Just walk away," he answered.
So I did. I turned on my heels and walked away.
The air was cold and damp. I pulled my coat closed and buttoned every button. All I could hear in my head was, "Just walk away."
I stopped, maybe twenty-five yards from him. I wanted to turn around and say something, anything, but the lump was still there, and I was in control of my tears. I pulled my purse around and dug through it for my pack of cigarettes. Pulling out one, I put the pack back in my bag and then rummaged through for a light.
"God damn son of a bitch," I mumbled to myself. I could never find my lighter or a match when I needed one.
I could feel him watching me stand there. I wanted to turn around and ask him for a light. That's how it began, that's how it should end.
He was sitting at Champions' bar. I was waiting for a girlfriend, I hadn't even noticed he was two seats away until I put a cigarette in between my lifts and he asked, "Do you need a light?" Yes, I need a light, and a friend, a lover, a best-friend, a roommate, a fiancé, and a husband.
I found a book of matches in my coat pocket. As I lit the match, I heard him yell, "Do you need a light?"
"Bastard, " I said to my self as I lit the cigarette and inhaled.
The wind blew the match out, and I dropped it on the ground, as I continued walking. I was not going towards anything, just away from him. My heels clicked on the sidewalk; I was determined not to show him how I was feeling.
It is interesting that you can only remember the good times just after someone dumps you. Just images and flashes of when you were happy. You try to think of the worst things that person has done to you and then you remember: the first time you made-love and ironically the last time you made-love; breakfast in bed; calling in sick to work; making-at high noon; choosing the apartment; decorating the apartment; dancing with him on the cruise ship in the moon light; playing trivial pursuit until all hours of the night; the night he proposed; the wedding; the reception; the hours spent learning about each other; meeting his family at Christmas; riding the Ferris Wheel at the Fair; the first kiss; the dozen roses, "Just because I love you;" finding his ticklish spot, the long walks through Central Park in the fall.
When I arrived in front of the Marriott, about two blocks from the restraunt, I hailed a cab.
He was still standing there waiting. For what? For me to go running back to him and throw my arms around him, begging him to love me.
I gave the cab driver my address and he made a U-turn in the middle of the street and headed back past the restraunt. I looked for him as we passed Mercucio's, but he was gone. I wondered briefly where he would be staying the night, and then I replayed the events of the evening in my mind.
He picked me up at work, and we took a taxi to Mercucio's. He was noticeably quiet, but I did not push. Perhaps if I had when he said his day was "fine," I would have found out then that he had not gone to work, but stayed at home packing and moving out. I rattled on about my day, assuming he would tell me what was wrong later.
I was excited about a deal I had closed for the ad agency. He only said, "Congratulations." No--Honey, that's wonderful, we'll have to celebrate with champagne at dinner. I'm so proud of you. Just "Congratulations," as he stared out the window of the cab.
I am not stupid, I knew something was wrong. So I said, "We don't have to go out tonight. Why don't we just go home and have a nice quiet dinner and celebrate by ourselves."
"No!" he turned towards me suddenly and took my hand, "We are going out for dinner."
He played with my wedding ring on my left hand. We both fell silent.
We were going out to celebrate our one year anniversary. Our marriage had been a little shaky at first; but, after several months, I learned how to make the marriage healthy. I just had to do what he said.
When we arrived at the restraunt we were seated immediately.
We ordered and our drinks were served.
I lifted my wine glass for a toast, and he lifted his, clicking it with mine and said, "To ends and new beginnings."
He drank; I brought my glass back down to the table and reached for my purse to get a cigarette out.
"Please don't smoke," he said.
Not listening to him, I pulled out a cigarette and lit it with a pack of matches in the ashtray.
"After several puffs, I asked, "So what's that mean? 'To ends and new beginnings' Did you lose your job?"
He looked down at his napkin, fanned out across his setting. He took it, undone its shape, and put it on his lap.
He looked back at me, straight in the eye, and said, "I want a divorce."
I laughed. He couldn't be serious, our marriage was going great. I couldn't physically have children, but we had filled out all the applications to adopt.
He smiled and said, "I'm being serious."
I stopped laughing and looked at him.
"Why?" I asked. I figured maybe he had misunderstood me recently and was upset over it.
"I don't love you."
That stung, deep down in my gut. I looked down, putting out my cigarette. I had to hold it together. It would only make it worse if I cried. He hated it when I cried, even happy tears. It was no use, a tear ran down my face.
He continued, "I thought I could, but you didn't change enough for me. And then when we found out you couldn't have children...I want children, my own children, not someone else's."
I could not say anything. There was this huge lump in my throat. Tears were running in a constant stream down my cheeks and diving off onto my napkin in my lap.
I tried to dry the tears with the napkin, but now I needed to blow my nose, and I was not about to on the white linen. I pulled my bag up onto my lap, and searched through it for a kleenex. I found a used one, and tried to blow my nose on the clean corner. It hardly helped, because after I blew my nose it began to drip.
He handed me his handkerchief. I took it and tried to subside the emotions welling up inside of my. I still could say nothing.
"I've moved out," he went on explaining the situation," to make it easiest on you. You will be served with the divorce papers tomorrow.
In my mind, I registered that if I was getting the papers tomorrow, he had filed for a divorce at least two weeks ago. He had planned it all: making-love with me, so passionately the night before that I was completely unaware of any problems in our marriage. Last night he had even said that he loved me, and I had responded in turn, "I love you, with all of my heart." Boom. He says, "I want a divorce."
Our food was served and the waiter, asking no questions, disappeared into the kitchen. I had ordered Linguini with a white sauce, but lost was my appetite.
He ate his Lasagna as of nothing was wrong.
