A week before it happened we celebrated our daughter’s seventh birthday. Grandparents, aunts and uncles joined us and sang in unison as Mae took a breath and gave it her best. The cake was her own creation: a jungle where plastic lions and tigers roamed through green buttercream and giraffes nibbled from Tootsie Roll trees with fruit leather leaves. I’d spent days preparing. Floors gleamed, food abounded, kids ran through the house stirring up streamers and balloons.

An outsider observing the whole affair could have easily gotten caught up in the spirit of the day, overlooking the fact that Michael and I did not speak once, never even made eye contact. And when the whole family gathered in the living room, Michael and his parents instead lingered at the dining table, eyeing us from afar with a detachment I found curious and surprising. But it was a party and these things were easy to discount. Outside, strong October winds scattered the dying leaves without a second thought.

***

Michael is standing here, in our kitchen, with papers in his hand that is shaking uncharacteristically. I’m sweaty and invigorated, fresh from my run. Our children are nowhere in sight, and he speaks before I can ask. “They are at my parents’. There is something we need to talk about.” His voice is too loud.

Suddenly the air is wrong. My stomach twists and I
sit down. A curtain of ice envelops me.

He releases the thick stack from his hand and it smacks on the counter. “I filed for divorce. These are the papers you need to sign.” He is so steely; there is nothing in his eyes that have gone the color of cold, hard slate.

I am spinning, spinning, what is happening

? In that long moment it all comes together and I am so stupid for not realizing what has been going on right under my nose. It has come to this, then. Ten years of marriage, two beautiful children, our family. The invisible thread that is my life severs suddenly and quietly.

***

I met Michael at my small college town’s local bar. It wasn’t an accident. My beautiful and bubbly roommate was in love with him, had placed an anonymous phone call in hopes of luring him there and moving in for the kill. My heart pulsed to the bass as my eyes adjusted to the circulating neon lights. Amidst the haze of smoke a lone couple gyrated on the dance floor.

Anne and I slid into a corner booth, sipping margaritas from plastic cups and keeping watchful eyes on the door. She gasped and grabbed my arm when he sauntered in with a friend. I checked him out: short, dark hair, lots of freckles, tall and skinny. He really wasn’t too bad at all. In fact, he was cute enough that it was easy to overlook his utter lack of fashion sense.

My friend dragged me over to talk. He laughed a lot. Music muted our voices, so I nodded and smiled when it seemed right. He invited us over that night but Anne declined. Instead, she drove her aging Honda by his house a dozen times, slowly, to “assess the situation.”

We began spotting saw him around town at the night spots we frequented. It became apparent that it was not Anne he was interested in. Of course, I was flattered. It wasn’t hard to push aside my guilt at stealing my best friend’s crush. After all, I hadn’t had a boyfriend in months.

***

For two days after Michael’s announcement I somehow force myself from bed, ready the kids for school, function in a sort of haze, dreading what I have to do. It is amazing to me that I can even put one foot in front of the other.

I am not looking forward to doing what I have been putting off. My fingers fumble and my hand shakes as I dial.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mom.”

My kitchen suddenly seems surreal. A patch of sunlight warms the checked linoleum. Wooden spoons stand erect, sporting battle scars from years of use. They appear unaffected by my turmoil.

“Michael gave me divorce papers.” My voice quavers.
There is a beat of silence. I imagine my mother’s face, perhaps laced with anger and sadness,disbelief, confusion. Surely she will want us to work it out, will tell me I must beg and plead for forgiveness for whatever it is I may have done to bring this on. What does a mother say to a daughter in these types of circumstances?

“I’m not surprised,” she finally responds.

Now the silence comes from my end, followed by the tiniest internal sigh of relief. I come up for air.

“Really?”

It turns out my parents weren’t as blind as I’d thought. They’d witnessed Michael’s need for perfection, his controlling nature. They’d seen me wither in the last few years, spiraling into deep depression, my cheery disposition replaced by monotone conversations that revealed my unhappiness. I realize Mom understands, as best she can, my pain.

“Your father and I will do everything possible to help you through this,” she proclaims with the resolve I so badly need.

Her support brings a fresh round of tears down my face. Sobs shake my body. When will this stop?

Mom is stronger than me. “It’s okay. I’m here. I will help you get through this.” Thank you, thank you, thank you.

That afternoon I drive to school, making only half-hearted attempts to wipe the tears that have become a constant. Something has shifted, though, and through my tears I smile. It will be okay. I will be okay.

***

I realize that Michael’s main objective is not to actually divorce me, but to teach me a lesson, make his point and bring me to my knees. It was only be a matter of time before the truth came out. Turns out that amount of time was five days.

He is in our kitchen under the guise of wanting to “talk.” He stands unnervingly close as I stir the bubbling pasta sauce, inhaling the comforting scent of basil and tomatoes. I wonder if he misses my cooking yet.

I hear his words before he speaks them: “Do you think maybe we should try counseling?”

Oh, damn him!

I’ve spent the past five days visualizing how my new Michael-less life will look. I’ll have to get a job to support myself and the kids, of course. Perhaps I’ll need to find a new place to live. Maybe I’ll grab the kids and make a run for the border. My ideas right now are rather shapeless but I’ve felt a small charge of freedom run through me, enough to make me hesitate giving it all back so soon.

And anyway, how could I ever trust this man, the man who claims to love me, the man who really hates me. I hear my beautiful children in the next room and pause. Seven and five are such vulnerable ages. How can I even be contemplating this change that will shatter their world into bits? I do not want to make this horrible decision. Someone else do it for me. Please.

“I asked you about counseling last week. You said no.” I had begged Michael to go to a counselor, pleaded with a tear-stained face as he gave me a glare and walked out the door.

“I changed my mind.”

How very convenient. “I can’t talk about this now,” I hiss through clenched teeth. The kids don’t deserve to hear their parents arguing again.

“I need to know now,” he demands.

This can’t be happening. He gave me the papers. He decided our fate. Now he is changing the rules and making it my decision. I do not like this one little bit. How in the world can I possibly carry this load on my shoulders?

But there it was. Deep inside, I already knew that this whole thing, the relationship, the marriage, the love I had, was over. It had been for a long time, I’d just been distracting myself with birthday parties and parent-teacher conferences and loads of laundry. And yet. I imagine telling my children about all of this and my heart explodes.

“I’ll let you know tomorrow,” I say. One more day.

That night I pray for God to give me a sign. I know what I want to do and I know what I should do to try to keep my family together. Unfortunately, they are two different things.

In my dream I am standing on a hilltop in a lush meadow. The warm spring breeze rifles my simple white dress. My lungs inhale the sweet fragrances of fresh grasses and peonies. Clouds of cotton float lazily in the bright blue sky. A small gathering of family and friends surrounds me. At my side is a man whose face I cannot see, but whose presence fills me with an amazing sense of lightness and peace. There is no way this man is Michael.

In the morning everything is clear. I know what I have to do. I will be okay.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 23.02.2010

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