NaNoWriMo – Day 21 (11/21/2005)
As he laughs his little laugh I realise that I’m smitten with him. There’s something about him that’s so … honest. I don’t know if that’s actually it, but its part of it, that’s for sure. He’s so smart, so different. He has experience in the world and he’s had time to think about things. He sees them as they really are. Maybe that’s a load of girly fluff, but he seems so much more together than the other guys I’ve been with.
Listen to me … other guys I’ve been with—like I think we’re together or something like that. I have to remember that this guy is already married. I wonder absently if they’re happy together. They probably are. I know he said she’d be upset if he invited me to sleep on their couch, but what man’s wife wouldn’t? They probably have a wonderful life together. I wonder if he has kids? I wouldn’t want to break up a marriage if there were kids involved.
What the hell am I saying? I don’t want to break up anyone’s marriage. Jesus, I gotta get a hold of myself.
“You know,” I say, “I think you should be a professional philosopher or something like that.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Really, why’s that?” Jesus, I’m so dumb. What a stupid fucking thing to say. I can feel the blush rising on my face—I’m going beet red, for sure.
“Uh … I dunno,” I stammer. “I guess because you’re a really good thinker—you see all sides of a situation and you can relate to other people really well.”
“I’m glad you think so. I only wish my wife thought the same thing.”
“She doesn’t?” It’s out of my mouth before I can even think about what I’m saying. “I’m sorry, Simon, that’s none of my business.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t know what you think, but my life’s not perfect, Sara. Far from it, in fact. I have my good days and my bad days. But mostly I’m just in the middle. You’re right, I can see many sides to a story—but that paralyzes me more than anything else. Imagine what it must feel like to be able to understand why every person thinks they’re right, and why they act accordingly. I haven’t made an actual decision since I asked Vanessa to marry me. That was almost thirteen years ago. Since then it’s been one long roller-coaster ride.”
“You chose to stay on the roller coaster,” I venture. “That’s a decision, isn’t it?”
He looks thoughtfully at me—or at least what I hope is thoughtfully—as he chews a bit of his sandwich. He chews carefully, looking at me the whole time and I can’t tell if he’s really enjoying the food, really enjoying looking at me (I hope!) or trying to figure out what the hell I meant by that.
“You know, Sara, you’re smarter than you think you are.”
My blush deepens. “Really?”
“Yes, really. That was truly insightful. I have made a decision, every single fucking day of my life, to stay in this rotten, shit hole of a marriage.” He throws what’s left of his sandwich onto his plate, his voice getting louder, “I don’t know what the hell I’ve been thinking. I’ve been blaming everyone but myself for this mess and the whole time I’ve been choosing it. I’ve been the one who goes back to there every night. I’m the one who pretends nothing’s wrong. I’m the one to blame for this whole rotten, stinking mess.”
He looks down at his sandwich, which is now strewn all over his plate. Some has even dropped off the side and onto the table. I can see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry Simon,” I say. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he snaps. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, Sara.” He takes a big deep breath and lets it out in a big sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to upset me. And yet, I’m upset. I guess I shouldn’t be drinking at eleven o’clock in the morning …”
He smiles as he says this and I know that he’s settling down. I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his.
“I think you’re a really great guy, Simon,” I tell him, not entirely sure why I’m saying this. “I really do.”
Now it’s his turn to blush. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. I know I hardly know you, but from when we first met on the bus I could just tell that you were different. You care about people, Simon, and that’s not the most common thing these days. You really care, too. It’s not just about looking good so you can get something from someone else. You do it because you can … because someone else needs it. I think that’s really swell.”
Really swell? What the hell kind of thing is that to say? Am I living in the fifties or something? Good ship lollipop!
We sit there at the table, looking at each other and not saying anything for a few minutes. We pick at our food and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am, that maybe there could be something here.
“I need to have a talk with Vanessa,” he says finally, like he’s reading my mind and wants to make sure all his cards are on the table. “We need to figure out what went wrong. And if it’s too late to fix things.”
