Jazz Hands

Ever since the blur of his divorce two years ago, Charlie started frequenting bars on the nights he didn’t have his kids. He knew he should develop a healthier use of his free time, but that time wasn’t now. Though some might suggest he had a drinking problem, he saw it more as a depression problem Living in a basement apartment that saw no sunlight certainly did little to improve his mental health.

If his basement apartment was truly the impetus for heading out several nights a week, he just as well could have chosen a coffee shop instead. Like he used to during his marriage when he wanted to write. But coffee shops didn’t serve alcohol.

Did 1-2 drinks suggest a drinking problem?

Maybe not.

What about 1-2 drinks several nights a week?

Perhaps.

He certainly drank far less on the nights he had his kids, though he was certainly pouring a wee little sipping bourbon more frequently than he used to do. It seemed that the only free nights that he didn’t go to the bar was during illness, or say, a snowstorm. But not even Mother Nature could keep him down.

He headed out to his usual Thursday night spot, which had a jazz quartet. Thursday was always one of his free nights, along with Wednesdays. Sometimes, he would think about for how for three quarters of his kids’ childhood, he never saw them on those days. He was envious of people who saw their kids every day. That felt normal to him. Not whatever this was. He hated this fact about his life. Married friends of his were often envious that he had more time for himself. He reassured him that they had nothing to be envious of and that they should be grateful they didn’t fuck up their family’s life the way he had. It was this type of thinking that led him to bars several nights a week.

He was grateful that he was at least still cordial with his ex – unlike any of his other divorced friends. Most people judged him for this. In the early days they spent many – if not most – “off days” together. But they agreed for everyone’s sake, they both needed more independence. A decision they reached just before their dream Disney trip, which was magical, but dampened with melancholy and regret. When it was all said and done, it was the best vacation that they ever had. But it was also their last. It was in this awareness that they were both determined to make sure to give the kids – and themselves – a special memory that would last a lifetime.        

And they did.

He was worried that awareness of this being their last family trip would hang over their heads like a thundercloud, but he was never happier to be wrong. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy.

“I’m so glad we could do this,” he said to her halfway through the trip.

“Me, too,” she said.

It was a surprising moment of tenderness for them both.

It seemed that the more time had passed, the more their friendship deepened. Their situation was far from perfect…but it could have been so much worse. And despite what others may have assumed, they remained one hundred-percent platonic. It seemed that the more time passed, the more difficult it was to remember why their marriage ended in the first place. He had to sometimes remind himself that if things were so great in their marriage, then they never would have gotten divorced.

It were thoughts like these that kept him up all night. No to mention, why he hung out at bars until it was time to be daddy again.

On a typically frigid January night in Michigan, Charlie emerged from his underground bunker to enter into the frigid night. Not even an arctic blast could keep indoors. He certainly considered it.

The moment he stepped out of his car, he heard the live jazz emanating from the bar like a siren call. He entered the warm and cozy bar, still adorned with Christmas lights and took his usual spot at the bar, ordered an Old Fashioned, then watched the jazz quartet play through their set.

Charlie slowly sipped his bourbon, vibing to the music with his trusty notebook ready for action once – or, more precisely if his muse struck him. He found himself suddenly fixating on the bass player, who had a forlorn expression that he recognized all too well. After a couple of songs, the band went on break. The bass player took the stool next to him and struck up a conversation with the bartender who could have a second career as a therapist. From what Charlie quickly gathered, the bassist certainly seemed like someone who could have used therapy. Not that he had any room to judge.   

Charlie continued to eavesdrop on their conversation. He knew it was rude, but he couldn’t help himself. Being a fly on the wall was one of the things he enjoyed most about hanging out in bars. Not to mention, it usually provided fodder for his stories. And in turn, his writing his stories became therapeutic.

“How’s your wife?” the bartender asked the beleaguered bassist.

Charlie looked up just as the musician put his head down– another look and gesture he knew all too well. The bassist then confirmed exactly what Charlie was assuming.

 “We’re going through a divorce.”

“I’m so sorry,” the bartender replied.

“Thank you. Just trying to hold it together. For Miles’ sake.”

“How is the little guy doing?”

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t seen him since before Thanksgiving. She skipped town to go back home to her parents. And she doesn’t plan on coming back.”

“Is that legal?”

“My lawyer says both yes and no, but more than likely, the judge will rule in my favor. It’s just a matter of staying patient.”

“When do you think this will get resolved?”

The bassist shrugged.

“Her lawyer thinks she has a good case. I would explain it to you if I could.”

 “I’m so sorry.”

 “I never in a million year saw any of this happening. She just completely lost her marbles. It all started when Trump won the election and it was all downhill ever since. She stropped trusting the world. Including me and my parents. It got to the point where she wouldn’t let anyone be around Miles except her. And well, I guess her parents. Covid certainly didn’t help. She became overly obsessed with germs and became even more protective.”

Charlie knew that there are always more than one side to a story – especially as divorce is concerned, but it was impossible not to want to completely side with this poor sad sack. One thing was clear: there could be no winner here. If he wins, he gets his kid back. But that would mean she would lose her support system.

As the bartender took another customer’s order, Charlie took it upon himself to chime in. Typically, he tried to stay out of conversation that didn’t pertain to him. Besides, he didn’t want to blow his cover that he had been eavesdropping. But he couldn’t resist this time.

“Sorry to interject…but I just want to say, I’m sorry to here what you are going through.”

Charlie was well aware of the fact that interjecting himself was a gamble. He would totally understand if the guy told him to mind his own fucking business. Or, worse, if the man popped him in the nose that he was sticking into said business.

“Thank you,” the man said, with tears in his eyes. “It’s been a living a nightmare. Especially during the holidays. Sometimes, I am so overcome with sadness, I can’t breathe. Usually when I was see a picture of him. Or, hear a song I think of him.”

“It will get better,” Charlie assured him, remember the hell he endured before things got better. “I know this from my own experience. I am on the other side of it now, but I remember those moments when all hope felt lost. I know your situation is different than mine…but it will get better.”

“I hope so. For my son’s sake.

“It will.”

 “I just hope when it’s all said and done, my son will never know what happened.”

“It’s very possible.”

“But it does get better?”

Charlie nodded.

“Yeah. The pain won’t fully go away, but it will certainly fade. And there will be more happy moments than sad. It just might not feel that way for awhile.”

 “Thank you.”

 “I hope you can find refuge in your art. In the end, it’s all we have. And all we need when there is nothing else left.”

“I certainly do,” the bassist nodded. “Every damn note, I play for him.”

“Does Miles have a favorite song?”

“Yeah. ‘All of Me’.”

“He has good taste!’

“Yeah,” the bassist said, smiling through his tears. “I at least did that right.”

The bandleader approached: “Time to play.”

The bassist downed the rest of his drink, before heading back to join his bandmates.

Meanwhile, Charlie ordered another drink and wipes the tears out of his own eyes. His drink is served the moment the band starts playing again – specifically “All of Me”.

Charlie sips on his cocktail and focuses on the bassist who seemed more content now, in full awareness of the muse he was playing for.

They would probably both be okay in the long run. As long as they both had music in their heart.

The occasional drink didn’t hurt, either.

Failure Notice

Mr. Valentine graded essays at his neighborhood Panera a couple of evenings each week. He found a certain cozy comfort there, plus he could eat semi-healthy, while drinking copious amounts of coffee. The only drawback was that every now and then, he would run into people he knew, when paradoxically, all he wanted was solitude. Sure, he could have stayed home, but he had trouble staying focused at home. His headphones kept most people at bay, but some people just can’t take a hint.

He would sometimes encounter current or former students. More often than not, they had on headphones, too, so there was an implied mutual ignore between them. Sometimes, he would engage in small talk. Sometimes, he struggled to pinpoint when he had the student. One year ago? Five years? With each passing year, time became more fluid. And with almost 20 years under his belt, time had become a rapid blur. 

