NaNoWriMo – Day 29 (11/29/2005)
Father Matthew
It’s not unusual to see lost souls in this part of town. That’s why I come here … to find them and try and help them find God again; to find their salvation. Every day I ride the bus—this line is only one among many that I travel—in search of the needy. But today, it is I who am in need. I am looking for my salvation and I haven’t been able to find it in the bible I carry at my side at all times; or in the quiet conclave of the church; or before the altar and the statue of Jesus Christ, Lord our Saviour hanging suspended from the cross where he gave his life that we might find redemption.
I sit at the back of the bus, where I always sit. I choose this spot because it affords me a view of the entire bus and I can see everyone that gets on or off. I can also see where they get on or off, which can tell me as much about them as anything else. A man has just gotten on at the Juniper Street stop. Normally I would expect to see him wearing tattered clothes in this area, at this time of day, but he’s more well-dressed than that, if a little unkempt. He gives over his coins to the bus driver, dropping them into the tray made especially for this purpose and I am reminded of the donation baskets we use at the church. Near the end of every mass we pass them baskets down each aisle so that the congregation might find it in their hearts and minds—not to mention their wallets—to donate to our cause. He gives the driver a smile and I hear him give thanks to the driver as he takes the proof of purchase receipt from his hands.
He walks down the aisle using his hands on the seat backs for balance as he comes, the bus lurching forward away from the curb. Looking up, he sees me watching him come and gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement before turning and sitting in a seat. I’m sure I hear him say, “Father,” as he nods and sits. He is four rows ahead of me.
We bounce and jostle along for a stop or two before I get up the courage to rise from my seat and go to sit with the newcomer on the bus. Normally I am up and by their side within seconds of them sitting down, but as I say … today I am here for another purpose.
“Hello, Father,” he says, turning to look at me.
“Hello, my son.”
He clears his throat, not knowing what to say and I do likewise for the same reason.
“Is there something I can do for you, Father?” he asks finally.
I don’t know how to answer this. There is something to be done. Of course there is. There is always something to be done. But now that it comes to it I don’t know if I have the courage to ask for the help I so desperately need.
“Come again?” I say, stalling for time. It’s a poor tactic but the only one at my disposal at the moment.
“Is there something I can do to help you, I said.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Well, actually …”
“Yes?”
“Oh never mind. It’s not important I suppose.”
“Pardon me Father, but you do look like you need some help. I’m happy to be of service if there’s anything I can do. Anything at all. You did come and sit beside me, remember?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I did, didn’t I? Very well then. I can see that you’re a decent sort of a person, willing to help a man of God—”
“Excuse me, Father, but we’re all men of God, aren’t we? It’s either that or none of us are.”
“Willing to help a person in need, then, is that better?” He nods his assent and I continue. “I’m having a crisis of sorts and need someone to talk to. Unfortunately, I can’t talk to anyone inside my profession because I’m afraid they’re advice might be understandably biased.”
“What is it you need to talk about?”
“I feel I’ve lost my connection with God.”
“And you’re not sure if you should continue in the priesthood?” he asks and I know when he does that I’ve asked the right person for help. I nod, ashamed to admit the truth.
“I haven’t talked with anyone about this before,” I tell him. “I’ve had a feeling growing inside me that something wasn’t quite right for the past four years. It started as a slight twinge when I was at the pulpit, reading a passage that didn’t sit well with me. Then, when I was counseling members of my congregation, I would feel uneasy giving advice based on the teachings of the bible when I believed they should do something different. Since then, I feel as though my connection to Spirit has left me entirely. I don’t feel connected to anything any more. It’s a rather disquieting feeling.”
“I must tell you, Father, that I am not particularly a religious person. I don’t know what it’s like to have to teach the teachings of another teacher. I only know what I’ve done in my own life—and it hasn’t all been good either. I may not be the right person to give you advice in this matter.”
“That’s precisely the reason—because you aren’t religious, you don’t know me and don’t have any investment in my life. That’s exactly why you’re the best person to give me advice.”
“Well, if you’re sure I’d be happy to talk about it for a bit. I have a bit of a way to go if you don’t mind riding along while we chat.”
“Not at all,” I tell him. I’m happy to go wherever I need to.
He turns and looks out the window for a few moments before looking at me and saying, “I guess the first question I would ask you is if you had your choice and could be or do anything with your life, regardless of any objections you might come up with, what would that be? What do you feel your greatest contribution could be?”
“My greatest contribution? I guess I would want to help people improve their individual lives and find peace and fulfillment on an everyday basis. If I could do that, I think I could have a profound impact on the world. That’s why I became a priest.”
“Do you think that being a priest is the only way to accomplish that? Is being a priest the only way to help people find peace and fulfillment?”
“I guess I believe that there needs to be a higher connection, an overriding purpose that gives people that sense of well-being. I think people need to see themselves as an integral part of something greater than themselves and by doing so they will find greater joy in their contribution to that larger whole.”
“Do you know who Deepak Chopra is?”
“Yes, of course. He is an incredibly profound thinker and a pioneer of the new spiritual movement.”
“Is he a priest?”
“Uh … not that I’m aware of.”
“Me neither. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Interesting? I suppose so.”
“I mean to say that it’s interesting that such a profound thinker and pioneer of the new spiritual movement to use your words, has been able to have such an impact without ever joining the priesthood. Is it possible that you could have a similar impact without being a priest?”
“Well … I suppose I see where you’re going with this, but as a priest I am able to speak before a number of people at once.”
“Have you been to a Deepak Chopra lecture?” he asks.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Thousands upon thousands of people come to see him. And instead of being able to speak to the same audience every week as you can from the pulpit, he is able to reach even more incredible numbers of people through his books. All of that is not to say that you should necessarily become a public speaker—only that there are other ways of delivering your message.”
I am excited by what he’s suggesting even though I can’t see myself going on large lecture tours and speaking before massive audiences. That’s not really my style—too much pomp and circumstance.
“So you think that I should leave the priesthood and try to deliver my message in some other way?” I ask him.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says laughing. “You’re not putting any words in my mouth. I’m here asking questions, pointing out things I see. I’m not suggesting you should necessarily do any of the things I say. I’m asking questions so that you can hear the answers, not so I can.”
He’s still smiling so I know he isn’t offended, though I wouldn’t blame him if he was.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Can we carry on? Next question?”
“The next question, now that you know what it is that you want to do, is why do you want to do it? What is the underlying essence?”
“I don’t know really … I’ve never thought about why very much. I guess I decided it was God’s plan for me.”
“When you figure out why you want to do it in the first place, what the truth is for you about your motivation, you will find the strength to do whatever it takes to accomplish it.”
“I don’t know why. Honestly.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“Get out of what? I don’t get anything.”
“Is that maybe part of the problem? That you don’t get anything?”
“Well I feel good when I’m able to help someone feel better themselves. When I help them to see themselves the way that God sees them—as simply perfect, without having to change a thing.”
“So you do get something out of it.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. I just always associate ‘getting something for it’ with money.”
“Is money an issue for you?”
“How can it be an issue when I don’t have any?” I laugh and he smiles too.
“So it is an issue.” It’s not question.
“Yes, it is. I know it shouldn’t be … when I became a priest I took a vow of poverty and it’s a vow I’ve taken seriously. But I can’t help feeling regret when I see people enjoying the fruits of their labours in a way that pleases them … that would be pleasing to me, if I had the opportunity.”
“That’s jealousy.”
“Yes.”
“And jealousy is a sin, is it not?”
I don’t want to answer his question. It’s as if speaking it aloud will make it real, whereas keeping it to myself will prevent it from being true. I know that this isn’t valid, that God, if He does in fact exist, sees everything and knows everything. But that’s part of the problem I’m faced with. I don’t actually believe that God sees us as sinners at all. I don’t believe in a God of personality the way it is written in the bible. I see god as a collective, something that we are all part of and that is, by extension, a part of all of us. We have the infinite wisdom and power of God. We are, in fact, God. But I don’t believe that we were created in the likeness of Him. I believe just the opposite—that we created Him in the likeness of ourselves.
“No need to say anything, you’ve already answered the question,” he says with a knowing nod of his head. “But that’s not really what we’re after, is it?” he asks, and I’m thankful to him for allowing me my silence. I give a shake of my head in agreement. “So would you say that being able to enjoy the fruits of your own labours, in a material sense, would be enough for you?”
“No,” I tell him with a vehement shake of my head. “There has to be an overriding purpose, a deeper meaning. But,” I am blushing as I say this, “I do want to be able to take advantage of the results of my work.”
“You feel there is a value that you offer and that you should be compensated accordingly?”
“Exactly.”
“And, of course, you’re not being compensated accordingly in your current position. At least not in the manner that you desire. And desire, of course is looked down upon in your place of business.”
I nod.
“I think it’s important for you to understand what you’re good at. You know what you want to do and you know why you want to do it—you have motivation. So now you just have to ask yourself how you’re going to do it. And before you can answer how, you need to understand your own talents and abilities. Obviously you’re able to speak in front of an audience, you’re able to offer support and guidance to others; but what other skills do you have that might serve you in delivering your message to the world? You’ve been using these other two skills in an area that’s not giving you personal satisfaction—exactly the thing that you’re trying to help others with—so what skills haven’t you been using?”
“I don’t know, really. I used to be good at baseball, but I haven’t played in years. I’ve never been a very good writer, so I think that’s out of the question. I guess the one thing that I used to be really good at—that I really loved and enjoyed every minute of too—is camping and hiking and generally anything outdoors. I remember spending days up in the woods above the town where I grew up … we’d go up there for three and four nights at a time and sometimes only come back for one or two days before heading right back out.”
As I’m saying all this I am actually reliving it in my mind … I haven’t thought about those days camping in a long time. Too long considering how important they were to me at the time. I can still remember being up there with my friends—there were six of us in total that would spend time there regularly plus any additional friends we happened to invite along.