I can’t tell if he can see the disappointment in my face but I can feel it rising up inside me. Why does this always happen to me? I finally find a man who actually knows what he’s all about … or who’s at least willing to look at himself, willing to try and figure it out … and he’s not only married, with problems, but he wants to fix them. Damn my luck.
“I’m sure she wants to work it out,” I say, hoping that the very opposite is true.
“I’m not so sure … but I hope so. She’s an incredible woman, Vanessa is. I just wish I’d been a better husband all these years.”
“I’m sure you’ve been a great husband,” I tell him. I hope he can’t see through me.
He laughs. “I’m not sure that she’d agree with you, but we can hope, can’t we?”
“Yes,” I say, “we can.” We go back to eating our lunch, him putting his beef dip back together and me taking a huge forkful of chicken salad so I can’t say anything else that might give me away.
“Listen,” he says, around a mouthful of sandwich, “I can put in a good word with the HR department if you want me to. I don’t know what they’ll do with it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. It’s not a place I’d recommend for very long, but if you need something in the short-term it might be worth it.”
“If it’s not a place you’d want to work, I don’t think I’d want to work there either,” I tell him. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll figure something out soon enough. I’m a tough gal.”
I don’t feel like a tough gal, but I want to make a good impression. Just in case, I tell myself. In case what, I’m not quite sure. In case he decides to leave his wife for a younger woman? In case he needs a friend? A shoulder to cry on? In case he needs someone to go drinking with when everything seems just a little too … close.
“Listen Simon,” I say, finishing the last of my salad, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I don’t really know what I was thinking when I left come out here today, but I didn’t think this,” I wave my hand to indicate all the things I can’t actually tell him I’m thinking, “was going to happen. I guess I hoped I might get a job, that we could work together and maybe become … friends. I dunno.” I’m blushing again.
“I don’t feel like I’ve been much good to anyone today,” he responds. “Or most of the days in the last ten years or so. I feel like I can talk to you,” he says as he takes another bite of his sandwich. He’s almost done and we’re going to have to leave soon.
“You can talk to me, if you want to. About anything. Anything at all.”
He stops in the middle of chewing his bite and looks at me. If it wasn’t so intense I’d laugh at the expression on his face, but it is. But it is that intense and I’m not sure where to go from here, so I just keep looking at him.
“I wish I was a different person sometimes,” he says as he finishes the food in his mouth. “I wish I had a different life than the one I’m living, or that I could start this one over and do it differently.”
“What would you do different?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“A better question is what wouldn’t I do differently. But the answer is too long, too involved. And too damn depressing.”
“But you know, as well as I do, that you can’t go back and do it differently. Isn’t that what you’d tell me if I said that? We can only go forward. And hopefully we’ll learn from our mistakes and do things differently from now on. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely right. But it’s so much easier to wish we could go backwards, isn’t it? To think—or hope—that if we just wish hard enough, we’ll be able to change all of the things that we did wrong … or didn’t do right, so that right now would be so much better than it really is.”
“What would you tell me if I said that to you?” I ask him pointedly. He’s taken aback.
“I’d tell you that there was no sense in having regrets about the past, about things we’re powerless to change. That life was never meant to be easy because if it were easy it wouldn’t really be worth doing in the first place. But that’s not what I want to hear right now.”
“No,” I say understanding him completely and wishing I could just hold him and take away his pain. But that wouldn’t do either of us any good, not in the long run.
“It’s hard to give advice to yourself, you know?”
“I do,” I tell him. “But sometimes it’s the advice you give other people that you need to listen to the most.”
“Are you talking to me, or to yourself?”
“Both.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be,” I say truthfully, knowing full well that I’m being somewhat less than honest with him. But sometimes I think absolute honesty isn’t always the best policy. I know that I’m bullshitting myself, that it’s actually an opinion of convenience, but sometimes it’s easier to lie to yourself than someone else. Or maybe it’s easier to lie to yourself at the same time as you’re lying to someone else. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.