Sometimes, he recognized a former student the moment he was approached by one. Sometimes, he didn’t recognize them at all. Fortunately, Mr. Valentine was usually on good terms with his students so he rarely had to worry about a negative encounter. And his students loved him. But that doesn’t mean there still wasn’t an occasional bad egg among them.

On one particular encounter one frigid January evening (the kind that made leaving the house an excruciating decision), Mr. Valentine slogged through excruciating final exam essays, a rather ragged individual approached him. He not only looked homeless, but quite likely addicted to meth. He wasn’t one to assume, but this one seemed to be a no doubter.

 The man didn’t speak, but instead just hovered over him. Mr. Valentine hoped that if he ignored him long enough, he would go away, as was usually the case. It wasn’t unusual for individuals like this to linger at this particular Panera from time to time. Eventually, they would leave him alone once it was clear he wasn’t going to pay them a modicum of attention. Or, they would be politely asked to leave by the staff, at which point they would comply without further incident. This man clearly wasn’t taking a hint. And it didn’t seem like he was going to be asked to leave anytime soon. 

“Mr. Valentine?”

Though it wouldn’t have surprised him that some of his students turned out like this, he had yet to encounter one. He didn’t recognize this man whatsoever…but the man certainly seemed to recognize him.

“Mr. Valentine, right?” the man persisted.

“Yes.”

“It’s me,” he mumbled just barely coherent. “D-D-Donny Robinson.”

A name that has lived in infamy.

Teachers tend to remember two types of students: the very best…and the very worst. Donny Robinson was by far the worst. And the biggest asshole Mr. Valentine had ever encountered in his 20 years of teaching (and there were plenty). Judging from his appearance, the years had not turned his fortunes around. Somehow, this outcome was worse than he would have guessed – though that was debatable. He had him pegged for prison.

Donny was also the impetus for the only time Mr. Valentine received disciplinary action. He called Donny a dick. He had made it almost all the way to the end of the year without serious incident, but this came on the heels of numerous incidents ranging from lying, stealing, to starting a fire (but somehow, Donny never skipped class). He lost track of how many times he had kicked Donny out. And sure enough, he would be back the next day and there would be no change in his behavior.

A vicious cycle.

Mr. Valentine couldn’t even remember the specific incident that lead to him calling Donny a dick.

Did Donny?

In the end, Mr. Valentine received a slap on the wrist and the reassurance that he had simply said everything that everyone else was already thinking. Fortunately, it was expunged from his file after a year with a warning that if it happened again, he could face termination.  

He would take his chances. And though Mr. Valentine never really regretted it. he could still hear the echo all of these years later.

When approached by a former student that he didn’t recognize, Mr. Valentine’s usual response was to ask what the student had been up to, buying him some time while his brain raced to decipher the identity of his former pupil. He became proficient at carrying on a conversation in this manner until a vague recollection would emerge in his mind, as though the student were being regenerated out of the deep recesses of his memory bank. Sometimes, he would still draw a blank…but certainly not in this instance.

Donny Fucking Robinson.

Just looking at Donny’s current condition – tattered clothing, rotting teeth, a horrible stench – he knew asking how he was doing wouldn’t suffice in this context. The answer was clear: he was doing awful. 

“I need your help,” Donny pleaded.

Where was this question 10 years ago…

 “Yeah? How so?” Mr. Valentine responded with a hint of irritation, lined with guilt for feeling this way. Of course, he already knew the answer before Donny even said it:

“I am trying to get back on my feet. But I’m homeless. My parents kicked me out of the house. They took all of my money. And I got nowhere to stay.”

Mr. Valentine rarely helped panhandlers. He was never rude to them, but he certainly went out of his way to ignore them. This was the first time he was approached by one he actually knew.   

“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Valentine said earnestly.

“But can you help?”

Mr. Valentine hesitated before responding.

“I’m afraid I can’t.”  

Despite his answer, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming urge to help him. He thought long and hard. After all, it was the humane thing to do – especially when you personally knew the person begging for help.

And then he remembered: he was the reason Donny didn’t graduate. The kid needed the credit, but came up just short. It wasn’t uncommon practice for Mr. Valentine to pass a kid who felt just short of the goal line. Donny fell within the parameters of getting a mercy pass – or, at least some sort of credit recovery plan. In fact, Mr. Valentine initially passed him, but then changed his mind at the last moment. Donny had been such an asshole all year long, failure was the only option. He certainly didn’t help himself in any way – academically, or character wise. In the end, he had no one else to blame. He failed himself. And it wasn’t just Mr. Valentine’s class he failed. He had failed several classes and was coming up just short of the finish line. It all came down to Mr. Valentine’s English class. So how could he not feel partially responsible for this public education tragedy standing in front of him?

Staring into the face of failure, Mr. Valentine was surprised to be suddenly overcome by a sudden urge to help his former pupil. But then he immediately reminded himself of what a fucking asshole he was.

But he was just a kid.

And now look at him…

He was hopeful Donny would just leave him alone. Then again, he could always leave instead. Donny continued to linger, showing no sign of surrender.

“Please? Mr. Valentine,” Donny begged, shaking and foaming at the mouth. “Please. I need your help.”

“Sorry, man. I can’t.

“Please. Please.”

Mr. Valentine suddenly felt threatened, just as he did when he was his student. Two employees finally approached, demanding that Donny leave. They apologized to Mr. Valentine as Donny headed back into the cold January night. He then lingered in front of the window where Mr. Valentine was sitting, staring at him with meth-addicted puppy dog eyes. And then he disappeared until seconds later, he appeared before him once again.

Unable to bear it any longer and not wanting to see Donny sent back out into the cold, Mr. Valentine gathered his belongings and headed out into the night. Halfway do his car, he froze in his tracks and considering going back inside. He could at least give him a few bucks. And then he saw Donny staggering outside, heading towards him. Mr. Valentine decided to keep walking until he got into his car, before heading home to his warm, empty apartment.

He couldn’t sleep that night, consumed by the guilt of turning his back on someone who not only needed help now, but could have used his help way back then. When Donny was just a kid with a troubled home life, but still capable of being molded.

How does this happen? How could parents kick out their own kid? Then it hit him like punch to the gut: how many times did he kick him Donny out of his classroom? How many times did he resort to punishment, rather than compassion? To help assuage his guilt, Mr. Valentine vowed to help Donny if he ever ran into him again.

But he never did.

In fact, a few years later, he found out that Donny had died of a heroin overdose. Would any amount of money have helped him kick his addictions?  

Unlikely.

But at least Donny would have known someone cared. If even for one small moment. And sometimes that is more than enough.           

Mr. Valentine vowed in that moment to never kick a student out of class again. From that point forward, he would teach with compassion.  

Stocking Stuffer

Emily took Jimmy to Christmas Eve mass – not out of obligation to any faith (she had none), but in honor of her husband (who did). Though she never admitted it, Emily actually enjoyed going to church on Christmas – if only for the music. Despite her stance on religion, how could she not be moved? This year, one song in particular stirred her in a totally unexpected way she hadn’t ever felt before: “O Come All Ye Faithful.”  She was overcome by the pure beauty of it and the hope it promised. Though it wasn’t a “come to Jesus” moment, it was as close to having a spiritual encounter that she could remember in years. It was also James’s favorite Christmas song.  

After church, they stopped for Chinese carry out – another tradition. They saved their fortune cookies for last, of course.

Jimmy read his out loud: “May the ghosts of your ancestors be the guiding light in your life,”

“Awww, that’s nice,” Emily said.

“What are ancestors?” Jimmy asked.

“Your relatives that have come before you.”

“Like daddy?”

“More like people from previous generations.”

“What are generations?”

“Like hundreds of years ago.”

“What does your fortune say, Mommy?”

It was a half-off coupon for her next meal. They all laughed – just the fortune they all needed. 

At least it wasn’t a blank fortune like James got long ago. Though they made light of it, James’s family history certainly gave them pause.

“What does that mean?!” 

“Probably exactly what it says,” James assured her. “Nothing.”

