Star-crossed and suffering

She'd just seen the Star at the Publix checkout. It assured her everything was fine and a baby was in the works.

Then came that awful morning when she woke up and her husband turned on the television like always and the Today show was talking about the breakup. First she only half-heard it. Then it settled in. Then she understood.

Sadness overwhelmed her.

She could not understand why she felt this way. Cecilee Schirmer is 60, a retired paralegal in Spring Hill. She has children and grandchildren and a husband and a life. Brad and Jen are not aware that she exists.

The sick feeling lingered all day. She told herself how pathetic this was. Pathetic and stupid and none of her business. But still.

She called her 34-year-old daughter. "Mom, they're movie stars, what do you want?"

She called her 11-year-old granddaughter. "You know, Gram, you just can't get into these movie people. You just don't know where they're coming from."

She knows this is true.

She ironed her pillowcases to stay busy. She has not ironed pillowcases in 40 years.

"I don't know. I'm questioning myself. Where am I coming from? Is it that, gee, I haven't dealt with my own life because I'm living life through Brad and Jen and now that there's no baby what am I going to do?

"I'm trying to hold my own marriage together, so why do I care about Brad and Jen?"

The morning after the breakup, her husband asked her if she wanted him to turn on the TV.

No, she told him. No more morning news. No more Extra.

"I don't want to know," she says. "I need to regroup."

Like a lot of people, Charlene Lewis can't believe she's bothered by this. But everyone wants to believe in fairy tales, even at 45.

To her, Brad and Jen were like Ken and Barbie. Ken and Barbie, plastic and perfect, are supposed to last. Brad and Jen should stay skinny forever and repopulate Hollywood with pretty babies.

Anything else is so ... human.

Looking back, Santa Claus was the first fantasy to crumble. Then the tooth fairy. Then the notion that parents are infallible. Then the first marriage.

Then Princess Diana, and so much for Prince Charming, and now this.

"You're just still hoping or wishing there's still something magical out there," said Mrs. Lewis, who lives in Largo. "You want someone to make it."

Her second marriage is fabulous. She still believes in Happily Ever After.

Remember how nice it was, though, when every story ended that way?

She had it figured out in fourth grade.

"The whole world's mixed up," she told her mom. "They're thinking about money and this and that. It's all about love, mom. Isn't it?"

Now Esther Rupp is 59. "I'm an old lady," she says. "But I still believe that."

She teaches middle school in Plant City, and consoles the brokenhearted every day. Her own heart was first clobbered in seventh grade, and she remembers how that hurt. She tells her students they will break up with everyone but the last one.

"And the last one," she says, "is going to be so cool."

She met a boy in high school and she knew he would be the last one. They didn't date then, just sat on the steps and talked about their crushes and disappointments. Then he joined the military and she noticed how good he looked in uniform. Then she married him. She was absolutely certain it would last forever.

She thinks Brad and Jen must have felt like that once. Everyone feels like that once, if they're lucky.

Her marriage lasted 20 years, but not forever. He died in a motorcycle accident, and just like that, she would not grow old with him after all.

In his place was emptiness. A lonely uncertainty. She thinks Brad and Jen must feel some of that now.

She's not obsessed with celebrities. She's in love with love. She figures no matter who you are or how old you get, it is as thrilling and as devastating.

"Nothing feels the same," she says.

It turns out her last one wasn't who she thought it was. She found someone new, despite the magazine articles that told her it would never happen.

He makes her tea when she doesn't even ask for it and brings her roses on Monday mornings.

She wants that for Brad and Jen. She wants it for everyone. One more chance.

They were in the living room. He said, "I just heard that Brad and Jen broke up."

She said: "That's not funny."

How could he joke about something like that with their wedding just two months away? She brushed it off and went to take a shower.

Then he was banging on the door. Said he wasn't kidding.

"You're confused, Michael." Jennifer Garner maybe. Jennifer Lopez. Not Jennifer Aniston.

She heard her voice getting louder. You're confused! You're thinking Ben and Jen! Liar!

Jessica Wallace, 30, and Michael Milisci, 35, have been together five years. They watched Friends together, saw 12 Monkeys, Troy, Ocean's Eleven and Ocean's Twelve.

They felt connected to Brad and Jen. Sort of imagined their marriages would parallel each other. Maybe their kids would grow up together. Sort of.

"I would die to meet either one of them," Jessica says. "But not in a psycho way."

Michael had a dream about them. They were in Mexico and Brad and Jen had the room next door and they were all hanging out together.

Not like they were famous or anything, just hanging out like normal people. When Jessica finally accepted the news, she felt like it had happened to friends.

"I wanted to call Brad up and say, "Hey, what's the problem?"'

Maybe the wedding stress is freaking her out. She doesn't think this is some kind of sign. But divorce is everywhere, and model marriages are rare. Her parents are divorced. Her grandparents seem happy, but can you really tell? Brad and Jen seemed happy.

She's sure that she and Michael will be happy.

They live in Holiday. That's a long, long way from Hollywood.

It was dark and they were falling asleep.

Linda Flack, for whatever reason, turned to her husband and said, "I can't believe Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston have broken up."

Stan didn't say anything. He's a sensitive guy, but apparently this did not interest him. So Linda just kept talking.

"You'd think with everything they had going for them, all that money, great careers, they'd have a shot at making it."

She's not sure why Brad and Jen even came into her head. Maybe it's that when you have a happy marriage, you want everyone to have a happy marriage. She has known Stan since high school. Sometimes, she wonders if they would have been too independent to make it work if they'd met later. Sometimes, he does something irritating and she thinks, "If this were a date, I'd ask him not to call back." But it has been 20 years and three kids and a dog and house in Seminole, and she has never been able to imagine a future without him. He knew it was right before she did, but how do you ever really know?

Then came Stan's quiet voice. "I don't know why you think about these things," he said.

"Give me the guy whose hours have been cut from his job, and no, there is no extra money to do this or that, and yet he and his wife manage to stay together. That's reality. Not Hollywood."

They laughed a little, and he said, "Can we go to sleep now?"

She was thinking that she married the right person. And he had just reminded her why.

The "elephant' in the room

I can remember hearing the news as if it were only yesterday, or at least very recently. I was driving to work, channel surfing on the car radio. The news reported Brad and Jen were calling it quits. I nearly had an accident. Luckily, the coffee spilled onto the passenger seat and not my new white shirt. I pulled to the shoulder of the road. The breakup news was big. It was on all the stations. Well, except for NPR. They were talking about tsunami relief, upcoming Middle East elections and changes to the Social Security system. Unbelievable! No reports about Brad and Jen. They wonder why they have to do pledge drives to stay on the air. I quickly changed the channel.

At work, tension was everywhere. We tried to keep our minds off the breakup. We talked about job responsibilities for the day. We started working. Who were we trying to fool? No one wanted to acknowledge the "elephant" in the room. Not one of my colleagues talked about the breakup that day, or the next, or the next. In fact, they have yet to talk about it. I don't know how they keep it all in. It can't be good. Call Dr. Phil!

As a nation we have had much to endure. First, the Lopezes call it quits. Now, the Pitts have destroyed our romantic fantasy, too. We lost Ben and Jen. Then, we lose Brad and Jen. For my sanity and comfort I turn to the only couple who have never let me down. I am drowning my sorrows in a pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey ice cream.

Strength America,

John E. Ruddy

St. Petersburg