I managed to stop the tears, but there was still a lump in my throat.
I stood up and put on my coat.
"Where are you going?" he asked, wiping the sauce off the corners of his mouth.
"Home," I grabbed my purse and moved to leave.
I was outside the door when he stopped me. He grabbed my shoulders from behind. I shrugged free as I turned around to look him in the eye. The tears were urging to come out, but I would not let them.
"What am I supposed to do?" I somehow managed to get through the lump.
"Just walk away."
"Is this it, Miss" the cab driver asked. He was stopped in front of my apartment complex.
"Yes," I said as I looked at the meter. Eight dollars. I pulled out a ten and handed it to him. "Keep the change."
As I opened the door to our apartment, I could feel that something had changed. It was colder."
I turned on the light to discover a bare room, with hardwood floors. The click of my heels echoed in the vast space.
He even took the blinds for the windows. I moved to look out the window. We had paid for this view of the street below and a corner of New York.
I suddenly felt as empty as the room. Why can't I remember the bad times?"
© 1991, Heather Campbell
"UNDERTOW"
Rhythmically the waves came crushing onto the shore. One after the other with white foam carrying some debris of man and depositing it on the already wet sand. The undertow pulled the water back down to the ocean floor, wearing away at the sand it has just crashed onto.
A small sand crab fighting against the undertow, scurried up onto the dryer land, but another wave crashed down onto the crab and it was washed out into the endless sea.
Jeff was standing looking out at the sun setting over the ocean when I arrived. He had once talked about evenings like this on the beach, us together, in echo other's arms. They should have warned us that wishing and dreaming are only children's games.
He turned, perhaps because he felt my presence, and walked towards me. His smile was bright in contrast to his deep olive tan. He was wearing a cable knit sweater to ward off the ever cooling breeze coming off the ocean.
I crossed my arms to keep warm.
"I've been waiting for you, " he said as he took off his sweater and handed it to me. "You are always cold."
"Only when I am with you," I joked.
"So, what do you think?" he asked turning towards the ocean and violently colored sunset.
"It is breathtaking."
There was an awesome silence as we both stood there appreciating the sunset. Jeff wasn't to much of a talker, and I was not ready to talk about why I had come.
"Let's walk," he suggested.
"Are you cold?"
He smiled, "Chilled to the bone. God I have missed you." He took me in his arms and held me so tight I thought he would never let me go.
Finally, I said, "Jeff..."
He buried his head into my neck, "I am so sorry Patti."
I pulled away from him and began walking down the beach. It still hurt. I was fooling myself into thinking it wouldn't. All the time in the world would not heal these wounds.
He caught up with me, and took my left hand. I could tell he was feeling for the engagement ring that was no longer there. He could not see the tears running down my cheeks.
"Can we start over?" He asked.
"Did it ever end?"
"Patti, " he pulled me to face him. Seeing the tears he tried to wipe them away.
There was a lump in my throat the size of an orange, but I managed to ask, "Why?" before I began crying. He pulled me to his chest and petted my head until I was only sobbing.
"I had to move on," he began, "and I thought you were trying to hold me back. I imagined that once we were engaged that you would stay in Wilmington and let me pursue my career out here. I didn't want you in the way of my dreams. And then you got pregnant. I felt like you were trapping me."
I moved way from him. The left shoulder of his white t-shirt was wet with my salty tears, I swallowed hard and asked, "Was I ever a part of those dreams?"
"You were, but after I was successful. I had to get out of that small town. It was smothering me. You were smothering me, holding me back."
I turned to look out at the dying sun. "You never asked me about my dreams, my wishes."
"Should I now?" he asked following my gaze.
"They have changed," I said rather abruptly.
"So have mine," he said looking back at me.
A single tear ran down my right cheek and he caught it with his pinkie finger and lifted it to his lips.
"I shouldn't have called," I started looking straight into his eyes.
"I am glad you did. I have been trying to find you."
"I'd heard. I was never lost."
"But you were hiding from me," he said smiling at his quick retort.
"My life did not stop when you left. I had the hardest decision of my life to make. I hated you for leaving me like that. Do you have any idea how hard it was to give up a part of us. We had made that child growing inside of me--out of love--I thought."
He turned away from me and said, "Do you know how hard you'd make it for me to leave?"
"You could've told me what you were feeling. You never talked to me."
"I told you my plans," he said turning to me."
"I always thought I was a part of your plans."
"You are. I want you to be a part of my plans."
"We can't just erase what happened."
"I am not asking us to," he said taking my hands in his, "I want to work through the past into the future with you. I made a big mistake that day I left you and I will regret it for the rest of my life. I know now that it was not fair to you or our..."
"Child, say it. I killed that baby for you. I thought that once I'd gotten rid of it, you would send for me."
I paused and looked out at the black sea. "That child can never be replaced. I murdered our love when I went to that clinic."
I let that settle in. Squeezing his hands I said, "It has taken me a long time to come to terms with myself. I called you because I realized you were searching for something that is no longer there. I loved you, but that is in past tense."
He pulled his hands from mine, "Your hands are cold."
In the distance, where I came onto the beach, I could see a figure. I knew it was Michael. He was waiting patiently.
Jeff followed my gaze, and turned to look at Michael.
"Cold hands, warm heart," I responded. "I have grown up since that day you left me two years ago. For a long time, I prayed and wished that we could be together again, but..."
"Who is he?"
"This is very hard for me. His name is Michael, please understand, we...I am pregnant with his child. I love him, Jeff, and he loves me. Our dreams and plans were made together."
Jeff walked away, leaving me in the dark, with only his sweater to protect me. I didn't know what else to do, I had made the choice.
© 1991, Heather Campbell
|