She could tell it was bothering him more than he was letting on, but then he ate his cookie and it all seemed forgotten.

Before bed, Emily read The Night Before Christmas to Jimmy – an annual tradition, using James’s childhood copy. Emily was exhausted, but knew the real work would begin after Jimmy was asleep – the stealthy placement of Christmas presents under the tree. James gladly used to do this part, allowing her to go straight to sleep. She handled the wrapping. Even though James liked to help with that, he was forbidden. His wrapping was God-awful.

“There was no way that Santa – or his Elves – could possibly wrap that poorly,” she teased him.

James agreed.

“Okay, mister,” Emily said to Jimmy. “Time for bed. Santa will be here before you know it.”

Just as they started heading upstairs for bed, Jimmy stopped in his tracks:

“Aren’t we forgetting something?”

“What, sweetheart?”

“A note for Santa. And cookies! And carrots for his reindeer!”

“Oh my gosh, how could we forget?”

“I didn’t. You did.”

She laughed.

“Well, excuuuse me!” she retorted.

He then grabbed a few cookies and set them on a plate, along with a glass of milk.

“And we need to leave a note.”

She grabbed some paper and a pen.

“Okay, you dictate and I will write.”

“What’s dicktaste?”

“Dictate! You speak. I write.”

“Oh. Ok.”

She tried to stifle her laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”   

 “Actually, how about you write it. I will help you spell if you need help.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Don’t you want to make Santa proud of you? And Daddy?”

That did the trick. She would milk that motivational tool for as long as she could. When it was all said and done, the letter read as follows:

 “Dear Santa. I know you can’t bring my daddy back. But I know you would if you could. Thank you for whatever presents you give me.  Love, Jimmy.”

She had to try so hard to keep from crying. They headed upstairs for bed.

“Goodnight, my sweet little elf!” Emily said, after tucking him in and saying his prayers.

“I’m not an elf.”

“You’re my elf.”

“You’re an elf.”

“Then that makes two elves.”

She kissed him gently on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

She waited until he joined the land of sugar plum fairies, then headed off to gather the presents and place them under the tree. She then filled Jimmy’s stocking, which she placed alongside her and James’s empty ones. She considered filling her stocking, because she knew Jimmy would have questions as to why Santa didn’t fill hers, but she then ultimately decided that the presence of James’s empty one would somehow make it worse. This was the type of analysis she was going to have to do with just about every decision in the weeks, months, and probably years to come.

She headed to bed, as a steady snow began to fall, hoping she could get some sleep, because of course Jimmy would be up bright and early. Normally, she would have preferred that he slept in, but if he didn’t wake up bright and early and excited for Christmas, then she would be deeply concerned.

All she wanted for Christmas was for her son to be happy. For at least one day.  As memories of Christmases past danced in her heads, she realized that sleep was evasive. She settled on one Christmas in particular. Their one and only Christmas in New York. Their first Christmas together.

“Christmas in New York?” she said when James first suggested it.  “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”

He was genuinely shocked, if only because he didn’t think she would give up a Christmas with her parents.

“What about your parents?”

“Hell no. They’re not coming with us,” Emily snapped.

“No,” he laughed. “I mean, are you willing to miss Christmas with them?”

“Yeah. For sure.”

 “Are you prepared for one of your mom’s guilt trips?”

“She’ll get over it. Are you trying to get me to change my mind?”

“Of course not.”

She threw herself at him and gave him an enormous hug.

“We can finally trace Holden’s footsteps!” James proclaimed.

And so, they did. It was as magical a Christmas setting either one had ever imagined. As directed by Nora Ephron. It was their first trip. Their relationship was still in its infancy, but they had long since reached the point where they were in a comfortable rhythm with one another, wildly turned on, and oh so madly and deeply in love.

Is there a more magical time than Christmas to be in love?

In the days leading up to the trip, she tried to suppress any suspicions she had that he had an ulterior motive for the trip. A proposal. She figured it was way too soon, right?

By the same token, she would have said “yes” in a heartbeat if he popped the question. She had to keep reminding herself not to be disappointed if he didn’t. Even if he wanted to, he probably knew it was much too soon.

At each stop along their magical Holden tour, she kept thinking to herself that the moment had come! Beginning with Grand Central Station, followed by the American Museum of Natural History, Radio City Music Hall, and the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

She would later turn her photos into an award-winning series that documented the locations from the book, along with corresponding quotes from the novel.

 As they approached the lagoon in Central Park, James exclaimed like only a diehard Catcher fan could do:

 “Ducks!”

They walked past the zoo and carousel, at which point James recited one of their favorite passages from memory.

“‘I felt so damn happy all of sudden, the way old Phoebe kept going around and around. I was damn near bawling, I felt so damn happy… God, I wish you could’ve been there.’”

“You memorized all that?”

“Impressed?”

“Yeah! I suck at memorizing anything.”

“If I ever have children, I want to bring them here,” James said.

That would be nice,” Emily said, coyly.

“In the meantime, would you like to ride with me?”
 

“Sure!”

And so they did.

There was one last stop on their tour and therefore one more chance to propose. What was a more fitting spot than the Rockefeller Center Skating Rink?  Neither one of them had ever ice skated before, but they were determined to give it a whirl. As it turned out, most of the time on the rink was spent either keeping one another upright…or, helping one another up. And they had never laughed harder in their lives. At one point, after she fell, he helped her back up, then stayed on one knee for a bit. She felt her heart stop, but it wouldn’t be until the following summer that he finally did pop the question. Up north at the Mission Point Lighthouse, overlooking Lake Michigan. She wouldn’t have changed it for the world.

It wasn’t until the night after their post-coital engagement sex, while their bodies lay intertwined in bed, that she confessed how she was anticipating the proposal on their trip to New York.

“Oh yeah?” James asked. “And what would you have done if I did?”

 “I would have said yes.”        

“Well, for the record, I did consider it.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I honestly thought you would think it was too early. So, I resisted with all my might. I almost caved a couple of times.”

“When?”

“Ice skating.”

She knew exactly when before he even said it.

“You fell. And I got on one knee and came so close to asking.”

“Did you have a ring?”

“Of course!”

Her heart skipped a beat.

Of course.

“Well, I’m glad you did it when you did. It was perfect.”

“Me, too. And yes, it was.”

It truly was.

And it was on this note that Emily finally drifted off to sleep, with visions of sugar plum fairies dancing in her head.

Jimmy woke her up well before six just as he normally did and she couldn’t have been happier.

 “Merry Christmas,” Emily said.

“Merry Christmas!” Jimmy said back. “And eww, your breath stinks.”

“Yours too, mister!”

“Can we go downstairs now?” Jimmy asked.
“Sure.”

She slowly climbed out of bed and looked out the window. A fresh blanket of snow had covered the world. They headed downstairs. Jimmy had the wide-eyed glee that only Christmas morning can bring. If only she could bottle this moment up and return to it when needed. When they reached the bottom of the steps, one thing was clear:

Santa had indeed come.

Emily reveled in the holly jolly normalcy of it all. In that moment, the piercing void that both Emily and Jimmy felt in their hearts was – not replaced – but dulled. If only for a moment. However, fleeting.

Jimmy surveyed his gifts with gleeful excitement, but then like a needle to a balloon, or screeching across a record:

“He didn’t eat his cookies!”

Fuck!

How did she forget to hide them! And how was she going to get out of this one? Of course, James not only wouldn’t have forgotten, but he always went the extra mile to leave a few crumbs, or even a bite behind for added effect. He also usually left a few strands of red fabric off of the Christmas tree skirt on the carpet and dangled some on the side of the fireplace to create the illusion that that Santa snagged his suit.

One year, he left one carrot behind because one of the reindeer apparently – was it Blitzen? – didn’t like carrots anymore and only ate cookies.

How could she possibly keep up?

“And he left no note, either!” Jimmy bemoaned.

Double fuck!

Once again, she reverted to spin control.

