Sometimes, this was all a person could ask of an early fall weekend. The sun was warm on her skin, the sounds of one of the last festivals of the year drowning out the thoughts that had been consuming her for too long. As she sat alone, far from the hustle and bustle of the main tent, she was trying to work up courage and strength that she had convinced herself resided somewhere inside of her. For too long, she had spent her life being told what to think, how to act, how to feel. This was Marti’s time to shine. She felt liberated after spending a decade in a marriage that she had known before the vows wouldn’t last. She had convinced herself that her husband would change, that he would be more loving after they were man and wife. She quickly realized that was only a dream, but by then she felt trapped.
She found the courage to leave and be on her own for the first time in her life. She had traveled a bit, found new hobbies, was working on finding social circles she could be a part of, but something was missing. As dysfunctional as her marriage had been, she missed the closeness of having someone there. She wanted to have someone to talk to, possibly curl up on the couch with and read together, watch TV, or simply turn down the lights and turn up the music and lay there. She hadn’t had this in her marriage, and this time she would settle for nothing less. Once she walked through that gate, a man who, at least on the surface, appeared to have most of the qualities she wanted would be waiting for her. “I will be to the left of the stage. I’ll be the one standing alone looking desperately for someone to talk to.” She was thinking back to their conversation last night.
Was she really about to do this? Was she going to take this leap? She could feel a lump in her throat, it was hard to breathe, her stomach doing summersaults. She stood up to walk in and immediately sat back down. “I can’t do this,” she said aloud. She focused on the Irish folk music resonating through the park. It momentarily calmed her. As she stood up again, determined to walk inside, she felt her knees shaking, her hands were clammy. She felt weak, emotionally fragile. What if he saw through the façade she was able to put up whenever they spoke on the phone? “Come on, Marti, one foot in front of the other. Today is your day.” she said, trying to reassure herself everything would be okay.
Every step closer to the yellow and white tent, she could feel the knot in her stomach getting larger. She knew that she was finally doing something for herself, attempting to ensure her own happiness, why was this so difficult? Why did she feel consumed with fear? The music grew louder, the pleasant melodies reverberating from the violin, time kept perfectly by the drummer. She started to ease a bit as she focused on the music. She allowed her mind to drift away to a Irish dance performance she had attended years earlier. It was one of her fondest memories. By the time she walked into the shade provided by the tent, she was at peace, now excited rather than petrified.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Innocence
The day was warm, much warmer than normal for so late in the fall. My heart skipped as I heard a door open. It was him. Soon, he was walking across his yard, across the street, and over to meet me. It was the middle of the day, this was a dangerous journey. Would the neighbors see? And if they saw, would they talk? In some way, I felt validated because he was willing to see me, in his territory, in broad daylight. I should have felt scared or ashamed, but I didn’t.
For the next few minutes, we made the simplest of small talk. What we talked about is a blur. I was too busy watching him move. The slightest shift in his weight or stretch of his back made me tingle from head to toe. I tried to pretend to be listening while I was imagining what that toned body would feel like on my hands. Imagining drinking his scent as we lie curled up on the couch listening to music.
Suddenly, the moan of a diesel engine woke me from my dream. The end had come. I knew that these may be the last moments I had to share with him. Soon, he would go to his reality and I would go to mine.
I sat on the step in front of my brother’s house, watching the man I loved with my entire heart walk across the street. He didn’t look at me as he crossed, he was on a mission. Watching this scene unfold, I realized that what I was doing was wrong. And yet I knew I would remain weak to stop myself.
The kids started to pile off the bus, there must have been twenty or more at this one stop. Some were just beginning their school years, this first year still new enough that they were bounding off the bus, racing to tell their parents everything that happened. Others were older. They seemed to get off the bus more casually, tired from a long day, dreading the prospect of homework.
One little boy seemed slightly confused as he got off the bus. His precious blonde head snapped in the direction of his house as he realized that he didn’t have to go to the sitter’s today. This was a sight that was both precious and heart breaking to see. He ran to his dad, mouth moving as fast as his feet. All I could do was sit there and cry. I watched as father and son talked about school, smiling at the bond they shared. They went inside and I was alone yet again.
That night, I made sure that I was sitting outside. I didn’t want to go to him, he had to come to me. I had told him from the beginning that as much as I have loved him for nearly half of my life, I could not be the home wrecker, he was not going to take the easy way out of a marriage that he had regretted from “I do”.
Sitting in the quiet, cold night, I heard a patio door open. That had to be him. My heart raced even though I had no clue if we would see each other, much less talk. I had to find a way to look up to his balcony without being obvious. I walked, casually, to my car. The grass was wet, the night still. That walk was short, but it felt like it was taking forever, the entire way I was wrestling with how to attack this situation. I decided the best thing to do was nothing. Let him see me if it was him, but don’t draw attention to myself.