Today’s word count: 1905
Cumulative word count: 33,931
Listen to me … other guys I’ve been with—like I think we’re together or something like that. I have to remember that this guy is already married. I wonder absently if they’re happy together. They probably are. I know he said she’d be upset if he invited me to sleep on their couch, but what man’s wife wouldn’t? They probably have a wonderful life together. I wonder if he has kids? I wouldn’t want to break up a marriage if there were kids involved.
What the hell am I saying? I don’t want to break up anyone’s marriage. Jesus, I gotta get a hold of myself.
“You know,” I say, “I think you should be a professional philosopher or something like that.” He raises his eyebrows at me.
“Really, why’s that?” Jesus, I’m so dumb. What a stupid fucking thing to say. I can feel the blush rising on my face—I’m going beet red, for sure.
“Uh … I dunno,” I stammer. “I guess because you’re a really good thinker—you see all sides of a situation and you can relate to other people really well.”
“I’m glad you think so. I only wish my wife thought the same thing.”
“She doesn’t?” It’s out of my mouth before I can even think about what I’m saying. “I’m sorry, Simon, that’s none of my business.”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t know what you think, but my life’s not perfect, Sara. Far from it, in fact. I have my good days and my bad days. But mostly I’m just in the middle. You’re right, I can see many sides to a story—but that paralyzes me more than anything else. Imagine what it must feel like to be able to understand why every person thinks they’re right, and why they act accordingly. I haven’t made an actual decision since I asked Vanessa to marry me. That was almost thirteen years ago. Since then it’s been one long roller-coaster ride.”
“You chose to stay on the roller coaster,” I venture. “That’s a decision, isn’t it?”
He looks thoughtfully at me—or at least what I hope is thoughtfully—as he chews a bit of his sandwich. He chews carefully, looking at me the whole time and I can’t tell if he’s really enjoying the food, really enjoying looking at me (I hope!) or trying to figure out what the hell I meant by that.
“You know, Sara, you’re smarter than you think you are.”
My blush deepens. “Really?”
“Yes, really. That was truly insightful. I have made a decision, every single fucking day of my life, to stay in this rotten, shit hole of a marriage.” He throws what’s left of his sandwich onto his plate, his voice getting louder, “I don’t know what the hell I’ve been thinking. I’ve been blaming everyone but myself for this mess and the whole time I’ve been choosing it. I’ve been the one who goes back to there every night. I’m the one who pretends nothing’s wrong. I’m the one to blame for this whole rotten, stinking mess.”
He looks down at his sandwich, which is now strewn all over his plate. Some has even dropped off the side and onto the table. I can see tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.
“I’m sorry Simon,” I say. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he snaps. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair, Sara.” He takes a big deep breath and lets it out in a big sigh. “I know you didn’t mean to upset me. And yet, I’m upset. I guess I shouldn’t be drinking at eleven o’clock in the morning …”
He smiles as he says this and I know that he’s settling down. I reach across the table and put my hand on top of his.
“I think you’re a really great guy, Simon,” I tell him, not entirely sure why I’m saying this. “I really do.”
Now it’s his turn to blush. “Thank you.”
“I mean it. I know I hardly know you, but from when we first met on the bus I could just tell that you were different. You care about people, Simon, and that’s not the most common thing these days. You really care, too. It’s not just about looking good so you can get something from someone else. You do it because you can … because someone else needs it. I think that’s really swell.”
Really swell? What the hell kind of thing is that to say? Am I living in the fifties or something? Good ship lollipop!
We sit there at the table, looking at each other and not saying anything for a few minutes. We pick at our food and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am, that maybe there could be something here.
“I need to have a talk with Vanessa,” he says finally, like he’s reading my mind and wants to make sure all his cards are on the table. “We need to figure out what went wrong. And if it’s too late to fix things.”
I can’t tell if he can see the disappointment in my face but I can feel it rising up inside me. Why does this always happen to me? I finally find a man who actually knows what he’s all about … or who’s at least willing to look at himself, willing to try and figure it out … and he’s not only married, with problems, but he wants to fix them. Damn my luck.