There were three tent/sleeping areas all with good coverage under the trees in case it rained. On the clear nights we’d sometimes sleep out under the stars, lying in a circle around the campfire. I usually woke up in the middle of the night, when the fire had died down to the embers. Before I put more wood on and rekindled the flames I would walk out a bit into the darkness and just stand there looking up at the night sky, my breath streaming out from my mouth and nose in the cold mountain air.
It was a glorious experience being out there, all alone like that in the middle of a great wilderness, standing under the canopy of stars that glimmered and glowed in the darkness. Those were times in my life that I felt wholly insignificant and yet paradoxically it was the very feeling of insignificance that made me believe that we are, in truth, empirically significant. Each and every one of us and everything else in this universe.
During the days we would go off on hikes to find new meadows to explore or mountain lakes to swim in. It was in one of those lakes that Jim Presley drowned in one summer. He’d been up there by himself and had drowned. No one knew for sure what really happened but it wasn’t long after that when the town decided the camp area had to be taken down and strict measures were put into place to prevent anyone from camping alone in that area. It wasn’t enough for them to simply let that be a lesson for all … they had to force us out for good.
“Are you okay, Father?” I come back to the bus jostling along the road and the stranger sitting beside me.
“Please, call me Matthew,” I ask as I offer him my hand to shake. He takes it and gives two firm shakes.
“I’m Simon,” he says. “Simon Cunningham.”
“It’s a pleasure Simon. I was just thinking about the times when I was a kid and used to go up in the mountains. Those really were some of the best times of my life. We’d go up there and have a great time, and not always rowdy boy stuff either. We had some great philosophical discussions about the meaning of life, the existence of God and whether or not Suzie Simons would be good in bed.”
I can’t believe I just said that and give a cough as I reach up to adjust my collar. Simon laughs a great, loud laugh and I can just imagine what the other people on the bus must think of us. They must be wondering what a priest could say that would be so funny to elicit a laugh like that. I can feel the blush rising up from beneath my collar.
“Listen, Matthew, my stop is coming up and I don’t want to cut you off when we pull up.” He says this as he reaches up to pull the stop request cord. “Have you ever flown in an airliner?”
“Yes, a few times, why?”
“Do you remember when the flight attendants are doing their pre-flight routine about where the exits are, the flotation devices underneath the seats and all that?”
“Yes.”
“What do they say about the oxygen mask, do you remember?”
“To put it on by pulling the strap over your head?” I ask. I’m not sure what he’s driving at.
“Yes, then what? What do they say to do if you have a child traveling with you?”
“Oh, they tell you to put your own mask on first.”
“That’s right. Any idea why?”
“I never really thought about it. I suppose it’s because you can’t help your child if you can’t breathe yourself.”
“Exactly!”
“I don’t understand how that relates to me though,” I say, a little desperately since he’s standing up to get off at the upcoming stop. The bus is slowing down and the driver is starting to pull over.
“You want to help people find peace in contentment in their lives right?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Peace and contentment are the oxygen and you have the mask. But how can you help them put their masks on when you’re not even wearing yours yet?”
The bus comes to a full stop and the doors open at the same time my eyes do. I understand suddenly that I haven’t been taking very good care of myself and yet I expect to be able to help others do that very thing.
I can feel my eyes begin to shine as tears well up in my eyes. “Thank you, Simon.” He smiles at me, gives a short wave, then turns and walks off the bus. The doors close behind him and he turns to look at me as the bus pulls away from the stop. He gives that short wave again and then goes out of sight at the bus pulls into traffic.
Simon
I look at my watch before dropping my hand back down to my side and see that it’s almost five o’clock already. I left work shortly after ten-thirty which means it’s taken me six and a half hours to get home. And I’m not even all the way there yet.
My mind is full of everything that’s happened today; quitting/getting fired, getting drunk in a bar in the middle of the day, meeting up with Sara again and then the priest on the bus. I feel like I’ve run a marathon and I’m pretty much ready to collapse. But I won’t be able to do that, I guess. Vanessa will be home soon.
I’m dragging my feet as I walk, literally and figuratively. There’s something about being in that house that’s so … constricting, that it makes me not want to go back. Go for milk and never come back. The house isn’t far from the bus stop and I’m almost there. I wish I could just walk around the block a few times before going in, but there’s a light on inside already—Vanessa is already home.
I consider keeping walking anyway but in the end I know that there’s no avoiding it. I turn up the walkway and climb the steps to the front door. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly I unlock the deadbolt, push open the door and walk inside the front hall. Vanessa is sitting on the couch in the living room looking at me. She’s been waiting for me and she doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood.
“Simon, we need to talk.”
She’s acting like she’s been sitting there all day just waiting to pounce on me as soon as I walk in the door. She could have been sitting there all day for all I know, thinking and planning exactly what she will say. I’m not sure that I’m ready for this.
Closing the door gently behind me I take another deep breath and try to remember that she is just another person doing the best that she can with the tools she has available to her right now. I think that’s what I said to Sara at the diner. I said a lot of things to Sara, most of which I said because I needed to hear them myself. It will be good to try and remember some of those things now.
I want to tell her that I don’t want to fight with her any more; that I don’t want to fight with myself either. I hope I get the chance to tell her that.
Vanessa
He looks terrible but he closes the door and nods at me then slowly pulls his coat off and kicks off his shoes. One of them flips on its side and the other is leaning up against it. Funny the things you notice when your life is about to change. He comes in and sits down in the easy chair opposite me, leaning forward on his knees instead of reclining back like he normally would. That’s good … it means he’s paying attention.
“Something has to change,” I tell him. “I can’t go on like this anymore. You can’t either, even though it seems you’re perfectly willing to go on pretending forever that you can. But if you’re not willing to do something about it, Simon, then I will.” I don’t mean to start this way, but I can’t seem to help myself. I am so fed up I can barely contain myself. “I’m not willing to live a lie any longer.”
“Everything already has changed Vanessa. I quit today—or I was fired. It started one way and ended up the other but the result is the same. And it’s a good thing for me.”
I’m shocked. I guess that’s why he looks so horrible. Why? I want to ask. And what happened? How is that a good thing for you or for us? But I don’t. I don’t ask any of those things. “That’s not what we need to talk about today,” I tell him instead. “We need to talk about us, Simon. Our marriage.”
“I know Van. Believe me, I know.”
Van. He hasn’t called me that in years. It used to be his pet name for me. He used to tease me with that old joke with his own lewd spin on it: If Van’s a’rockin, I’ll be a’knockin. It reminds me that things weren’t always this bad and I feel a terrible longing for him of a sudden.
“What happened to us Simon? We used to be so … great together.”
“I know we did,” he says still leaning on his knees but looking directly at me as he talks. He leans forward a little further and says, “And part of me thinks we still could be, if we wanted to. If we both really worked at it.”
“Should we need to work it? Shouldn’t it be easier than this?”
“I think that everything worth having takes work, Vanessa. It’s because we work at it that it means so much to us in the end. But when we stop doing the work we start losing the meaning and we end up … well, like this.”
“I just always hoped that my life would be like a fairy princess’. That I would be swept of my feet by a romantic and handsome prince who would take me away to a beautiful new land and teach me to love and to live. And who would let me teach him the same. I know what you’re going to say—that the world isn’t a fairy tale and I’m no princess—so don’t even bother going there.”
“I wasn’t going to say that at all. I was going to say that I’m no prince … at least I haven’t been for you. I know that I’ve disappointed you, let you down. But I only ever wanted you to be happy, Vanessa.”
He gives a little choking sound and I realise that he’s fighting back tears. In all our years together I’ve never seen Simon cry—never knew that he had ever cried in his life, at least since he was a baby.
He continues, “Seeing what living with me has done to you has hurt me more than you can ever know. You are the most important person in the world to me and you always have been. I hope you know that.”
“So how come you’ve never told me that before?” My anger resurfaces like an angry whale and he sits there silently staring at me.
“I always thought you knew,” he says finally.
“When is the last time you said something like that to me Simon? How can you think you’ve told me I’m important to you when I know I haven’t heard it for a long, long time? How do you explain that?”
“I thought you would know by my actions.”
“Actions aren’t words, Simon. I need to know what you’re thinking; what’s important to you.”
“I guess I always thought that actions speak louder than words Vanessa. I didn’t realise that wasn’t coming across the way I wanted. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, Simon, because I don’t know that we can recover from this.”
“I don’t know that we can either, Vanessa, but I’m willing to try if you are.”
“Why? What’s the point?” I’m crying now, freely and not trying to hide it like he did. “I’ve given you my whole life and I have nothing to show for it in return.”
“If that’s true are you really willing to throw it all away now? If you do that it won’t have been worth it. But if we try and work it out, learn from each other and grow in the process, we’ll both be better off for that. And we might just save something that used to be great at the same time.”
I can’t think about how great it used to be or I’ll cry even harder. I hate that I’m crying at a time like this, when what I really want to be is strong … stronger than him anyway. I want to be able to look at him and tell him to fuck off and get the hell out of my life, but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it.
“You’re right Simon, as much as I hate to admit it … there’s too much history here to just throw it all away in one big chunk. So instead we’ve chipped away at it, taking it apart one little bit at a time. Do you really think that’s any better?”
“Destruction is never a good thing, at least not in my mind, whether that’s in an instant or over a period of time. I want to build something that will last instead of taking something great and beautiful and slowly destroying it. I’m here still because I want to build something with you Vanessa. I want to make it work.”
I can barely see him through the tears in my eyes so I change the subject. “Why were you fired?”
He looks at me, surprised at the sudden change in topic and leans back in the chair as he says, “I wasn’t fired, actually. They were going to fire me for no reason, but I quit before they had a chance.”
“They can’t fire you for no good reason Simon. Please don’t patronize me and just tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth Vanessa. The Sirs—I’ve told you about them—they called me up to their office this morning and told me to bring all of the backup for all of the projects I’m working on. Then they started to play their little games with me and I just knew what they were planning. So I threw a bit of a fit, tossed all my papers around their office, told them to fuck off and walked out. That’s the end of the story. If they had a reason, they never told me what it was.”