“He must have been running behind and didn’t have time! Plus, he gets so many cookies! I’m sure he isn’t starving. Maybe Mrs. Claus has him on a diet.”

That seemed to do the trick. A year from now, she had a feeling she would have to become craftier. Fortunately, he wasn’t going to dwell on it – not with all those presents awaiting him under the tree. Fortunately, the crisis was quickly averted.

She wouldn’t do what her mother did, which was feel guilty about lying about the whole Santa thing and flat out admitting there was no such thing the first time she even began to question it.

Emily put on the Merry Christmas Johnny Mathis album. A Christmas morning tradition in both her and James’s family. Nothing felt more quintessential Christmas to them than that.

Jimmy noticed his stuffed stocking. Next to his parents’ empty ones.

“Why didn’t Santa put anything in your stocking?”

Perhaps she should have filled hers after all.  After all, why wouldn’t Santa still come for her? She just figured that seeing James’s lonely, empty stocking would somehow make it worse.

“Maybe Santa decided that only kids should get gifts this year?”

“That isn’t very fair,” he said.

“Go ahead and start opening your gifts!”

After Jimmy opened up his stocking stuffers, he dug his hand into his mother’s. Much to both of their surprise:

“Wait. Santa did leave you something!”

Emily didn’t believe him until he pulled out a small, wrapped present from her stocking. A forgotten gift from last year. It was the only explanation, but she would stick to Jimmy’s Santa theory.

“Open it, mommy!” he said, handing it to her.

So, she did. It was a pair of earrings. From Kohl’s. Nothing fancy. Which was perfect. She didn’t like fancy. And James knew that and respected that. Despite the simplicity of Kohl’s, she was admittedly the hardest person on earth to shop for. How many gifts did she make James return over the years? Most of them, in fact. And he bought her a lot of gifts. He learned early on to always save the receipts. He must have been frustrated because he loved giving gifts – far more than receiving them, in fact. And even though his success rate was low, he never gave up. Every now and then, he would somehow manage to strike gold.

As she looked at the earrings, the absolute no-frills normalcy of this discovery filled her with unexpected joy.  

A true Christmas miracle.

She began to cry when it struck her that this was the last gift she would ever receive from him. Then again, she thought that about the anniversary gift she found, too. And the flowers. Perhaps she would continue to receive gifts.

“Why are you crying, mommy?”

“Because I’m so happy!”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because I didn’t think Santa would remember me.”

“He must know you are sad and miss daddy.”

“Yeah…”

“Put them on!” Jimmy said.

And so, she did. 

“Very pretty.”

“Thank you.”

As Johnny Mathis crooned “I’ll be Home for Christmas”, she tried not to cry.

I’ll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have snow and mistletoe
And presents by the tree

Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams

I’ll be home for Christmas
You can plan on me
Please have some snow and mistletoe
And presents by the tree

Christmas eve will find me
Where the love light gleams
I’ll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

I’ll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams.

As much as she wanted to hold it together for Jimmy, she couldn’t help but feel haunted by the ghosts of Christmas past.  

Jimmy stopped in the middle of opening a gift.

“Mommy?”

“I’m okay.”

He set his gift down and hugged her. Nobody said anything, letting the music wash over them. Someday, Jimmy would play this album with his family on Christmas morning. Would he remember this moment? She hoped so. But would he remember it in a warm, nostalgic way? In a sad, forlorn way? Or, would he never remember at all?

Later, they dined on ham and a smorgasbord of sides. After dinner, they played Clue – a gift from Santa – then watched Miracle on 34^th Street while eating Christmas cookies.

 And all was right with the world. If even for a moment.

Only Time (excerpt)

SEPTEMBER 10, 2001

Dearborn, Michigan

To an outsider looking in, James and Emily Smith seemed just like any other complacent suburban couple – certainly not the type of couple that harbored dark secrets behind their white picket fence. Then again, every couple has secrets; some are just hidden better than others.

But if there was any marriage that would be described by outsiders as “perfect” –it would certainly be theirs. Up until a year ago, before the incident, they would have been right. It would be a lie to say things were all smooth sailing. Over the years, their lives had morphed from being carefree, kindred spirits into the rut of domestic purgatory known as parenting. Of course, it didn’t help that James spent more nights in hotel rooms for work than at his own home. Often for the entire week.  

What started out as a “dream job” quickly became the greatest fissure in their relationship. Not to mention, the impetus for the incident itself.

 At first, it was on account of James’s travel schedule, but his salary at least partially made up for it, giving them the comfortable suburban existence that, once upon a time, they had detested and swore never to become.

James claimed to hate the traveling component as much as she did – especially after Jimmy Jr. was born. But five years later, a nagging reality had morphed into a devastating one.

An affair.

Aka the incident.

 A year later and Emily was still reeling. And teetering between leaving or staying. Toughing it out. Not just for her sake – but for the sake of their son. For the sake of the family.

What a fucking cliché.

Where her heart and mind stood really depended on the day, or which way the wind was blowing. One day, she couldn’t fathom putting their son through a divorce. The next day, it felt like the only choice.

Rinse and repeat.

The urge to leave him was like a bad cough that she couldn’t quite shake.

She was caught in the web of a Catch-22 with no end in sight. No matter the outcome, she longed for the day that a decision would be made, just so she didn’t have to mull over its musty stale existence any longer. If only somebody would decide for her. 

            Of course, he was ready to put it all behind him and move on – as suggested by his umpteenth apology – a thinly-veiled attempt to get off the very hook he hanged himself upon. She wanted to believe him that it was only one time. And for the most part, she did. But how could she really be sure?

At first, she understood “one time” to mean a one-night stand, before realizing it was a prolonged affair with one person. A world of difference. But was it really one person? How much of a difference would it even make?

 Did she want to spend the rest of her life…wondering? She would always wonder one way or another. As much as he wished she could put it behind her, she quickly realized that this would never be possible. It wasn’t like she wasn’t trying to put it all behind her. She was certainly giving herself ample time to process everything, rather than rushing into anything.

And as much as he was callously ready to “move on”, she certainly wasn’t ready. It wasn’t even that she didn’t want to. It was that she couldn’t.

His apologies felt hollow, no matter how sincere she believed he was being – in his mind, at least. Nor did pleas from her mother who didn’t want to see her grandson become a victim of divorce, encouraging her to “ride out the storm.”

“For the sake of the family.”

Or as her mother often reminded her: “People don’t get divorced in our family.” Of course, James could never do wrong in her mother’s eyes. And up until the incident, her mother’s assessment of him (as annoying as it was) was fairly accurate. Of course, he wasn’t perfect. But, neither was she – or anyone else for that matter. In so many ways, they were certainly perfect for one another. And still could be if she could just find a way to…forgive. If their marriage had any chance to survive, she would have to somehow, someway, learn to forgive.

Again, there was no questioning James’s resolve to make things right, including his promise to find a job that wouldn’t require travel. (Though, less of a promise on his part, and more of a mandate on hers).

She was certainly grateful he was willing to find another job, considering how much he loved his current one. And though he let on that the travel frustrated him at times, after the incident she wasn’t so sure.

How could she honestly trust anything he had to say? But she knew she would have to if this were to work.

             Despite limited job prospects and the likelihood of a pay cut, he was determined to make it happen. To make things right. In fact, the previous week, he had a very promising interview at Ford Motor Company in Dearborn where they lived. He was hoping to hear back any day now.

Landing this job would mean no more travel. And therefore, no cast of suspicion every time he got on a plane. It would mean no longer having to lay awake every moment of the night, wondering what her husband was up to. She was even willing to sacrifice a chunk of their comfortable income in exchange for the comfort of domestic security and peace of mind. He was also on board with this.

Even if he got the job, it didn’t automatically mean she was staying. She made that very clear to him, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt their chances. Then again, ever since the incident, his presence usually caused her to tense up, so maybe having him around more would actually backfire.

Meanwhile, here she was on the eve of their anniversary, helping him pack while simultaneously contemplating tearing down their white picket fence that once upon a time provided her with a steadfast sense of security.

