instead, she had become cranky in the extreme, doing an impressive job of channeling her own, to be born, baby. In consequence Brittany’s nerves had been stretched to limits unbeknownst to either herself or her husband. Cooking she insisted was out of the question. Thus, despite the exorbitant cost, they decided to stock up on prepared foods from the local upscale market, mixed with a selection of frozen entrees.
Tony was also experiencing a heightened level of stress. Not only did he have to complete a thirty-five page paper consisting of two drawn-out conclusions in painfully dry prose, he had grading thirty undergraduate papers, as well as their final exams. These then needed to be tallied for the professor who, in essence, would put his stamp of approval on them and then turn them in to be officially recorded.
Finally there was the Christmas tree. Although the winter break was a month long for Tony, most of it occurred after the Christmas day itself. Brittany had insisted they simply could not wait until after he was through with finals week to get a tree: they would have less than a week to enjoy its symbol of anticipation and wonder. No, it must be acquired the week of finals. Surprisingly enough, Tony acquiesced and they procured a tree with a minimum of wrangling. What’s more Tony had successfully strung up the four sets of lights, adorned the tree with ornaments and topped its crown with a fitting monument. It was beautiful.
It was crooked.
“Tony, the tree is tilted.”
“What do you mean, it’s tilted? Let me see. No it isn’t. It looks great!”
“It’s fine, Brittany,” Tony insisted. He had, after all, struggled with it for over an hour. He had tried to hammer, skewer, and otherwise beat the stump onto the flimsy stand they had bought the previous year. He refused to contemplate that this had all been for nought.
“No, honey, it is crooked,” Brittany pulled his arm. Come over here and look.”
Tony sighed and reluctantly moved next to her, “It looks fine to me.”
“Well it isn’t. It’s definitely lopsided. I’d really like you to fix it,” she looked at him with pleading eyes.
He sighed again and replied, “Alright, just hold it while I unscrew the bottom…”
“No! You can’t do it like that. You have to do it right.”
“What do you mean, ‘do it right?’”
Brittany looked triumphantly at him.
*
The next day, Tony’s somewhat dejected visage was noted and drew sympathy.
“Dude, what’s wrong with you? C’mon, buddy, it’s almost vacation!” This, from the lips of a “funded baby” who had nothing to do except study and party. After all, no matter what any Humanities grad student will protest, they simply do not study all those hours they claim to. After a full four hours at school (from ten to two) and a few hours of studying, when the clock chimes six, the inevitable happens: alcohol and friends. Or alcohol and a significant other, though maintaining a successful relationship in addition to their “work” is a difficult business at best. Witness the troubles between Tony and Brittany. Better to stick with friends who demand nothing further than camaraderie through a haze of alcoholic euphoria.
A wry grin played on Tony’s lips, “Yeah? And what are you so happy about? Busy keeping the bars in business? Geez, man, don’t you ever work?”
“I think I detect a little bitterness. Why don’t you come out with me after class tonight? There’s a great place I found that serves twenty different beers on tap. I know you like beer. And their burger kills. My treat,” he offered generously. Nathan, it was well-known, was a balding young[-ish] grad student had deemed it his duty to rate all the food-serving bars within ten miles of school according to beer tap selection and burger quality.
“Can’t. Gotta go home after classes today.”
“Uh-oh. Do I hear the chain whipping? What’s she got you doing now?”
Now this was a tricky business. To admit the specifics of his task was to reinforce the image of Brittany as a stereotype. Nathan had made more than one snide comment about Brittany: they had met once, to mutual antipathy. Nathan thought Brittany spoiled and self-centered. Brittany thought Nathan a boor. Nathan clearly didn’t respect Brittany which admittedly pained Tony, for she was the woman he loved.
The other side was that Tony wanted to complain. Which he had done more than once. It was a precarious balance, to convince himself that he was being respectful to Brittany while simultaneously unburdening his marital troubles with inordinate detail that not coincidentally favored him and not Brittany.
Tony’s self-pity took hold, “Brittany wants me to go home and fix the Christmas tree we got.”
“Fix the tree? What does that mean?”
He sighed. “It’s crooked. So she wants me to take off all the ornaments, take off the lights and then cut the bottom straight.” He paused, “She certain that’s the problem.”
This last part was rather difficult to hear due to the laughter erupting from Nathan’s mouth. One might even term it insensitive. He snorted a last laugh and then wiped his eyes, “Dude, that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Why don’t you just adjust the screws like every other normal person does?”
“I tried to tell her that. She wants it done this way. So, that’s what I’m doing.”
“Well, if you have time after, I’ll be at the O’Brien’s with a couple of the other guys. Drop by.” And with this, he left, chuckling his way down the hall.
Which is how, on a balmy evening in December, Tony could be seen sawing away at a Christmas tree stump, with a small kitchen saw, cursing lowly.
His wife gazed down on him from the kitchen window above, satisfaction suffusing her face.
The Department be damned.
She had won.
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