Fuck off? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Simon tell someone that in all the years we’ve been married. Certainly not in the last half, that’s for sure.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” I tell him honestly.
“I didn’t either, to tell you the truth. I was scared shitless when I went up there, not knowing what was going on and not knowing what I could do about it. But then they started to taunt me and … well, I guess I sorta just lost it a little bit. I freaked out on them.”
“I would have loved to have been there to see that,” I tell him as we laugh an easy laugh together. The first time in a long time that’s happened.
“It was definitely an interesting scene. I have to admit I quite enjoyed it too.”
It suddenly dawns on me that he said he’d been called up to their offices this morning and my smile fades in a split second.
“What have you been doing all day if you quit this morning?” I challenge him. I still have lingering thoughts about him having an affair and it’s fueling a fire I didn’t quite realise lived inside me.
“I got drunk in a bar with a bus driver I met who was just getting off shift. Then I had lunch in a diner around the corner with a woman I met on the bus this morning who was coming by work to see about a job. And then I took the bus home and here we are.”
“Who is this woman you had lunch with?” I can’t help myself.
“Her name is Sara. We met this morning on the bus as I was going to work—you would have met her too, if you had taken the bus with me. She was crying … had just broken up with her boyfriend and the seat next to me was the only one available on the bus. So we got to talking. I told gave her my business card and suggested she come by to see about a job. We just happened to bump into each other as I was leaving the bar—”
“Leaving the bar at what time Simon? You don’t drink.”
“I did today. I don’t remember what time we met, I just remember leaving the bar and then she came up to me. I told her that I didn’t think I would be able to get her a job any more, after what happened. We went out for lunch together and talked for a few hours. Now here I am.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Is there any answer I can give you that will make you feel okay about it, that will satisfy you?”
“Doubtful,” I say, “but I still think you should try.”
“We talked about life, Vanessa, and love and all the good things in life that seem to go away. I talked about you and me and us and how if you knew I was out to lunch with her, you’d probably think I was having an affair. We talked about God and the world and how the two fit together … if they fit together. And I told her that I needed to go home to wife.”
I’m crying again when I ask, “How come you never talk about those things with me? I’m your wife, Simon. You’re wife. Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Until today I didn’t know I could talk to anybody about those things Van. I didn’t know I had anything to say or that anyone would find what I said interesting or useful in any way. And I suppose that I didn’t want to hear what might actually come out of my mouth because then I might have to admit that I needed to hear it myself. But today, after I left the office I didn’t know what to do. My whole life had turned upside down, in the space of a morning. And when the bus driver asked me for a drink I said yes without hesitation. I didn’t think about whether or not it would be a good thing to do, I just did it.
“When I met up with Sara I was drunk. We started talking and the little voice in my head that usually tells me to shut up when I’m about to say anything that might upset my delicate balance didn’t say anything. I heard these things coming out of my mouth that I’d never really thought about before, or if I had it was years since I had. As we ate and I slowly sobered up, the voice didn’t come back like I thought it might. I just kept talking and talking. I learned a lot about myself today, Vanessa. I want to keep talking and exploring with people. I want to do that with you.”
“Simon, do you realise that we’ve been speaking for nearly an hour here together? Do you know how long it’s been since we actually had a real conversation about real things that matter? Do you know how much it hurts to me to know that you’ve done that with another woman today? Or how happy it makes me at the same time?”
“I haven’t been the greatest husband in the world, and I know that now. I haven’t been the greatest friend, either.”
“We’re both guilty of that Simon.”
“But we have an opportunity now to fix all that. We can choose to leave the past behind us, where it belongs. The wake doesn’t drive the boat, you know. I realised that today too.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s the act of driving the boat forward that creates the wake in the water, not the other way around. The wake doesn’t form and push the boat.”
I can’t imagine where he came up with something like that, but it makes perfect sense to me. I can even see the boat in my mind’s eye just sitting there in the water, waiting for a wake to come along and move it.
“I want to move forward Simon but I don’t know if I can do it. There’s so much between us now that it feels like we’re miles apart.”
“Then all we have to do is start moving towards each other Van. It really is that simple. It’s what we do now that will create tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow after that. If we start moving together, aiming at the same place, we’re eventually going to get there as long as we stay on track. We can help each other stay on track if we’re both willing.”
“It seems so much more complicated than that.”
“We make it complicated. I’ve made it complicated for most of my life, believe me, I’m not trying to put that on you. But we can choose to be different right now, Van. That’s the greatest gift of being human … we don’t have to follow the same old patterns any more if we choose not to. We can do the same thing in the same way a thousand times over and on the thousand and first time we can do it completely different. Just for the hell of it, if we want to.”
“You think we should stay together just for the hell of it? That doesn’t seem like a very solid reason to stay in a marriage that is making both of us miserable, at least not to me.”
“It seems as good a reason as any we’ve found to stay together so far, don’t you think? At least this way we’ll actually be working together towards something we both want instead of against each other. Especially when we’ve been working against each other in order to get something we both want. It doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense, does it?”
“No, not really,” I admit. “But what do we do with all of the stuff that’s already happened to us?”
“We take what’s useful and continue using it. Then we take whatever’s not working and we try and figure out another way, something that actually will work for us. It’s trial and error until we find the best method but in the end we learn so much more about ourselves, and each other. And we just might actually figure it out along the way.”
“Do you really believe that Simon? I’ve never heard you talk this way before. You used to say that we should live for the moment, take no prisoners. Now you’re saying we need to forget about now and look to the future? I don’t get it.”
“That’s not what I mean at all. I guess I’m still figuring out how to say what I think. What I mean to say is that we need to live in the moment, as opposed to for it. And that living in the moment means being honest with ourselves about what is right in front of us. Not trying to hide it—or hide from it—and not trying to explain it away or blame it on someone or something else. To just let it be what it is and decide if we’re actually willing to do something to change it for the future, to make it different in some way. Who knows if it will actually be better or worse—we won’t be able to tell until we see the change and judge it for ourselves. But at least we’ll have something to compare it to.
“I think that being aware of the future as a real and likely probability is a smart thing to do. We can’t hinge all our bets on it because it’s entirely possible that something will happen, that tomorrow won’t come. Eventually, it will happen to all of us. But it makes sense to do our best to ensure that the things we want in our lives are available to us tomorrow. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
He is making sense. Of course he is, it’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place … his ability to see things that ordinary people don’t often see. He always told me it’s not that other people don’t see the things he does, it’s that they pretend they see something else. He always had a way with words and he always gave people the benefit of the doubt. At least he used to.
“I wish I knew what to think about you Simon,” I tell him. “I left work early today so that I could come home and prepare myself for tonight. For this. I came home and I planned what I would say when you walked in the door. ‘We need to talk.’ I wanted it to come out right … wanted you to know that I was serious and that I mean business. I was going to tell you that I’m not happy any more and that I haven’t been happy for some time now. I was going to tell you that I wanted a divorce.” The colour drains from his face so I quickly continue. “I’ve decided to tell you something else. My deepest secret.”
He sits back in the chair again, a slight tint rising back into his cheeks. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths while I wait for him to be ready.
“Go ahead,” he says, opening his eyes.
“For a long time, most of my life, I’ve felt like I didn’t live up to the expectations of other people. I felt that I wasn’t good enough and that meant that I didn’t deserve to enjoy my life.
“I was a mistake, did I ever tell you that?” He shakes his head. “I haven’t told very many people. I found out one night when my parents had hosted a Christmas party for a bunch of their friends. I had come downstairs after being in bed for an hour, looking for a drink of milk. My mom caught me and sent me back to bed without the milk. I took my time going up the stairs and as I went I heard her tell a friend, ‘She’s a pistol that one—damn near had a heart attack when we found out too … a complete surprise to start off with and she’s been one ever since.’
“My parents never came right out and said it, but I know that I was a burden on them, financially. If it has just been the two of them they would have had the time and means to enjoy their lives the way they’d planned to. Don’t get me wrong, they loved me dearly, I have no doubt. But I also know that having me meant giving up a lot of other things they had planned for themselves. As a result I created a situation where the very same thing is true for me.”
“Van, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” I laughed and cried at the same time. “I never told you about it. There’s no way you could have known. But all this time I’ve simply been masking my own fear and disappointment in myself by blaming you for what I see as my failed life. Everything I’ve tried to accomplish in my life has ended up badly, my marriage not the least of them. I feel a complete and utter failure.”
“You’re not a failure. You’re here right now, talking to me about it. A failure would have given up long ago.”
“I gave up a long time ago!”
“A part of you did, maybe, but there’s still a part of you that is clinging to hope. A part of you that knows there is something to be hopeful for. That there is a chance to change our lives, to become changed in the process; to be reborn. Isn’t that the goal of life? To continually grow and die and grow again? We’re like the Phoenix rising from the ashes of our own failures to soar and fly on the wings of success, only to burn and rise yet again to greatness.”
“I feel like I’m living half a life, Simon. I want to be whole again.”
“Then do it!” he cries, standing up suddenly. “For god’s sake, Van, do it! I’m here, I’ll cheer you on.”
He is dancing wildly about the room and suddenly we are transported back in time to when we first started dating. I remember being at a party with him. We were talking in different groups when I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye, jumping up and down with his arms flailing about him like he was some sort of flying monkey or something. I remember losing myself in that moment of watching him, adoring him. And fearing his wildness a little too.
I stand up to face him and he stops dancing about and just looks at me. We stand like that for what seems like an eternity, just staring at each other, neither of us moving. I suddenly realise I wish he would kiss me and the feeling startles me out of my reverie and the spell is broken.
“What do you say, Vanessa? Are you willing to work with me on this? To try and see if we can make it happen the way we used to? We used to talk to each other remember? We used to tell each other our greatest hopes and dreams for the future. We talked about a house in the mountains and romantic boat rides along the canals of Brugges. We dreamed of travel and adventure not this drab n dreary life we’re living. Whatever happened to us?”