Part of her brain felt like she had no choice but to leave him…as a matter of principle. But then the emotional side of her could see the layer of gray areas.

“I packed your black socks,” Emily informed her husband, who was packing in another room for yet another fucking business trip.

“Thanks…have you seen my toiletry bag?” James asked.

It was an endless loop.

            A broken record.

            “It’s not in your suitcase?” she said, annoyed by his unnecessary helplessness. She used to have more patience for this sort of shit. But her patience was increasingly growing thin.

She had more than enough reason for it.

            “No,” he said, with a layer of panic in his voice. “Oh, wait,” he said, pulling it out of his suitcase. “Found it.”

Of course you did.

            Jimmy entered, holding his current favorite toy – a plane James bought him on his last trip. Jimmy hated the fact his dad left all the time, but the guilt gifts made up for it.

Of course, James traveled so much, it wasn’t necessary to bring something back each time.

“Daddy?” Jimmy asked in his syrupy sweet tone.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“Why do you always have to leave?”

“Because my work makes me. That’s why daddy is looking for a new job.”

“But when will you get a new one?” Jimmy asked.

“Soon. Now let’s get you off to bed.”

James picked him up and carried him over his shoulder, causing Jimmy to drop his plane.

            “My plane!”

            Still holding Jimmy, James crouched down to pick it up then entered Jimmy’s Detroit Tigers-themed bedroom to tuck him in. A Kit-Cat clock kept time on the wall.

            “Do your Sea-Monkeys need to be fed?” James asked.

            Jimmy ran over to his dresser to feed his Sea-Monkeys, before climbing back into bed.

Emily came in a minute later to kiss him goodnight. He was snuggling with Curious George – a gift from James. Though he slept with somewhere around 20 stuffed animals, this one was his favorite.

 Next to his bed – a picture of James and Jimmy skipping stones on the shore of Lake Michigan when he was two.

“Goodnight, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Mommy.”

Typically, on the nights before James headed out of town, he stayed in Jimmy’s room until he fell asleep. Jimmy was afraid to be left alone upstairs, so one of them would have to stay with him until he fell asleep – another bad habit they allowed to fester. And one more thing keepin Emily and James apart. Most nights, this duty landed in Emily’s lap. And much to James’s expressed annoyance, she usually fell asleep, leaving no alone time for them.

            Emily knew that at some point, they would need to work with Jimmy on this, but she secretly and even shamefully liked the fact that it relieved her from having to interact with her husband. It was becoming increasingly difficult for her to pretend, now that she was well past making any sort of effort.

            She headed into the basement to start a load of laundry, bringing another load up, then sat on the couch in front of an unfinished jigsaw puzzle of the light houses of the Great Lakes – many of which they had been to and one that was the site of their proposal.

She listened in on James and Jimmy’s conversation and it filled her heart with a confusing blend of joy and sadness. Despite the issues between them, there never existed a doubt that James was an amazing father. Sure, there were things that annoyed her about James’s parenting style, or that she didn’t always agree with (like taking Jimmy to the movies more than she would have preferred, or introducing him to video games at such a young age), but it was during times such as this that the scales of their relationship were tipping in its favor. It certainly helped that overall, they were pretty lockstep on the parenting front. Whenever she found herself leaning too much in favor of leaving him, she always came back to this:

            The family…

            Was she willing to give all of this up?  She never thought she was capable of even considering such a thing – let alone doing it. Once again, she had to remind herself that he was the one who had cheated. Not her.

 “I’ll see you in two days,” she heard James tell their son. “Take good care of Mommy.”

“I will.”

“Now let’s say our prayers.”

There were mommy things. And then daddy things. Prayers were definitely daddy things. It wasn’t that Emily didn’t know how to pray. She was raised Catholic, but the idea of religion nauseated her. For years, she had gone through the motions, but  eventually went cold turkey. Her father’s death by cancer a few years ago was the final nail in the coffin. In fact, the only reason she hadn’t morphed into full-blown atheist at this point was so she could continue being angry toward God. If she completely accepted that there was no God, where would she direct her anger?

Her father’s death was the catalyst for her first journey into a depression that she referred to as the dark pit of despair.  Of course, she faked it for Jimmy’s sake, especially when James was gone. Not having to fake it any longer would be another benefit to James finding another job.

As James and Jimmy recited “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep” and “The Lord’s Prayer”, Emily folded a few clothes and felt that old familiar sinking feeling of despair.

“Will you read me the Sleeping Bear book?”

His favorite bedtime book: The Legend of Sleeping Bear. She couldn’t get through that fucking book without crying. Thank God, she had James.As sad as the words made her, she couldn’t help but listen in as James read about the fabled formation of northern Michigan’s Sleeping Bear Dunes – a spot very special to them both. They had not only traveled there as children, but it was located a stone’s throw from the cottage they purchased together.

The book itself tells the old Chippewa legend about a mother bear and her two cubs who had to flee a fire in the Wisconsin woods. While swimming across the lake to seek safety, the cubs fell behind their mother.

When she climbed out of the water on the shores of Michigan, she turned around and her babies were gone.  She waited, hoping they would eventually join her. And as she catches sight of them in the water she watches helplessly as they struggle to muster the energy for the final stretch, drowning just before reaching shore.

Grief stricken, she falls asleep into a long slumber, whereupon the Great Spirit Manitou created two islands — North and South Manitou— at the exact spot where the cubs’ journey ended, before covering the mother with sand, and therefore forming the famous dunes at the lakeshore.

Emily bit her lip to keep from crying as she listened in from the other room.

“My children, as the year may pass, and time slips through our hands, my love will linger near the shore and in the blowing sands.

“I’ll send you kisses in the wind to let you know I’m here, sleeping near the water’s edge, I am always near. My children, you can rest assured, that we are now together, and I am watching over You, and love you forever.”

James slowly closed the book.

“Time for sleep, buddy boy.”

 “I’ll miss you so much,” Jimmy said, before breaking down into tears. “I wish you didn’t always have to leave.”

“I know. I’ll miss you, too. But I won’t be gone long. In fact, this might be the last trip I have to take.”

“Well, I wish you didn’t have to take this one.”

 “I promise it will go by so fast, you won’t even realize I’m gone. And you know what else?”

“What?” Jimmy asked.

“I’ll still be able to see you, even if you can’t see me.”

“How?

“Because I’ll be in the tallest building in New York. It’s so high, I’ll be able to see our house and right into your bedroom as you sleep.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Will you call me from there?”

“I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

            “But even if you don’t call, I don’t want you to die.”

“Deal,” James said, chuckling.          

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, bud?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Did you know that?”

“It’s one of my favorite things to know.”

“That is a very nice thing for you to say. Now let’s go to sleep.”

James kissed him on the forehead, then remained there until Jimmy fell asleep. He usually did so on the nights before a trip. She did it all the other nights.

When James finally came down, Emily was struggling to fit a few pieces of her puzzle together. She couldn’t concentrate. She used to dread his business trips even before the incident. Now, there was an added suffocating layer of jealousy laced with anxiety. She had never been a jealous person. It angered her that he gave her reason to feel this way. Despite his assurances that it wouldn’t happen again, how could she not be suspicious?

Of everything.

The fact that it happened at all was exactly the problem. The seal of trust was forever broken.

James came down the stairs and sat next to her. She felt her entire body stiffen and wondered if he noticed. How could he not? Surely, he was pretending not to. Then again, James could sometimes be oblivious.

She knew full well that there was nothing he could say right now to quell her fears and make her feel better. Not until he was back in his ownbed. Or better yet, landed a new job. But the overriding question remained: was it too late?

“When I get home, we’re finishing that damn puzzle,” James finally said.

“That’s what you said last time.”  

“This time, no excuses.”

            “Right…” she said, radiating doubt.

“You could always finish it yourself,” James said.

“I want to finish it with you.”

            Did she really think that way now? Once upon a time she did.