“I’m sure she wants to work it out,” I say, hoping that the very opposite is true.
“I’m not so sure … but I hope so. She’s an incredible woman, Vanessa is. I just wish I’d been a better husband all these years.”
“I’m sure you’ve been a great husband,” I tell him. I hope he can’t see through me.
He laughs. “I’m not sure that she’d agree with you, but we can hope, can’t we?”
“Yes,” I say, “we can.” We go back to eating our lunch, him putting his beef dip back together and me taking a huge forkful of chicken salad so I can’t say anything else that might give me away.
“Listen,” he says, around a mouthful of sandwich, “I can put in a good word with the HR department if you want me to. I don’t know what they’ll do with it, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. It’s not a place I’d recommend for very long, but if you need something in the short-term it might be worth it.”
“If it’s not a place you’d want to work, I don’t think I’d want to work there either,” I tell him. “But thanks for the offer. I’ll figure something out soon enough. I’m a tough gal.”
I don’t feel like a tough gal, but I want to make a good impression. Just in case, I tell myself. In case what, I’m not quite sure. In case he decides to leave his wife for a younger woman? In case he needs a friend? A shoulder to cry on? In case he needs someone to go drinking with when everything seems just a little too … close.
“Listen Simon,” I say, finishing the last of my salad, “I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I don’t really know what I was thinking when I left come out here today, but I didn’t think this,” I wave my hand to indicate all the things I can’t actually tell him I’m thinking, “was going to happen. I guess I hoped I might get a job, that we could work together and maybe become … friends. I dunno.” I’m blushing again.
“I don’t feel like I’ve been much good to anyone today,” he responds. “Or most of the days in the last ten years or so. I feel like I can talk to you,” he says as he takes another bite of his sandwich. He’s almost done and we’re going to have to leave soon.
“You can talk to me, if you want to. About anything. Anything at all.”
He stops in the middle of chewing his bite and looks at me. If it wasn’t so intense I’d laugh at the expression on his face, but it is. But it is that intense and I’m not sure where to go from here, so I just keep looking at him.
“I wish I was a different person sometimes,” he says as he finishes the food in his mouth. “I wish I had a different life than the one I’m living, or that I could start this one over and do it differently.”
“What would you do different?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
“A better question is what wouldn’t I do differently. But the answer is too long, too involved. And too damn depressing.”
“But you know, as well as I do, that you can’t go back and do it differently. Isn’t that what you’d tell me if I said that? We can only go forward. And hopefully we’ll learn from our mistakes and do things differently from now on. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it’s absolutely right. But it’s so much easier to wish we could go backwards, isn’t it? To think—or hope—that if we just wish hard enough, we’ll be able to change all of the things that we did wrong … or didn’t do right, so that right now would be so much better than it really is.”
“What would you tell me if I said that to you?” I ask him pointedly. He’s taken aback.
“I’d tell you that there was no sense in having regrets about the past, about things we’re powerless to change. That life was never meant to be easy because if it were easy it wouldn’t really be worth doing in the first place. But that’s not what I want to hear right now.”
“No,” I say understanding him completely and wishing I could just hold him and take away his pain. But that wouldn’t do either of us any good, not in the long run.
“It’s hard to give advice to yourself, you know?”
“I do,” I tell him. “But sometimes it’s the advice you give other people that you need to listen to the most.”
“Are you talking to me, or to yourself?”
“Both.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be,” I say truthfully, knowing full well that I’m being somewhat less than honest with him. But sometimes I think absolute honesty isn’t always the best policy. I know that I’m bullshitting myself, that it’s actually an opinion of convenience, but sometimes it’s easier to lie to yourself than someone else. Or maybe it’s easier to lie to yourself at the same time as you’re lying to someone else. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.
Today’s word count: 1905
Cumulative word count: 33,931
posted by Paul Keetch at 11:20 PM
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