“I don’t know,” I say sitting back down on the couch. “I’m scared Simon. I really am. I want to believe what you’re saying is true … or at least that it could be true. But I also know how easy it is to slip back into old habits and patterns. I know what it’s like to taste a dream of a brilliant life with you and then see that dream disappear before my very eyes. I’m not sure I could handle it if that happened again.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe it’s time we admit defeat. The line between being persistent and flogging a dead horse is a fine one, Simon, but it’s there.” My voice drops to a whisper. “What if we’ve already passed it?”
“You want a divorce? You want to just give up? Van, this is the best conversation we’ve had in years, we can’t give up now! We’re on a roll, making a come-back. We have to keep going. Do you love me?”
The question is obvious and the answer equally so. “Yes, Simon. But I don’t think that’s enough any more. There comes a point when you have to admit that the person you love maybe isn’t the person you should live with. And maybe, if you really love them, you need to give them the freedom to find the person that they should live with, so that they can be happy. You said before that you only ever wanted me to be happy. If that’s true, how far are you willing to go to make sure that happens?”
He stands up again but this time starts pacing around the room. He’s running his hands through his hair making it stand on end. He does this when he’s stressed out or when he’s anxious or nervous. He ends up looking like a mad scientist with strands of hair pointing in every direction.
“If you really believe that you need to not be in this marriage in order to be happy,” he says finally, “then I’ll do whatever you ask me to. I’ll leave if that’s what you tell me you really want. But if you tell me to go, you’d better mean it Vanessa. That’s not a threat or an ultimatum. I want you to know that loving you has been the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And losing you will break my heart but I will do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
I laugh and he recoils like I’ve slapped him. “I’m sorry—I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at me.”
He stands before me, not saying word. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is hanging slightly open. He’s like a deer caught in the headlights but I can’t keep going yet. I’m caught in my own set of headlights, remembering this morning when I gave the same short laugh when he propositioned me for sex. Then all I could think about was getting my shots in while I could and then getting out of there. But now I need to explain myself.
“I didn’t mean that you should let me go.” I stand up to face him again. “I meant that maybe I need to consider letting you go. I don’t know if you can make this decision for yourself. I can’t help but think that I’ve held you back all this time, roped you and kept you from going after your true dreams of a great life.
“Simon I’ve spent my whole life trying to find value in myself through what other people think of me. And in the process I’ve taken something from those people; my mother and father, you. I can’t give that back to them Simon. I can’t give it back to you. But what I can do is give you the freedom to find it for yourself. I think it’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” he says. “If anyone is to blame here it’s me. I wasn’t sensitive to the things you were asking for. I wasn’t giving you the things you needed for your dream of a great life. I couldn’t be your prince or your knight in shining armour.”
The absurdity of what we’re doing hits both of us at the same time, like a tonne of bricks. We’ve moved from neither of us taking any responsibility for our marriage to us arguing over who is responsible, each trying to take the blame from the other. We fall into each other’s arms as we break into uncontrollable laughter simultaneously. Leaning against one another we laugh for what seems like forever. Every time we just about get ourselves under control one of us starts laughing and the whole things starts all over again. Simon’s face is beet red and he has tears streaming down his cheeks. I can feel them trailing down my face as well, hot and salty as they reach my lips.
We slide to the floor still laughing and end up with him sitting and me lying with my head in his lap looking up at him. Both of us are wiping our eyes and faces with our sleeves, trying to dry the tears away.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed that hard,” I tell him. “Thank you for that.”
“I love you, Van. I want to make this work for us. I don’t want to consider a life without you until we’ve given this chance a real try. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try, don’t you?”
“I’m still scared.”
“That’s okay … I’m scared too. But we’ve let our fears rule our lives for long enough, don’t you think? It’s time we took that control back. We get to choose Vanessa. Us; you and me together. I can’t do it alone, not for both of us. And neither can you. We need to do this together if we’re going to do it at all. And we have to commit to it one hundred percent.”
Without warning he leans over and kisses me and it’s like the first time we’ve ever kissed. It sends shivers down my spine and flushes my face. Maybe this really could work.
“Okay Simon. I’m willing. We’ll see if I’m able—if we’re able—but I’m willing to try.”
“Do, or do not,” he says in what I think is his Yoda voice; “there is no try.”
I know he’s trying to make me laugh again, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation. But this is pretty serious business we’re talking about.
“I don’t think we should be making light of the situation Simon. If we’re going to do this we need be honest and serious about it.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun at the same time. But the funny voice aside, what I said is true and it sounds like you agree with me. Trying isn’t enough. We need do. Act. We need to create and build what it is that we want to see in our lives. We need to start with the foundation and work up from there and it’s possible—maybe even probable—that it’s going to take some time to see the results we’re looking for. But if we remember that in order to build a house you first have to dig down, seemingly in the wrong direction, in order to lay the proper foundation, I think we’ll be okay.”
“It’s going to be messy you know. There are a lot of things that are going to come up for me that I haven’t talked about before, things that have been holding me back for a long time. I want to get rid of them Simon, I really do, but you need to be able to handle some of the shit that might come your way. You have to know going in that we might get a little dirty.”
“I’ve never minded getting my hands dirty, Van, and I’m not about to start now. Especially when it comes to you. And don’t think for a minute that you’re the only one with issues … I’ve certainly got my own fair share of demons in my personal closet. They’re going to come up too, and you need to be ready for those as well.”
Everything doesn’t become better in the instant that he says this, but I can see the path we’re going to walk on and I can see a glimmer of our intended destination in the distance. I feel better than I have ever felt before. I feel alive.
He spins himself over from his butt to his knees and pulls me towards him so that I do the same. He kisses me again and then pulls me to him in a great big hug. We hold each other for a minute, a lifetime, an eternity before standing up together to go upstairs to bed. I don’t want to stop touching him, now that I’ve started again. I don’t want to lose him all over again.
We go through our regular nighttime routines, brushing our teeth, him flossing after he brushes then brushing again, while I run a comb through my hair to clear out any knots. This time we share the bathroom so that routine, although made up of the same activities, seems fuller … more complete than it did only yesterday, or even this morning.
We steal glances in the mirror at each other and giggle when we get caught or when we catch the other. We make faces and pretend that everything is okay again even though we both know they’re not. At least they aren’t yet. But we know we can giggle because we’ve got each other and we’ve got a plan.
As we move out of the bathroom and into the bedroom we start to get undressed. He reaches over and turns out the overhead light leaving only the glow from the streetlight outside to see by. It isn’t much but it falls more on him than on me and as he undresses I watch him, comparing him as I see him now to how I saw him only just this morning. Then I compared him to my fantasy man, the one who lives in my dreams but who is no more real that the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny, and who I cannot count on be there, ever. At least Simon is real.
I no longer see him through those shit-coloured lenses and begin to recognize him for who he truly is. He’s not a knight in shining armour or a dark and handsome prince. He’s Simon Cunningham, my husband. My Simon. And I wouldn’t change him right now for anyone else in the world.
We get in to bed together and at first we lay there, stiff as boards the way we’ve become so used to doing. It’s funny how strong a habit can be, how much it can affect our lives even when we think we’ve become aware of them.
“Will you hold me, Simon?” I ask him, wanting to break the hold my habits have on me. He doesn’t say a word because he doesn’t need to. He rolls onto his side to face me and I do the same. We put our arms around each other and just lie there together. Just touching is enough, just knowing that we’re no longer alone. After a while I turn around and we link together in the spoon position. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and the strength of his arms as he holds me to him. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing becomes gradually slower and deeper as he drifts towards sleep.
“You want to know what I think?” he asks, sleep hanging heavy in his words.
“What’s that?”
“Dreams really do come true.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because my dream came true today. I didn’t exactly know what it was that I’d been searching for, but know that I’ve found it, it’s perfectly clear.”
“What’s that?”
“Something worth fighting for.”
“Please don’t say you’re fighting for me. I’ve given up hoping for an illusory knight that will come and save me from myself. That person doesn’t exist. In reality I’m the only person who can come to my rescue.”
“I wasn’t talking about fighting for you. I was talking about fighting with you, alongside you.”
“Yea, though you walk through the valley of death, you shall fear no evil.”
“I’m serious Van. Knowing that you’re here with me is the best thing that’s ever happened to me … again. I just hope I don’t go and give it up a second time. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. I don’t ever want to lose you.”
“So what are we fighting against?”
He’s suddenly wide awake again and sitting up in bed. He reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp then rolls me gently over so that he can look me in the eyes. There is an intensity in him that I haven’t seen before, not even when were first dating or engaged or married. It’s frightening but it’s also invigorating and I can feel my own energy surge with his.
“Not against, Van. Never against; always for. To fight against something means that we create resistance where it didn’t exist before. We position ourselves for difficulties and set ourselves up for failure. It’s one of the greatest limitations of being human, this propensity for creating chaos, friction and strife in our lives. No, better to fight for something. Act because of a belief instead of a disbelief. Act instead of react.”
He peers into my eyes so fiercely that it feels like he could reach inside and touch my soul. And in feeling this I realise that I can actually sense my soul again, that part of me that has lain dormant and hidden for so long. That I had buried long ago and that I thought might have disappeared forever. But he’s found it and nursed it back to health.
“What is it, Simon? What are we fighting for?” The intensity burns between us, not hanging in the air but buzzing through it, electrifying it.
“Why, love of course. Always love. Is there anything else?”
Today’s word count: 10,009
Cumulative word count: 50,022
It’s not unusual to see lost souls in this part of town. That’s why I come here … to find them and try and help them find God again; to find their salvation. Every day I ride the bus—this line is only one among many that I travel—in search of the needy. But today, it is I who am in need. I am looking for my salvation and I haven’t been able to find it in the bible I carry at my side at all times; or in the quiet conclave of the church; or before the altar and the statue of Jesus Christ, Lord our Saviour hanging suspended from the cross where he gave his life that we might find redemption.