“I know and we will. You know I always finish what I start.”

            “They couldn’t let you stay home for our anniversary?” Emily asked, her eyes welling up with tears. She had promised herself she wouldn’t bring that up again. She was over feeling needy. Yet, she couldn’t help herself. Even though she could care less about this anniversary.

Before the incident, she would have been devastated if they had to spend an anniversary apart. But now, she couldn’t care less about it. Yet, here she was acting like she still did – in part so she could relish in making him feel bad – by pretending that she was feeling bad, which in turn would give her motivation to leave him. But at the same time, she truly was sad he was leaving. Like a dog chasing its own tail.

            She thought back to a year ago. Just before the incident. When they were supposed to go up north to their cottage for their anniversary. They had always talked about going up in the fall, but somehow managed to find every excuse not to go. They liked the idea of going up just themselves, without a child who demanded every second of their attention, especially when it came to the beach.

But of course, when their anniversary came along, James had to travel, even though he gave his boss ample advance notice. But a pitch for a new, blue-chip client gave James little choice. Or so he convinced her. 

She recalled the conversation just as if it were yesterday.

            “You could have pretended to be sick,” Emily said. “Or, thought of another excuse.”

            “Trust me, if I could have gotten out of this, I would have.”

“I don’t want to lie.”

Ha!

“What if I were dying?” Emily asked point blank.

“Well, that would be different, wouldn’t it?”

            “Would it?”    

            Did he take her somewhere nice for dinner on our anniversary?

            Did he fuck her that weekend?

            Did he love her?

“Why can’t they ever send someone else for once?”
            “Because I’m the most reliable.”

            “Then why don’t they hire more reliable people? Or pay you more?”

            “They already do,” he said, motioning around the room for added emphasis. “It’s only two days.”

            “And one of those days is our anniversary.”

James had offered to reschedule the trip for October during peak color season, but Emily was so upset, she didn’t even care to reschedule. James insisted he would find a way to make it up to her, but then came the discovery of his affair and nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Cut to a year later: going on a trip with him was the last thing she wanted to do Considering the state of their relationship, she wished he would have made more of an effort to get out of having to leave this time around. She didn’t pressure him this time because despite her conflicted feelings, the idea of him being gone felt like an enormous weight being lifted from her. If that didn’t speak volumes…

“Let’s go up north next weekend,” James suggested.

“I think we should just…not?”

            She knew she should be making an effort, but it was just so fucking hard. After all, if they were ever going to get back on track – if she was ever going to forgive – then this was the type of thing she would need to swallow her pride about.

            But the question was: could she?

            James put his arm around her. Much to her surprise, she let him.

            “You know if I could have taken off, I would have.”

            A broken record.

            Did he mean it? Did he even try?

And again, even if he had been able to take off work, would it have made any difference? A year ago, sure. But that was a lifetime ago. And now they were an ocean apart.

            She was growing more and more frustrated with herself. Yes, it was their anniversary, but she was still so angry at him, she had no desire to celebrate it. Again, it wasn’t that she wanted to be angry at him. But she couldn’t help it. Yet, she still managed to guilt him about their anniversary. That must mean something, right? Some attempt at achieving…normalcy?

            “You know how hard I’m trying to get another job. The Ford interview went really well and they should have a decision by the end of the week. They might not offer as much, but at least I won’t have to miss another anniversary.”

            As angry as she still was, perhaps that would be the fresh start they needed.   

“And I promise we’ll celebrate Wednesday night. In fact, I already made reservations. And remember, if things go as planned, we’ll never spend another anniversary apart.”

            Although she didn’t show it, this made her feel at least a little better.  So, the pendulum goes…

“And we still have tonight,” James added, with a seductive glint in his eye, triggering a nauseating feeling in the pit of Emily’s stomach – a feeling she connected with sex ever since her husband’s indiscretion.

Prior to the incident, if someone were to ask Emily how their sex life was, she would cheekily describe it with one of her favorite old-timey phrases: “Fair to middling.” Of course, before Jimmy, they had a great sex life. Once they had Jimmy, it was a matter of frequency – not quality. Post incident, they could count on less than one hand how many times they had sex over the course of the past year. And quite frankly, she wasn’t sure if that would change any time soon, even if they stayed together.

In those rare times they had sex, it certainly wasn’t the same. Prior to the incident, coming was never an issue for her. In fact, they usually came together, in perfect two-part harmony. Now, she barely felt any sensation at all. Except for the rare times when she was taking care of herself. When she was with him, all she could do was picture him being inside the “other”.

Or was it “others”?

He claimed there had only been one. But there was no way she could ever really know.

“We don’t have to…” he said in what she took as a faux-sympathetic tone (despite his claim otherwise).

We don’t have to.

            She hated when he said that. Of course, she didn’t have to. At least he didn’t beg. Just one look at her face and he knew better. But then she gave in, barely faking some semblance of pleasure, but apparently that wasn’t good enough, as he stopped and rolled over to his side in frustration.

            “Did you finish?” she asked.

            “No,” he said.

            “What’s wrong?

“Why does it feel like I am doing this against your will?”

            “Trust me, we wouldn’t be doing this if that were the case.”

            He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Well, it feels like I’m…nevermind.”

            “Say it.”

            “Raping you.”

            “Isn’t this what you want?”

            “No! Of course not. Not like this.”

“I am letting you do it. So just do it and get it over with.”

            “I don’t want to like this.”

            “Read the room.”

            “What does that mean?”

            “Nevermind. Just…let’s just get it over with.”

            Get it over with.

            She hated herself for what she’d become. What he made her become. He climbed back on top and quickly finished. She didn’t even come close. But what else was new?

            “What about you?” he asked.

            “I’m good.”

            He usually made sure she was satisfied, even if he finished first (which was rare). And then it dawned on her: why the fuck didn’t she make him wear a condom? He still withdrew, but now wasn’t the time to be taking risks. They had already dodged one bullet a couple of months ago when he “forgot” to remove himself on time.

“I guess God will decide,” he said.

She was beyond pissed. On many levels. And he knew it. Leave it to him to bring God into their sex life. They were having sex so infrequently, she just recently stopped taking the pill. Which would probably meant irregular periods, which would only cause her anxiety each time she was late. The idea of having another child with him now shook her to her very core. Just prior to the incident, they were talking about trying for a second child. None of that mattered now.

She now found herself asking another question: why did she give in? Just because he was leaving and it was almost their anniversary didn’t mean she owed him a goddamn thing. Giving in only made her feel more resentful. Of course, if they didn’t have sex, she would feel guilt creep in.

Another Catch-22.

“It’s healthy for both of us,” James once said in regards to why they should be having more sex – long before the incident.

“Maybe or you!” Emily snapped back.

She knew he was probably right, but she couldn’t deny her feelings, especially after he breached her trust.

            She was truly hoping this trip would give her the clarity she needed. Then again, she had thought that before his last trip a few weeks ago. But this time, she meant it.  She had reached the point of no return. At some point, something would have to give. And only she had the power to do it. James made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere.  

And that was what scared her.

The night slowly passed as sleep continued to elude her. An unexpected dread grew deep within her soul. Almost like a premonition.

September 11, 2001

When the alarm went off at 4:15, she was still wide-awake.  James shut off the alarm, then kissed Emily softly on the cheek before whispering into her ear:

“Happy Anniversary.”

She brushed him off. And not only because it was too early.

As he climbed out of bed, she wondered: Does he even have any idea I didn’t sleep?

Too exhausted to get out of bed, she tried to fall back to sleep while James showered, but  knew Jimmy would probably soon wake up and at that point, she couldn’t sleep if she wanted to.

James returned from the shower, unaware that Emily was watching him dress, looking at his moderately-toned body that she used to drool over.

Back when it was all hers.

Now, she couldn’t see anything other than the other all over him, despite having no idea what she even looked like. Nor did she have any desire to ever find out. She certainly had access to her number, which she copied down a few months ago, before she promised not to torture herself, knowing it could be akin to opening up Pandora’s Box. She was certain that finding out would do more harm than good. Yet, there was part of her that would always be curious. And another part of her that wished she had never written that number down.