I grabbed an old, flat soda out of my car, closed the door, turned around, and headed back to the house. I was almost strutting, so proud that I had resisted the temptation to steal a glance of my love. The still of the night was broken, “Nicole Marie,” I heard him call out in the darkness. He was the only man to call me by my first and middle name, and it was like a choir of angels every time I heard it. I hated that name, it was so common, so boring.
I turned around to acknowledge that I heard him, still scared out of my mind that someone would hear. “What?” I tried to whisper loud enough for him to hear, trying to add a touch of annoyance to my voice.
“Come here!” he said as if I should have known that I was being summoned into enemy territory. I didn’t like to drive on that side of the street, much less walk over and stand in his yard. My love for him could lead me to do nearly anything he asked, and he knew it. As I walked through his yard, looking up to the balcony, he began what he had to say. “Haven’t you learned that I want you to TALK to me? You can’t hide your emotions from me and I don’t like impersonal communication.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” I asked. I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“Don’t you know how it pisses me off when you cop out and send me a text message saying that you’re mad?”
“I wasn’t mad.” Lord, why did I send that message? Now I had to explain myself. Why can’t he understand what I’m feeling? Why do I have to spell it all out for him?
“Sure, you were happy as can be, right?” He sounded truly upset with me. In over a dozen years, I had only heard this tone of voice a few times and every time it was like a dagger in my heart.
“No, but I wasn’t mad. Don’t you realize how hard this is for me? You think that all of this is easy for me to deal with? I know that my time with you is limited. But when I sent that, I was trying to not cry. All I wanted to do was talk to you and you weren’t available.” I was kicking myself by this point. What right did I have to need or want anything from him?
“Hang on. I’ll meet you in a few minutes. Go to the field.” I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that he was willing to talk or scared that I was finally going to be forced to say what was truly on my mind. There would be no escaping this time.
****
Before we knew it, we had been talking for over two hours. First about where things stood with us, then about our “primary lives”, then about nothing at all. And then the conversation took a turn. A turn I didn’t want to face but knew I would have to.
“That boy is my everything.” He said, nearly in tears.
“I know, that’s why I feel like we will never be more than a dream. You can’t leave him, you won’t leave him.” My heart was sinking, but after the events of earlier, I knew he wasn’t just saying that his son was the tie that had him bound to his current life, his current home.
“I just need to figure out a way for him to be with me,” desperation filled his voice, “then I will be able to leave. Then I will be able to be happy.”
“You know as well as I do that won’t happen. She will fight you tooth and nail, and unless you can prove her incompetent or a danger to herself and to Blake, you will be doomed to 50/50 custody at best.” Why was I being the voice of reason? I wanted nothing more than to be with this man for the rest of my life, and here I sat, reminding him why he had to stay right where he was.
“Well, I have to find a way, otherwise I can’t go. I can’t live without him.” Suddenly, I was jealous. I wasn’t jealous of Blake, I wasn’t jealous of Sam, I was jealous of her. Did she have any clue how many women would kill for a father this devoted? Did she appreciate all he did with and for Blake?
He started to tell me about a bad dream Blake had the night before. He pulled my head to his chest, recreating the scene with me in Blake’s place. “I’m the only one who he’ll calm down for when he gets like that.” He gently rocked me as he had rocked his son the night before.
All I could do was cry. What kind of demon could put her own happiness ahead of that of a small child? I had been trying so hard to convince myself that by telling Sam time and time again that he could not leave Sarah for me, I was sparing Blake. All I was doing was masking the guilt that I felt, trying to justify it.
In reality, my presence in Sam’s life was robbing Blake. That day, he had the innocent joy that every child deserves to have. An innocence that was taken from me when I was five, an innocence that Sam never truly had and had hoped to give his son. Someday, Blake would look at his father and realize that he had been unfaithful to Sarah. From knowing Sam for so long, I knew the resentment and bitterness that creates. And if my dream came true, would he realize that I was the one who made his daddy leave his mommy?
For the next few minutes, we made the simplest of small talk. What we talked about is a blur. I was too busy watching him move. The slightest shift in his weight or stretch of his back made me tingle from head to toe. I tried to pretend to be listening while I was imagining what that toned body would feel like on my hands. Imagining drinking his scent as we lie curled up on the couch listening to music.
Suddenly, the moan of a diesel engine woke me from my dream. The end had come. I knew that these may be the last moments I had to share with him. Soon, he would go to his reality and I would go to mine.
I sat on the step in front of my brother’s house, watching the man I loved with my entire heart walk across the street. He didn’t look at me as he crossed, he was on a mission. Watching this scene unfold, I realized that what I was doing was wrong. And yet I knew I would remain weak to stop myself.
The kids started to pile off the bus, there must have been twenty or more at this one stop. Some were just beginning their school years, this first year still new enough that they were bounding off the bus, racing to tell their parents everything that happened. Others were older. They seemed to get off the bus more casually, tired from a long day, dreading the prospect of homework.