I sit at the back of the bus, where I always sit. I choose this spot because it affords me a view of the entire bus and I can see everyone that gets on or off. I can also see where they get on or off, which can tell me as much about them as anything else. A man has just gotten on at the Juniper Street stop. Normally I would expect to see him wearing tattered clothes in this area, at this time of day, but he’s more well-dressed than that, if a little unkempt. He gives over his coins to the bus driver, dropping them into the tray made especially for this purpose and I am reminded of the donation baskets we use at the church. Near the end of every mass we pass them baskets down each aisle so that the congregation might find it in their hearts and minds—not to mention their wallets—to donate to our cause. He gives the driver a smile and I hear him give thanks to the driver as he takes the proof of purchase receipt from his hands.
He walks down the aisle using his hands on the seat backs for balance as he comes, the bus lurching forward away from the curb. Looking up, he sees me watching him come and gives me a slight nod of acknowledgement before turning and sitting in a seat. I’m sure I hear him say, “Father,” as he nods and sits. He is four rows ahead of me.
We bounce and jostle along for a stop or two before I get up the courage to rise from my seat and go to sit with the newcomer on the bus. Normally I am up and by their side within seconds of them sitting down, but as I say … today I am here for another purpose.
“Hello, Father,” he says, turning to look at me.
“Hello, my son.”
He clears his throat, not knowing what to say and I do likewise for the same reason.
“Is there something I can do for you, Father?” he asks finally.
I don’t know how to answer this. There is something to be done. Of course there is. There is always something to be done. But now that it comes to it I don’t know if I have the courage to ask for the help I so desperately need.
“Come again?” I say, stalling for time. It’s a poor tactic but the only one at my disposal at the moment.
“Is there something I can do to help you, I said.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine. Well, actually …”
“Yes?”
“Oh never mind. It’s not important I suppose.”
“Pardon me Father, but you do look like you need some help. I’m happy to be of service if there’s anything I can do. Anything at all. You did come and sit beside me, remember?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I did, didn’t I? Very well then. I can see that you’re a decent sort of a person, willing to help a man of God—”
“Excuse me, Father, but we’re all men of God, aren’t we? It’s either that or none of us are.”
“Willing to help a person in need, then, is that better?” He nods his assent and I continue. “I’m having a crisis of sorts and need someone to talk to. Unfortunately, I can’t talk to anyone inside my profession because I’m afraid they’re advice might be understandably biased.”
“What is it you need to talk about?”
“I feel I’ve lost my connection with God.”
“And you’re not sure if you should continue in the priesthood?” he asks and I know when he does that I’ve asked the right person for help. I nod, ashamed to admit the truth.
“I haven’t talked with anyone about this before,” I tell him. “I’ve had a feeling growing inside me that something wasn’t quite right for the past four years. It started as a slight twinge when I was at the pulpit, reading a passage that didn’t sit well with me. Then, when I was counseling members of my congregation, I would feel uneasy giving advice based on the teachings of the bible when I believed they should do something different. Since then, I feel as though my connection to Spirit has left me entirely. I don’t feel connected to anything any more. It’s a rather disquieting feeling.”
“I must tell you, Father, that I am not particularly a religious person. I don’t know what it’s like to have to teach the teachings of another teacher. I only know what I’ve done in my own life—and it hasn’t all been good either. I may not be the right person to give you advice in this matter.”
“That’s precisely the reason—because you aren’t religious, you don’t know me and don’t have any investment in my life. That’s exactly why you’re the best person to give me advice.”
“Well, if you’re sure I’d be happy to talk about it for a bit. I have a bit of a way to go if you don’t mind riding along while we chat.”
“Not at all,” I tell him. I’m happy to go wherever I need to.
He turns and looks out the window for a few moments before looking at me and saying, “I guess the first question I would ask you is if you had your choice and could be or do anything with your life, regardless of any objections you might come up with, what would that be? What do you feel your greatest contribution could be?”
“My greatest contribution? I guess I would want to help people improve their individual lives and find peace and fulfillment on an everyday basis. If I could do that, I think I could have a profound impact on the world. That’s why I became a priest.”
“Do you think that being a priest is the only way to accomplish that? Is being a priest the only way to help people find peace and fulfillment?”
“I guess I believe that there needs to be a higher connection, an overriding purpose that gives people that sense of well-being. I think people need to see themselves as an integral part of something greater than themselves and by doing so they will find greater joy in their contribution to that larger whole.”
“Do you know who Deepak Chopra is?”
“Yes, of course. He is an incredibly profound thinker and a pioneer of the new spiritual movement.”
“Is he a priest?”
“Uh … not that I’m aware of.”
“Me neither. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Interesting? I suppose so.”
“I mean to say that it’s interesting that such a profound thinker and pioneer of the new spiritual movement to use your words, has been able to have such an impact without ever joining the priesthood. Is it possible that you could have a similar impact without being a priest?”
“Well … I suppose I see where you’re going with this, but as a priest I am able to speak before a number of people at once.”
“Have you been to a Deepak Chopra lecture?” he asks.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Thousands upon thousands of people come to see him. And instead of being able to speak to the same audience every week as you can from the pulpit, he is able to reach even more incredible numbers of people through his books. All of that is not to say that you should necessarily become a public speaker—only that there are other ways of delivering your message.”
I am excited by what he’s suggesting even though I can’t see myself going on large lecture tours and speaking before massive audiences. That’s not really my style—too much pomp and circumstance.
“So you think that I should leave the priesthood and try to deliver my message in some other way?” I ask him.
“Oh no you don’t,” he says laughing. “You’re not putting any words in my mouth. I’m here asking questions, pointing out things I see. I’m not suggesting you should necessarily do any of the things I say. I’m asking questions so that you can hear the answers, not so I can.”
He’s still smiling so I know he isn’t offended, though I wouldn’t blame him if he was.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Can we carry on? Next question?”
“The next question, now that you know what it is that you want to do, is why do you want to do it? What is the underlying essence?”
“I don’t know really … I’ve never thought about why very much. I guess I decided it was God’s plan for me.”
“When you figure out why you want to do it in the first place, what the truth is for you about your motivation, you will find the strength to do whatever it takes to accomplish it.”
“I don’t know why. Honestly.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“Get out of what? I don’t get anything.”
“Is that maybe part of the problem? That you don’t get anything?”
“Well I feel good when I’m able to help someone feel better themselves. When I help them to see themselves the way that God sees them—as simply perfect, without having to change a thing.”
“So you do get something out of it.”
“Yes, I suppose I do. I just always associate ‘getting something for it’ with money.”
“Is money an issue for you?”
“How can it be an issue when I don’t have any?” I laugh and he smiles too.
“So it is an issue.” It’s not question.
“Yes, it is. I know it shouldn’t be … when I became a priest I took a vow of poverty and it’s a vow I’ve taken seriously. But I can’t help feeling regret when I see people enjoying the fruits of their labours in a way that pleases them … that would be pleasing to me, if I had the opportunity.”
“That’s jealousy.”
“Yes.”
“And jealousy is a sin, is it not?”
I don’t want to answer his question. It’s as if speaking it aloud will make it real, whereas keeping it to myself will prevent it from being true. I know that this isn’t valid, that God, if He does in fact exist, sees everything and knows everything. But that’s part of the problem I’m faced with. I don’t actually believe that God sees us as sinners at all. I don’t believe in a God of personality the way it is written in the bible. I see god as a collective, something that we are all part of and that is, by extension, a part of all of us. We have the infinite wisdom and power of God. We are, in fact, God. But I don’t believe that we were created in the likeness of Him. I believe just the opposite—that we created Him in the likeness of ourselves.
“No need to say anything, you’ve already answered the question,” he says with a knowing nod of his head. “But that’s not really what we’re after, is it?” he asks, and I’m thankful to him for allowing me my silence. I give a shake of my head in agreement. “So would you say that being able to enjoy the fruits of your own labours, in a material sense, would be enough for you?”
“No,” I tell him with a vehement shake of my head. “There has to be an overriding purpose, a deeper meaning. But,” I am blushing as I say this, “I do want to be able to take advantage of the results of my work.”
“You feel there is a value that you offer and that you should be compensated accordingly?”
“Exactly.”
“And, of course, you’re not being compensated accordingly in your current position. At least not in the manner that you desire. And desire, of course is looked down upon in your place of business.”
I nod.
“I think it’s important for you to understand what you’re good at. You know what you want to do and you know why you want to do it—you have motivation. So now you just have to ask yourself how you’re going to do it. And before you can answer how, you need to understand your own talents and abilities. Obviously you’re able to speak in front of an audience, you’re able to offer support and guidance to others; but what other skills do you have that might serve you in delivering your message to the world? You’ve been using these other two skills in an area that’s not giving you personal satisfaction—exactly the thing that you’re trying to help others with—so what skills haven’t you been using?”
“I don’t know, really. I used to be good at baseball, but I haven’t played in years. I’ve never been a very good writer, so I think that’s out of the question. I guess the one thing that I used to be really good at—that I really loved and enjoyed every minute of too—is camping and hiking and generally anything outdoors. I remember spending days up in the woods above the town where I grew up … we’d go up there for three and four nights at a time and sometimes only come back for one or two days before heading right back out.”
As I’m saying all this I am actually reliving it in my mind … I haven’t thought about those days camping in a long time. Too long considering how important they were to me at the time. I can still remember being up there with my friends—there were six of us in total that would spend time there regularly plus any additional friends we happened to invite along.
There were three tent/sleeping areas all with good coverage under the trees in case it rained. On the clear nights we’d sometimes sleep out under the stars, lying in a circle around the campfire. I usually woke up in the middle of the night, when the fire had died down to the embers. Before I put more wood on and rekindled the flames I would walk out a bit into the darkness and just stand there looking up at the night sky, my breath streaming out from my mouth and nose in the cold mountain air.