No matter what, she would always ponder over his other was prettier than she was? Hotter? Would it be worse if she was less attractive? How does one even measure that, anyway?

When James finished getting dressed and headed downstairs, Emily noticed the napkin caricature taped to a mirror that she drew once upon a time. It was a drawing of the two of them kissing. She couldn’t remember when she last noticed it, let alone thought of it. It was one of those things that had become such a fixture, it sort of just blended in with the rest of the room. For some reason, it caught her attention that night. She considered ripping it up, but then got dressed and dragged herself downstairs to join James for breakfast, despite having no appetite. She hadn’t had one for months. And even less so today. She couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread hovering in the air – more than usual. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something just felt…off.

Then it dawned on her: it was quite possible that this was their last anniversary. All while James chomped on Mini-Wheats and sipped coffee from his favorite mug –a gift he received on his first Father’s Day, adorned with pictures of baby Jimmy.

Meanwhile, Emily stared into her soggy cereal bowl.

            “It’ll go by quickly,” James tried to reassure her, as though her mood was more impacted by the fact he was leaving, rather than the elephant in the room.  

            “For you,” Emily said. “You aren’t here dealing with a five-year-old.”

            “Trust me, I would much rather be helping out with Jimmy than going over data in a PowerPoint presentation.”

            Would he though?                  

            She had no doubt that he loved being with his son, but couldn’t help but wonder if it was partially motivated by the fact that he always had to make up for lost time. Lately, it bugged her that James got to always be the “fun parent”, while she was left behind doing all the work. It wasn’t that she didn’t have fun with Jimmy…she just spent so much more time doing the stuff that wasn’t fun.

James was able to skip out on so many domestic duties simply because he was gone so frequently. Some things couldn’t wait until he returned. And since he was gone so much, he naturally wanted to spend more time with his son, and thus felt entitled to it.

She could tell James was scrambling for additional words of encouragement, but Hallmark sentiments were rarely effective on her – especially now. There was nothing he could say that would make things any better.   

Only time.

And even that was uncertain.

She couldn’t fault him for trying. If anything, he tried too hard, as though trying to cover up the multiple layers of guilt that she assumed – hoped? – was consuming him.

            As James finished off his second cup of coffee before heading upstairs to gather his things, and kiss Jimmy goodbye (which she always worried would wake him up). Emily suddenly wanted nothing more than to see him leave the house. His mere presence made her feel so tense. It was suffocating and she needed to breathe again. This feeling caught her completely off guard. The fact that she felt this way about her husband both saddened and frightened her in equal measure. When he came back down, he attempted to hug her, but she pulled back. Something she had noticed herself doing more and more. He backed off, as usual. Yet, it was only a matter of time before he tried it again. Can’t say he wasn’t trying – which, of course, only pissed her off even more.

“Well, I better hit the road…or the friendly skies as they say,” in his dad joke voice.

She sensed he expected to get a smile out of her (once upon a time, he always did), but she didn’t find his attempts at “being cute” endearing anymore. That used to be one of the things she liked about him most. Now, it made her want to puke her fucking guts out. Despite this fact, it didn’t stop him from trying.

            “Just in case, same place as usual – the Courtyard Marriott.”

            “Gotcha,” Emily said, seeing him to the door.  “Please be careful.”

            Her words felt empty. Without meaning. Because she realized she was simply going through the motions.  

“You don’t have to worry any more…”

She knew exactly what he meant. As much sas he wanted to believe him, she couldn’t.

She spotted his wallet sitting on the end table.

“Forgetting something?” she asked, retrieving the wallet.

“What would I do without you?” James responded.

Maybe someday you’ll find out.

“I love you,” he said.

She didn’t respond. Though, it took effort not to habitually reply back.

She could tell it bothered him but, once again, he didn’t let on. And though she knew it hurt him deep inside, he deserved it. And would get over it.  

“Don’t be late,” she urged him toward the door.

“You wouldn’t want me to miss my flight now, would you?” James said with his trademark wink.

How often did he use that wink on her?

“God forbid,” Emily said. Though her tone was coated with a thick layer of resentment, it also suggested that she would rather he be here.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he said, almost as a half-baked afterthought, before finally turning to leave.

Was it though?

So easy for him to say.

As James headed toward his car, Emily stepped out onto the porch, under a cloudless sky that was a perfect shade of blue as though painted by hand. It felt more like late May than early September. Then again, in Michigan, both months were two sides of the same coin, really.

Birds chirped gleefully. An American flag hung from the porch, gently blowing in the wind.

“A perfect day to fly,” James said before getting into his old, trusty, red Ford Escort.

She always dreaded when he had to fly during inclement weather. She still felt that way. It wasn’t like she wanted anything to happen to him. Though, there was a sinister part of her that realized it would have made things a lot easier – one of those thoughts that you immediately eject from your mind the second it enters.

James blew her a kiss. She didn’t blow one back. Instead, an unexpected chill ran through her. As he pulled out of the driveway, she twirled her wedding ring. The flag drooped at a perfect, poetic standstill.

She waited until the car was out of sight, before she slowly closed the door behind her. She lowered herself onto the couch, anticipating the usual rush of sadness she experienced every time James left. But instead, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Like a giant weight had been lifted off her chest. Maybe she could actually get some sleep before Jimmy had to get up for school.

“Mommy!” Jimmy shouted from his bedroom right on cue.

He refused to get out of his bed until someone came into his room. It wasn’t even six yet. He could have slept an hour and a half longer with time to spare before school. She would have settled for a half hour longer.

It didn’t matter if it were a school day, or the weekend, nor did it matter if he went to bed at 8:00 or 10:30. In fact, it seemed that he woke up even earlier on the nights he went to bed later. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a need to set an alarm. And the few times she had to, Jimmy woke up before it went off.

            Perhaps someday, he would learn the pleasures of sleeping in, therefore allowing Emily the opportunity to rediscover the joy of doing so. She wasn’t holding her breath.

She headed upstairs and greeted him with a hug.

“You know you don’t have to get up this early.”

“Sleep is boring.”

She laughed. She could always count on Jimmy for a unique perspective on things.

Though he usually woke up earlier than he had to, this was earlier than usual.

“Is daddy still home?”

“No. He left awhile go. He kissed you goodbye before he left, though.”

“I must have been sleeping,” he pouted.

            “Let’s get you some breakfast.”

“Can I have eggs and toast?
            “How about some cereal?”

“Please?”

            Jimmy followed her downstairs into the kitchen.

            Though he woke up too early, at least he had showed recent signs that he was breaking his bed-wetting habit. He had just begun getting weaned off his pull-ups in mid-August. Though it didn’t seem to bother him, Emily was worried he would be teased by his classmates if they found out he still wore what were essentially diapers. At the same time, Emily didn’t to make him feel too bad about it.  So far, he had only one accident. She had been so tired of washing his sheets. Even with a pull-up, he was still soaking the bed. But just maybe, those days were over. As any parent knows, baby steps are sometimes monumental.

As Emily prepared his breakfast, she turned on Good Morning America, half-listening to an update on a senator’s missing intern.

She then noticed a note on the fridge, hanging from an I LOVE NY magnet, next to a family picture from a beach up north. The note simply said, “I love you”, with James’s signature heart doodle for added emphasis. Next to it was the number to the Courtyard Marriott. Something like this would have filled her heart before the incident. Now, it simply annoyed her.

Jimmy gobbled down his breakfast and – for once – finished all of his food.

            “Can you finish your milk, though?”

            Jimmy forced himself to finish.

Thankfully she had a good kid. She didn’t know how she would cope if she didn’t.

But as she knew more than anyone, nothing lasted forever.

Nothing.

After breakfast, they still had an hour to spare before she had to take him to school.

            “Can I watch Lion King?” he asked after he was done.

“How about you play for a little while? You can watch after school.”