One little boy seemed slightly confused as he got off the bus. His precious blonde head snapped in the direction of his house as he realized that he didn’t have to go to the sitter’s today. This was a sight that was both precious and heart breaking to see. He ran to his dad, mouth moving as fast as his feet. All I could do was sit there and cry. I watched as father and son talked about school, smiling at the bond they shared. They went inside and I was alone yet again.
That night, I made sure that I was sitting outside. I didn’t want to go to him, he had to come to me. I had told him from the beginning that as much as I have loved him for nearly half of my life, I could not be the home wrecker, he was not going to take the easy way out of a marriage that he had regretted from “I do”.
Sitting in the quiet, cold night, I heard a patio door open. That had to be him. My heart raced even though I had no clue if we would see each other, much less talk. I had to find a way to look up to his balcony without being obvious. I walked, casually, to my car. The grass was wet, the night still. That walk was short, but it felt like it was taking forever, the entire way I was wrestling with how to attack this situation. I decided the best thing to do was nothing. Let him see me if it was him, but don’t draw attention to myself.
I grabbed an old, flat soda out of my car, closed the door, turned around, and headed back to the house. I was almost strutting, so proud that I had resisted the temptation to steal a glance of my love. The still of the night was broken, “Nicole Marie,” I heard him call out in the darkness. He was the only man to call me by my first and middle name, and it was like a choir of angels every time I heard it. I hated that name, it was so common, so boring.
I turned around to acknowledge that I heard him, still scared out of my mind that someone would hear. “What?” I tried to whisper loud enough for him to hear, trying to add a touch of annoyance to my voice.
“Come here!” he said as if I should have known that I was being summoned into enemy territory. I didn’t like to drive on that side of the street, much less walk over and stand in his yard. My love for him could lead me to do nearly anything he asked, and he knew it. As I walked through his yard, looking up to the balcony, he began what he had to say. “Haven’t you learned that I want you to TALK to me? You can’t hide your emotions from me and I don’t like impersonal communication.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do?” I asked. I knew exactly what he was referring to.
“Don’t you know how it pisses me off when you cop out and send me a text message saying that you’re mad?”
“I wasn’t mad.” Lord, why did I send that message? Now I had to explain myself. Why can’t he understand what I’m feeling? Why do I have to spell it all out for him?
“Sure, you were happy as can be, right?” He sounded truly upset with me. In over a dozen years, I had only heard this tone of voice a few times and every time it was like a dagger in my heart.
“No, but I wasn’t mad. Don’t you realize how hard this is for me? You think that all of this is easy for me to deal with? I know that my time with you is limited. But when I sent that, I was trying to not cry. All I wanted to do was talk to you and you weren’t available.” I was kicking myself by this point. What right did I have to need or want anything from him?
“Hang on. I’ll meet you in a few minutes. Go to the field.” I didn’t know whether to feel relieved that he was willing to talk or scared that I was finally going to be forced to say what was truly on my mind. There would be no escaping this time.
****
Before we knew it, we had been talking for over two hours. First about where things stood with us, then about our “primary lives”, then about nothing at all. And then the conversation took a turn. A turn I didn’t want to face but knew I would have to.
“That boy is my everything.” He said, nearly in tears.
“I know, that’s why I feel like we will never be more than a dream. You can’t leave him, you won’t leave him.” My heart was sinking, but after the events of earlier, I knew he wasn’t just saying that his son was the tie that had him bound to his current life, his current home.
“I just need to figure out a way for him to be with me,” desperation filled his voice, “then I will be able to leave. Then I will be able to be happy.”
“You know as well as I do that won’t happen. She will fight you tooth and nail, and unless you can prove her incompetent or a danger to herself and to Blake, you will be doomed to 50/50 custody at best.” Why was I being the voice of reason? I wanted nothing more than to be with this man for the rest of my life, and here I sat, reminding him why he had to stay right where he was.
“Well, I have to find a way, otherwise I can’t go. I can’t live without him.” Suddenly, I was jealous. I wasn’t jealous of Blake, I wasn’t jealous of Sam, I was jealous of her. Did she have any clue how many women would kill for a father this devoted? Did she appreciate all he did with and for Blake?
He started to tell me about a bad dream Blake had the night before. He pulled my head to his chest, recreating the scene with me in Blake’s place. “I’m the only one who he’ll calm down for when he gets like that.” He gently rocked me as he had rocked his son the night before.
All I could do was cry. What kind of demon could put her own happiness ahead of that of a small child? I had been trying so hard to convince myself that by telling Sam time and time again that he could not leave Sarah for me, I was sparing Blake. All I was doing was masking the guilt that I felt, trying to justify it.
In reality, my presence in Sam’s life was robbing Blake. That day, he had the innocent joy that every child deserves to have. An innocence that was taken from me when I was five, an innocence that Sam never truly had and had hoped to give his son. Someday, Blake would look at his father and realize that he had been unfaithful to Sarah. From knowing Sam for so long, I knew the resentment and bitterness that creates. And if my dream came true, would he realize that I was the one who made his daddy leave his mommy?
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