It was a glorious experience being out there, all alone like that in the middle of a great wilderness, standing under the canopy of stars that glimmered and glowed in the darkness. Those were times in my life that I felt wholly insignificant and yet paradoxically it was the very feeling of insignificance that made me believe that we are, in truth, empirically significant. Each and every one of us and everything else in this universe.
During the days we would go off on hikes to find new meadows to explore or mountain lakes to swim in. It was in one of those lakes that Jim Presley drowned in one summer. He’d been up there by himself and had drowned. No one knew for sure what really happened but it wasn’t long after that when the town decided the camp area had to be taken down and strict measures were put into place to prevent anyone from camping alone in that area. It wasn’t enough for them to simply let that be a lesson for all … they had to force us out for good.
“Are you okay, Father?” I come back to the bus jostling along the road and the stranger sitting beside me.
“Please, call me Matthew,” I ask as I offer him my hand to shake. He takes it and gives two firm shakes.
“I’m Simon,” he says. “Simon Cunningham.”
“It’s a pleasure Simon. I was just thinking about the times when I was a kid and used to go up in the mountains. Those really were some of the best times of my life. We’d go up there and have a great time, and not always rowdy boy stuff either. We had some great philosophical discussions about the meaning of life, the existence of God and whether or not Suzie Simons would be good in bed.”
I can’t believe I just said that and give a cough as I reach up to adjust my collar. Simon laughs a great, loud laugh and I can just imagine what the other people on the bus must think of us. They must be wondering what a priest could say that would be so funny to elicit a laugh like that. I can feel the blush rising up from beneath my collar.
“Listen, Matthew, my stop is coming up and I don’t want to cut you off when we pull up.” He says this as he reaches up to pull the stop request cord. “Have you ever flown in an airliner?”
“Yes, a few times, why?”
“Do you remember when the flight attendants are doing their pre-flight routine about where the exits are, the flotation devices underneath the seats and all that?”
“Yes.”
“What do they say about the oxygen mask, do you remember?”
“To put it on by pulling the strap over your head?” I ask. I’m not sure what he’s driving at.
“Yes, then what? What do they say to do if you have a child traveling with you?”
“Oh, they tell you to put your own mask on first.”
“That’s right. Any idea why?”
“I never really thought about it. I suppose it’s because you can’t help your child if you can’t breathe yourself.”
“Exactly!”
“I don’t understand how that relates to me though,” I say, a little desperately since he’s standing up to get off at the upcoming stop. The bus is slowing down and the driver is starting to pull over.
“You want to help people find peace in contentment in their lives right?”
“Yes, very much so.”
“Peace and contentment are the oxygen and you have the mask. But how can you help them put their masks on when you’re not even wearing yours yet?”
The bus comes to a full stop and the doors open at the same time my eyes do. I understand suddenly that I haven’t been taking very good care of myself and yet I expect to be able to help others do that very thing.
I can feel my eyes begin to shine as tears well up in my eyes. “Thank you, Simon.” He smiles at me, gives a short wave, then turns and walks off the bus. The doors close behind him and he turns to look at me as the bus pulls away from the stop. He gives that short wave again and then goes out of sight at the bus pulls into traffic.
Simon
I look at my watch before dropping my hand back down to my side and see that it’s almost five o’clock already. I left work shortly after ten-thirty which means it’s taken me six and a half hours to get home. And I’m not even all the way there yet.
My mind is full of everything that’s happened today; quitting/getting fired, getting drunk in a bar in the middle of the day, meeting up with Sara again and then the priest on the bus. I feel like I’ve run a marathon and I’m pretty much ready to collapse. But I won’t be able to do that, I guess. Vanessa will be home soon.
I’m dragging my feet as I walk, literally and figuratively. There’s something about being in that house that’s so … constricting, that it makes me not want to go back. Go for milk and never come back. The house isn’t far from the bus stop and I’m almost there. I wish I could just walk around the block a few times before going in, but there’s a light on inside already—Vanessa is already home.
I consider keeping walking anyway but in the end I know that there’s no avoiding it. I turn up the walkway and climb the steps to the front door. Taking a deep breath and exhaling it slowly I unlock the deadbolt, push open the door and walk inside the front hall. Vanessa is sitting on the couch in the living room looking at me. She’s been waiting for me and she doesn’t seem to be in a very good mood.
“Simon, we need to talk.”
She’s acting like she’s been sitting there all day just waiting to pounce on me as soon as I walk in the door. She could have been sitting there all day for all I know, thinking and planning exactly what she will say. I’m not sure that I’m ready for this.
Closing the door gently behind me I take another deep breath and try to remember that she is just another person doing the best that she can with the tools she has available to her right now. I think that’s what I said to Sara at the diner. I said a lot of things to Sara, most of which I said because I needed to hear them myself. It will be good to try and remember some of those things now.
I want to tell her that I don’t want to fight with her any more; that I don’t want to fight with myself either. I hope I get the chance to tell her that.
Vanessa
He looks terrible but he closes the door and nods at me then slowly pulls his coat off and kicks off his shoes. One of them flips on its side and the other is leaning up against it. Funny the things you notice when your life is about to change. He comes in and sits down in the easy chair opposite me, leaning forward on his knees instead of reclining back like he normally would. That’s good … it means he’s paying attention.
“Something has to change,” I tell him. “I can’t go on like this anymore. You can’t either, even though it seems you’re perfectly willing to go on pretending forever that you can. But if you’re not willing to do something about it, Simon, then I will.” I don’t mean to start this way, but I can’t seem to help myself. I am so fed up I can barely contain myself. “I’m not willing to live a lie any longer.”
“Everything already has changed Vanessa. I quit today—or I was fired. It started one way and ended up the other but the result is the same. And it’s a good thing for me.”
I’m shocked. I guess that’s why he looks so horrible. Why? I want to ask. And what happened? How is that a good thing for you or for us? But I don’t. I don’t ask any of those things. “That’s not what we need to talk about today,” I tell him instead. “We need to talk about us, Simon. Our marriage.”
“I know Van. Believe me, I know.”
Van. He hasn’t called me that in years. It used to be his pet name for me. He used to tease me with that old joke with his own lewd spin on it: If Van’s a’rockin, I’ll be a’knockin. It reminds me that things weren’t always this bad and I feel a terrible longing for him of a sudden.
“What happened to us Simon? We used to be so … great together.”
“I know we did,” he says still leaning on his knees but looking directly at me as he talks. He leans forward a little further and says, “And part of me thinks we still could be, if we wanted to. If we both really worked at it.”
“Should we need to work it? Shouldn’t it be easier than this?”
“I think that everything worth having takes work, Vanessa. It’s because we work at it that it means so much to us in the end. But when we stop doing the work we start losing the meaning and we end up … well, like this.”
“I just always hoped that my life would be like a fairy princess’. That I would be swept of my feet by a romantic and handsome prince who would take me away to a beautiful new land and teach me to love and to live. And who would let me teach him the same. I know what you’re going to say—that the world isn’t a fairy tale and I’m no princess—so don’t even bother going there.”
“I wasn’t going to say that at all. I was going to say that I’m no prince … at least I haven’t been for you. I know that I’ve disappointed you, let you down. But I only ever wanted you to be happy, Vanessa.”
He gives a little choking sound and I realise that he’s fighting back tears. In all our years together I’ve never seen Simon cry—never knew that he had ever cried in his life, at least since he was a baby.
He continues, “Seeing what living with me has done to you has hurt me more than you can ever know. You are the most important person in the world to me and you always have been. I hope you know that.”
“So how come you’ve never told me that before?” My anger resurfaces like an angry whale and he sits there silently staring at me.
“I always thought you knew,” he says finally.
“When is the last time you said something like that to me Simon? How can you think you’ve told me I’m important to you when I know I haven’t heard it for a long, long time? How do you explain that?”
“I thought you would know by my actions.”
“Actions aren’t words, Simon. I need to know what you’re thinking; what’s important to you.”
“I guess I always thought that actions speak louder than words Vanessa. I didn’t realise that wasn’t coming across the way I wanted. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, Simon, because I don’t know that we can recover from this.”
“I don’t know that we can either, Vanessa, but I’m willing to try if you are.”
“Why? What’s the point?” I’m crying now, freely and not trying to hide it like he did. “I’ve given you my whole life and I have nothing to show for it in return.”
“If that’s true are you really willing to throw it all away now? If you do that it won’t have been worth it. But if we try and work it out, learn from each other and grow in the process, we’ll both be better off for that. And we might just save something that used to be great at the same time.”
I can’t think about how great it used to be or I’ll cry even harder. I hate that I’m crying at a time like this, when what I really want to be is strong … stronger than him anyway. I want to be able to look at him and tell him to fuck off and get the hell out of my life, but somehow I can’t bring myself to do it.
“You’re right Simon, as much as I hate to admit it … there’s too much history here to just throw it all away in one big chunk. So instead we’ve chipped away at it, taking it apart one little bit at a time. Do you really think that’s any better?”
“Destruction is never a good thing, at least not in my mind, whether that’s in an instant or over a period of time. I want to build something that will last instead of taking something great and beautiful and slowly destroying it. I’m here still because I want to build something with you Vanessa. I want to make it work.”
I can barely see him through the tears in my eyes so I change the subject. “Why were you fired?”
He looks at me, surprised at the sudden change in topic and leans back in the chair as he says, “I wasn’t fired, actually. They were going to fire me for no reason, but I quit before they had a chance.”
“They can’t fire you for no good reason Simon. Please don’t patronize me and just tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth Vanessa. The Sirs—I’ve told you about them—they called me up to their office this morning and told me to bring all of the backup for all of the projects I’m working on. Then they started to play their little games with me and I just knew what they were planning. So I threw a bit of a fit, tossed all my papers around their office, told them to fuck off and walked out. That’s the end of the story. If they had a reason, they never told me what it was.”
Fuck off? I don’t think I’ve ever heard Simon tell someone that in all the years we’ve been married. Certainly not in the last half, that’s for sure.
“I didn’t think you had it in you,” I tell him honestly.
“I didn’t either, to tell you the truth. I was scared shitless when I went up there, not knowing what was going on and not knowing what I could do about it. But then they started to taunt me and … well, I guess I sorta just lost it a little bit. I freaked out on them.”
“I would have loved to have been there to see that,” I tell him as we laugh an easy laugh together. The first time in a long time that’s happened.
“It was definitely an interesting scene. I have to admit I quite enjoyed it too.”
It suddenly dawns on me that he said he’d been called up to their offices this morning and my smile fades in a split second.
“What have you been doing all day if you quit this morning?” I challenge him. I still have lingering thoughts about him having an affair and it’s fueling a fire I didn’t quite realise lived inside me.
“I got drunk in a bar with a bus driver I met who was just getting off shift. Then I had lunch in a diner around the corner with a woman I met on the bus this morning who was coming by work to see about a job. And then I took the bus home and here we are.”
“Who is this woman you had lunch with?” I can’t help myself.
“Her name is Sara. We met this morning on the bus as I was going to work—you would have met her too, if you had taken the bus with me. She was crying … had just broken up with her boyfriend and the seat next to me was the only one available on the bus. So we got to talking. I told gave her my business card and suggested she come by to see about a job. We just happened to bump into each other as I was leaving the bar—”
“Leaving the bar at what time Simon? You don’t drink.”
“I did today. I don’t remember what time we met, I just remember leaving the bar and then she came up to me. I told her that I didn’t think I would be able to get her a job any more, after what happened. We went out for lunch together and talked for a few hours. Now here I am.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Is there any answer I can give you that will make you feel okay about it, that will satisfy you?”
“Doubtful,” I say, “but I still think you should try.”
“We talked about life, Vanessa, and love and all the good things in life that seem to go away. I talked about you and me and us and how if you knew I was out to lunch with her, you’d probably think I was having an affair. We talked about God and the world and how the two fit together … if they fit together. And I told her that I needed to go home to wife.”
I’m crying again when I ask, “How come you never talk about those things with me? I’m your wife, Simon. You’re wife. Why can’t you talk to me?”
“Until today I didn’t know I could talk to anybody about those things Van. I didn’t know I had anything to say or that anyone would find what I said interesting or useful in any way. And I suppose that I didn’t want to hear what might actually come out of my mouth because then I might have to admit that I needed to hear it myself. But today, after I left the office I didn’t know what to do. My whole life had turned upside down, in the space of a morning. And when the bus driver asked me for a drink I said yes without hesitation. I didn’t think about whether or not it would be a good thing to do, I just did it.
“When I met up with Sara I was drunk. We started talking and the little voice in my head that usually tells me to shut up when I’m about to say anything that might upset my delicate balance didn’t say anything. I heard these things coming out of my mouth that I’d never really thought about before, or if I had it was years since I had. As we ate and I slowly sobered up, the voice didn’t come back like I thought it might. I just kept talking and talking. I learned a lot about myself today, Vanessa. I want to keep talking and exploring with people. I want to do that with you.”
“Simon, do you realise that we’ve been speaking for nearly an hour here together? Do you know how long it’s been since we actually had a real conversation about real things that matter? Do you know how much it hurts to me to know that you’ve done that with another woman today? Or how happy it makes me at the same time?”
“I haven’t been the greatest husband in the world, and I know that now. I haven’t been the greatest friend, either.”
“We’re both guilty of that Simon.”
“But we have an opportunity now to fix all that. We can choose to leave the past behind us, where it belongs. The wake doesn’t drive the boat, you know. I realised that today too.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s the act of driving the boat forward that creates the wake in the water, not the other way around. The wake doesn’t form and push the boat.”
I can’t imagine where he came up with something like that, but it makes perfect sense to me. I can even see the boat in my mind’s eye just sitting there in the water, waiting for a wake to come along and move it.
“I want to move forward Simon but I don’t know if I can do it. There’s so much between us now that it feels like we’re miles apart.”
“Then all we have to do is start moving towards each other Van. It really is that simple. It’s what we do now that will create tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow after that. If we start moving together, aiming at the same place, we’re eventually going to get there as long as we stay on track. We can help each other stay on track if we’re both willing.”
“It seems so much more complicated than that.”
“We make it complicated. I’ve made it complicated for most of my life, believe me, I’m not trying to put that on you. But we can choose to be different right now, Van. That’s the greatest gift of being human … we don’t have to follow the same old patterns any more if we choose not to. We can do the same thing in the same way a thousand times over and on the thousand and first time we can do it completely different. Just for the hell of it, if we want to.”
“You think we should stay together just for the hell of it? That doesn’t seem like a very solid reason to stay in a marriage that is making both of us miserable, at least not to me.”
“It seems as good a reason as any we’ve found to stay together so far, don’t you think? At least this way we’ll actually be working together towards something we both want instead of against each other. Especially when we’ve been working against each other in order to get something we both want. It doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense, does it?”
“No, not really,” I admit. “But what do we do with all of the stuff that’s already happened to us?”
“We take what’s useful and continue using it. Then we take whatever’s not working and we try and figure out another way, something that actually will work for us. It’s trial and error until we find the best method but in the end we learn so much more about ourselves, and each other. And we just might actually figure it out along the way.”
“Do you really believe that Simon? I’ve never heard you talk this way before. You used to say that we should live for the moment, take no prisoners. Now you’re saying we need to forget about now and look to the future? I don’t get it.”
“That’s not what I mean at all. I guess I’m still figuring out how to say what I think. What I mean to say is that we need to live in the moment, as opposed to for it. And that living in the moment means being honest with ourselves about what is right in front of us. Not trying to hide it—or hide from it—and not trying to explain it away or blame it on someone or something else. To just let it be what it is and decide if we’re actually willing to do something to change it for the future, to make it different in some way. Who knows if it will actually be better or worse—we won’t be able to tell until we see the change and judge it for ourselves. But at least we’ll have something to compare it to.
“I think that being aware of the future as a real and likely probability is a smart thing to do. We can’t hinge all our bets on it because it’s entirely possible that something will happen, that tomorrow won’t come. Eventually, it will happen to all of us. But it makes sense to do our best to ensure that the things we want in our lives are available to us tomorrow. I don’t know if I’m making any sense.”
He is making sense. Of course he is, it’s one of the reasons I fell in love with him in the first place … his ability to see things that ordinary people don’t often see. He always told me it’s not that other people don’t see the things he does, it’s that they pretend they see something else. He always had a way with words and he always gave people the benefit of the doubt. At least he used to.
“I wish I knew what to think about you Simon,” I tell him. “I left work early today so that I could come home and prepare myself for tonight. For this. I came home and I planned what I would say when you walked in the door. ‘We need to talk.’ I wanted it to come out right … wanted you to know that I was serious and that I mean business. I was going to tell you that I’m not happy any more and that I haven’t been happy for some time now. I was going to tell you that I wanted a divorce.” The colour drains from his face so I quickly continue. “I’ve decided to tell you something else. My deepest secret.”
He sits back in the chair again, a slight tint rising back into his cheeks. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths while I wait for him to be ready.
“Go ahead,” he says, opening his eyes.
“For a long time, most of my life, I’ve felt like I didn’t live up to the expectations of other people. I felt that I wasn’t good enough and that meant that I didn’t deserve to enjoy my life.
“I was a mistake, did I ever tell you that?” He shakes his head. “I haven’t told very many people. I found out one night when my parents had hosted a Christmas party for a bunch of their friends. I had come downstairs after being in bed for an hour, looking for a drink of milk. My mom caught me and sent me back to bed without the milk. I took my time going up the stairs and as I went I heard her tell a friend, ‘She’s a pistol that one—damn near had a heart attack when we found out too … a complete surprise to start off with and she’s been one ever since.’
“My parents never came right out and said it, but I know that I was a burden on them, financially. If it has just been the two of them they would have had the time and means to enjoy their lives the way they’d planned to. Don’t get me wrong, they loved me dearly, I have no doubt. But I also know that having me meant giving up a lot of other things they had planned for themselves. As a result I created a situation where the very same thing is true for me.”
“Van, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“How could you?” I laughed and cried at the same time. “I never told you about it. There’s no way you could have known. But all this time I’ve simply been masking my own fear and disappointment in myself by blaming you for what I see as my failed life. Everything I’ve tried to accomplish in my life has ended up badly, my marriage not the least of them. I feel a complete and utter failure.”
“You’re not a failure. You’re here right now, talking to me about it. A failure would have given up long ago.”
“I gave up a long time ago!”
“A part of you did, maybe, but there’s still a part of you that is clinging to hope. A part of you that knows there is something to be hopeful for. That there is a chance to change our lives, to become changed in the process; to be reborn. Isn’t that the goal of life? To continually grow and die and grow again? We’re like the Phoenix rising from the ashes of our own failures to soar and fly on the wings of success, only to burn and rise yet again to greatness.”
“I feel like I’m living half a life, Simon. I want to be whole again.”
“Then do it!” he cries, standing up suddenly. “For god’s sake, Van, do it! I’m here, I’ll cheer you on.”
He is dancing wildly about the room and suddenly we are transported back in time to when we first started dating. I remember being at a party with him. We were talking in different groups when I caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye, jumping up and down with his arms flailing about him like he was some sort of flying monkey or something. I remember losing myself in that moment of watching him, adoring him. And fearing his wildness a little too.
I stand up to face him and he stops dancing about and just looks at me. We stand like that for what seems like an eternity, just staring at each other, neither of us moving. I suddenly realise I wish he would kiss me and the feeling startles me out of my reverie and the spell is broken.
“What do you say, Vanessa? Are you willing to work with me on this? To try and see if we can make it happen the way we used to? We used to talk to each other remember? We used to tell each other our greatest hopes and dreams for the future. We talked about a house in the mountains and romantic boat rides along the canals of Brugges. We dreamed of travel and adventure not this drab n dreary life we’re living. Whatever happened to us?”
“I don’t know,” I say sitting back down on the couch. “I’m scared Simon. I really am. I want to believe what you’re saying is true … or at least that it could be true. But I also know how easy it is to slip back into old habits and patterns. I know what it’s like to taste a dream of a brilliant life with you and then see that dream disappear before my very eyes. I’m not sure I could handle it if that happened again.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that maybe it’s time we admit defeat. The line between being persistent and flogging a dead horse is a fine one, Simon, but it’s there.” My voice drops to a whisper. “What if we’ve already passed it?”
“You want a divorce? You want to just give up? Van, this is the best conversation we’ve had in years, we can’t give up now! We’re on a roll, making a come-back. We have to keep going. Do you love me?”
The question is obvious and the answer equally so. “Yes, Simon. But I don’t think that’s enough any more. There comes a point when you have to admit that the person you love maybe isn’t the person you should live with. And maybe, if you really love them, you need to give them the freedom to find the person that they should live with, so that they can be happy. You said before that you only ever wanted me to be happy. If that’s true, how far are you willing to go to make sure that happens?”
He stands up again but this time starts pacing around the room. He’s running his hands through his hair making it stand on end. He does this when he’s stressed out or when he’s anxious or nervous. He ends up looking like a mad scientist with strands of hair pointing in every direction.
“If you really believe that you need to not be in this marriage in order to be happy,” he says finally, “then I’ll do whatever you ask me to. I’ll leave if that’s what you tell me you really want. But if you tell me to go, you’d better mean it Vanessa. That’s not a threat or an ultimatum. I want you to know that loving you has been the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. And losing you will break my heart but I will do whatever it takes to make you happy.”
I laugh and he recoils like I’ve slapped him. “I’m sorry—I wasn’t laughing at you, I was laughing at me.”
He stands before me, not saying word. His eyes are wide open and his mouth is hanging slightly open. He’s like a deer caught in the headlights but I can’t keep going yet. I’m caught in my own set of headlights, remembering this morning when I gave the same short laugh when he propositioned me for sex. Then all I could think about was getting my shots in while I could and then getting out of there. But now I need to explain myself.
“I didn’t mean that you should let me go.” I stand up to face him again. “I meant that maybe I need to consider letting you go. I don’t know if you can make this decision for yourself. I can’t help but think that I’ve held you back all this time, roped you and kept you from going after your true dreams of a great life.
“Simon I’ve spent my whole life trying to find value in myself through what other people think of me. And in the process I’ve taken something from those people; my mother and father, you. I can’t give that back to them Simon. I can’t give it back to you. But what I can do is give you the freedom to find it for yourself. I think it’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” he says. “If anyone is to blame here it’s me. I wasn’t sensitive to the things you were asking for. I wasn’t giving you the things you needed for your dream of a great life. I couldn’t be your prince or your knight in shining armour.”
The absurdity of what we’re doing hits both of us at the same time, like a tonne of bricks. We’ve moved from neither of us taking any responsibility for our marriage to us arguing over who is responsible, each trying to take the blame from the other. We fall into each other’s arms as we break into uncontrollable laughter simultaneously. Leaning against one another we laugh for what seems like forever. Every time we just about get ourselves under control one of us starts laughing and the whole things starts all over again. Simon’s face is beet red and he has tears streaming down his cheeks. I can feel them trailing down my face as well, hot and salty as they reach my lips.
We slide to the floor still laughing and end up with him sitting and me lying with my head in his lap looking up at him. Both of us are wiping our eyes and faces with our sleeves, trying to dry the tears away.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve laughed that hard,” I tell him. “Thank you for that.”
“I love you, Van. I want to make this work for us. I don’t want to consider a life without you until we’ve given this chance a real try. I think we owe it to ourselves to at least try, don’t you?”
“I’m still scared.”
“That’s okay … I’m scared too. But we’ve let our fears rule our lives for long enough, don’t you think? It’s time we took that control back. We get to choose Vanessa. Us; you and me together. I can’t do it alone, not for both of us. And neither can you. We need to do this together if we’re going to do it at all. And we have to commit to it one hundred percent.”
Without warning he leans over and kisses me and it’s like the first time we’ve ever kissed. It sends shivers down my spine and flushes my face. Maybe this really could work.
“Okay Simon. I’m willing. We’ll see if I’m able—if we’re able—but I’m willing to try.”
“Do, or do not,” he says in what I think is his Yoda voice; “there is no try.”
I know he’s trying to make me laugh again, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation. But this is pretty serious business we’re talking about.
“I don’t think we should be making light of the situation Simon. If we’re going to do this we need be honest and serious about it.”
“That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun at the same time. But the funny voice aside, what I said is true and it sounds like you agree with me. Trying isn’t enough. We need do. Act. We need to create and build what it is that we want to see in our lives. We need to start with the foundation and work up from there and it’s possible—maybe even probable—that it’s going to take some time to see the results we’re looking for. But if we remember that in order to build a house you first have to dig down, seemingly in the wrong direction, in order to lay the proper foundation, I think we’ll be okay.”
“It’s going to be messy you know. There are a lot of things that are going to come up for me that I haven’t talked about before, things that have been holding me back for a long time. I want to get rid of them Simon, I really do, but you need to be able to handle some of the shit that might come your way. You have to know going in that we might get a little dirty.”
“I’ve never minded getting my hands dirty, Van, and I’m not about to start now. Especially when it comes to you. And don’t think for a minute that you’re the only one with issues … I’ve certainly got my own fair share of demons in my personal closet. They’re going to come up too, and you need to be ready for those as well.”
Everything doesn’t become better in the instant that he says this, but I can see the path we’re going to walk on and I can see a glimmer of our intended destination in the distance. I feel better than I have ever felt before. I feel alive.
He spins himself over from his butt to his knees and pulls me towards him so that I do the same. He kisses me again and then pulls me to him in a great big hug. We hold each other for a minute, a lifetime, an eternity before standing up together to go upstairs to bed. I don’t want to stop touching him, now that I’ve started again. I don’t want to lose him all over again.
We go through our regular nighttime routines, brushing our teeth, him flossing after he brushes then brushing again, while I run a comb through my hair to clear out any knots. This time we share the bathroom so that routine, although made up of the same activities, seems fuller … more complete than it did only yesterday, or even this morning.
We steal glances in the mirror at each other and giggle when we get caught or when we catch the other. We make faces and pretend that everything is okay again even though we both know they’re not. At least they aren’t yet. But we know we can giggle because we’ve got each other and we’ve got a plan.
As we move out of the bathroom and into the bedroom we start to get undressed. He reaches over and turns out the overhead light leaving only the glow from the streetlight outside to see by. It isn’t much but it falls more on him than on me and as he undresses I watch him, comparing him as I see him now to how I saw him only just this morning. Then I compared him to my fantasy man, the one who lives in my dreams but who is no more real that the tooth fairy or the Easter bunny, and who I cannot count on be there, ever. At least Simon is real.
I no longer see him through those shit-coloured lenses and begin to recognize him for who he truly is. He’s not a knight in shining armour or a dark and handsome prince. He’s Simon Cunningham, my husband. My Simon. And I wouldn’t change him right now for anyone else in the world.
We get in to bed together and at first we lay there, stiff as boards the way we’ve become so used to doing. It’s funny how strong a habit can be, how much it can affect our lives even when we think we’ve become aware of them.
“Will you hold me, Simon?” I ask him, wanting to break the hold my habits have on me. He doesn’t say a word because he doesn’t need to. He rolls onto his side to face me and I do the same. We put our arms around each other and just lie there together. Just touching is enough, just knowing that we’re no longer alone. After a while I turn around and we link together in the spoon position. I can feel his warm breath on my neck and the strength of his arms as he holds me to him. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest as his breathing becomes gradually slower and deeper as he drifts towards sleep.
“You want to know what I think?” he asks, sleep hanging heavy in his words.
“What’s that?”
“Dreams really do come true.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because my dream came true today. I didn’t exactly know what it was that I’d been searching for, but know that I’ve found it, it’s perfectly clear.”
“What’s that?”
“Something worth fighting for.”
“Please don’t say you’re fighting for me. I’ve given up hoping for an illusory knight that will come and save me from myself. That person doesn’t exist. In reality I’m the only person who can come to my rescue.”
“I wasn’t talking about fighting for you. I was talking about fighting with you, alongside you.”
“Yea, though you walk through the valley of death, you shall fear no evil.”
“I’m serious Van. Knowing that you’re here with me is the best thing that’s ever happened to me … again. I just hope I don’t go and give it up a second time. I don’t know what I’d do if that happened. I don’t ever want to lose you.”
“So what are we fighting against?”
He’s suddenly wide awake again and sitting up in bed. He reaches over and switches on the bedside lamp then rolls me gently over so that he can look me in the eyes. There is an intensity in him that I haven’t seen before, not even when were first dating or engaged or married. It’s frightening but it’s also invigorating and I can feel my own energy surge with his.
“Not against, Van. Never against; always for. To fight against something means that we create resistance where it didn’t exist before. We position ourselves for difficulties and set ourselves up for failure. It’s one of the greatest limitations of being human, this propensity for creating chaos, friction and strife in our lives. No, better to fight for something. Act because of a belief instead of a disbelief. Act instead of react.”
He peers into my eyes so fiercely that it feels like he could reach inside and touch my soul. And in feeling this I realise that I can actually sense my soul again, that part of me that has lain dormant and hidden for so long. That I had buried long ago and that I thought might have disappeared forever. But he’s found it and nursed it back to health.
“What is it, Simon? What are we fighting for?” The intensity burns between us, not hanging in the air but buzzing through it, electrifying it.
“Why, love of course. Always love. Is there anything else?”
The end.
Today’s word count: 10,009
Cumulative word count: 50,022
posted by Paul Keetch at 8:40 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home