            “Please?”

            Once again, she found herself being the bad guy. James would say yes in a heartbeat with some sort of rationalization that movies encouraged imagination and taught life lessons. She didn’t entirely disagree. She just would have preferred that Jimmy used his imagination elsewhere.

            “But so do books,” Emily would counter.

            “And so do movies. Neither one has to be better than the other. It’s all about quality. I am not going to let him watch a bunch of garbage.”

            And on and on. She saw no end in sight.

            The Lion King was not only his favorite movie, but the only one he ever wanted to watch. So much so, the VHS tape was beginning to wear out and degrade. It was time to get the DVD. She made a mental note to add it to his Christmas list.

            “Please, Mommy?”

            And per usual, she gave in because she was simply too tired…and didn’t want to be the bad guy…again.

She hit play, just before Mufasa’s death. 

“Do you want to watch it from here? Or should I forward it?”

“Here’s okay.”

            She remembered the first time he watched it. It was essentially his first experience with death, leading to a full explanation of the circle of life. Quite honestly, she would have found explaining human reproduction much easier.

He was three when his grandfather died, but was too little to really process that in a concrete way – especially considering his grandparents lived in Florida and he only saw them a couple of times a year.

            But with The Lion King, he was so traumatized. And had questions.

“What happens when you die?”

“It’s like going to sleep forever.”

“That sounds boring.”

“It’s peaceful.”

“But what about heaven?”

Ugh.

“Yes. You get to rest in heaven.”

She wished it didn’t feel like lying.

“That’s it? That sounds boring, too.”

 “It won’t be. And you get to be with all your friends and family.”

“Will they be dead, too?”

“Eventually, yes.”

Fuck, what a depressing conversation.
“Are you and daddy going to die?”

“Everyone dies.”

Maybe not the best answer.

“But I mean when I’m little.”

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Nobody can make that promise. But not likely. And I can promise that it’s the last thing Mommy and Daddy would ever want to happen.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

            Now, of course, Mufasa’s death didn’t even phase him. It helped that he believed Mufasa – like Bambi’s mother – got to go to heaven. Even if it’s boring. 

Even though Jimmy knew Mufasa would still be dead, he preferred not to see it happen. Plus, he could get to the funny parts with Timon and Pumbaa sooner!

But today, he decided not to forward it. He was finally ready to confront it.

            As he watched, she used the time to gather more laundry. An endless chore. Though she tried to limit his screen time, it was often the only way she could be productive…or in some cases, take a nap. He was getting old enough to be able to keep himself occupied, but he somehow didn’t get the memo.

            Was it asking for too much to be left alone when she needed a nap? Without TV, he either woke her up by barging into her room, or by simply just existing.  It didn’t help that he hated being left in a room alone (though having the TV sometimes did the trick).

Of course, James blamed her for not putting her foot down. He had a point. But it drove her nuts how he always seemed to have a simple solution for things he never had to deal with.

She admitted to herself that she was partially to blame, by not encouraging him to be more independent so he wouldn’t fall victim to only child syndrome. Having a sibling could certainly help, but it was becoming abundantly clear that was not likely to happen, even though once upon a time it had been their hope.

            Of course, she could have forced Jimmy back to bed, or made him stay in his room until the clock reached a certain time…but she didn’t.

            As she continued to fold clothes, she thought about the fact that she had friends who claimed to find folding laundry therapeutic. She couldn’t agree less.

It didn’t help that this was the exact domestic chore that yielded her first piece of evidence: a small piece of a gold Trojan condom wrapper in his laundry. As though she needed one more reason to hate laundry. Had he done his own laundry, this could have all been avoided. Yet here she was still doing his laundry.  

            Before she could finish, it was time to take Jimmy to school. In fact, she was so lost in thought, they were almost late. And she realized she had made him a lunch for nothing. He had a half day.

One less thing to worry about tomorrow.

            “Mommy, why don’t I ever get to take the bus?” Jimmy asked watching the one they were trailing.  

            “Because some kids don’t have a mommy or daddy who can take them to school. Many mommies work. But since daddy makes good money, Mommy can spend more time with you.”

As much as she loved being home with Jimmy, now that he was in school, she was thinking that maybe it was time to get back out there in the “real” world in some capacity. Even retail, but preferably an art gallery like she used to work in back when her art dream was alive and well. She even considered being a barista at her favorite coffee shop that she frequented while Jimmy was at school. It was the only place where she could feel echoes of the dream, that she once upon a time promised herself that she would never give up.

A promise they made to one another. Before parenthood and the corporate world took it all away. Though, he gave up on his dream first. So which one was really more to blame?

James was under the illusion that she preferred being at home, rather than being a working mom. His sales pitch to her was:

“You can focus on your art.” 

And for the longest time, she did. But between Jimmy starting school…and the incident…she slowly began to realize that she was miserable. And needed some sort of change. Specifically, just what kind of change remained to be seen.

            “But the bus would be so fun,” Jimmy continued to plead his case.

            “But if you took the bus, you would have to leave earlier, and it would take a lot longer to get to school.”

She gave him a hug.

“Have a good day! I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He got out of the van. Halfway to the entrance, he turned around and blew her a kiss.

Like father, like son.

Emily blew him one back. And she felt a sudden tinge of guilt for blowing off James’s kiss as he pulled out of the driveway. Her thoughts then morphed into sadness when she thought about the fact that someday, Jimmy would outgrow this gesture.  

As she watched Jimmy turn around and head into school, that same chill suddenly returned that she felt when James left. That morning. She had never quite felt anything like it before.

Where was it even coming from?

Probably just a lack of sleep.

She reminded herself that he had just started kindergarten (which in itself was a Pandora’s Box of emotion that she was still getting over) and that he would still be her little boy for quite some time. 

To quote her favorite poem, by her favorite poet:

            Nothing gold can stay.

She always struggled with the fact that nothing lasted forever. Rather than enjoying the moment, she tended to fixate on the inevitability that nothing lasts forever, whether a vacation, a special occasion, or – in this case – the very essence of childhood. It was so much harder for her to enjoy the moment when she allowed these negative thoughts to cloud her judgamment. As much as she tried to stop it, the more she seemed to dwell on it. She didn’t know what it was about this morning in particular, but she felt a permeating sadness engulfing her. She realized most of this feeling was the result of not just James leaving, not just that they were missing their anniversary, but the incident itself. And the current lack of stability in her life. Lack of sleep certainly didn’t help. It always deepened her depression. Or, was her depression causing her to lose sleep?

She reminded herself yet again that she had full control over the situation. Sometimes, this relieved her anxiety. Other times, it amplified it. Today was the latter.  Bottom line was, she had two options: stay…or, go. It was that fucking simple.  Yet, the more she thought about it, the more it felt like she was getting further from actually making a decision.

Something would have to give. Or else she would be in a holding pattern forever. It already felt that way.

            Emily headed home, determined to take a nap before picking Jimmy up at noon. Once inside, she realized she no longer felt tired and decided to finish folding the laundry as Good Morning America played in the background.

Suddenly, something caught her eye: a huge, flaming hole in one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

Wait…

…James had a meeting scheduled in that very building.

She looked at the time: 8:48.

His plane would have landed an hour ago, but would he have already made it across town?

Unlikely.

She picked up the cordless phone and quickly dialed James. It went straight to voicemail.

 “James, please call me. I just saw the news on TV. God, I’m so worried.”

She hung up the phone and paced back and forth before she dialed him again. Voicemail.

“Why isn’t your phone on?” she said aloud in a cocktail of annoyance, panic, and suspicion.

Then again, she would have gladly traded him being safely in bed with another woman, rather than in that building.

“Call me. Please.”

She hung up. Seconds later, the phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. Normally, she would ignore unknown calls, but this time, she wasn’t leaving anything to chance. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Cindy calling from Bank of America . I wanted to let you—”

She hung up and dialed James again. No luck. She hung up and gave his office a try.  

“Freedom Marketing, please hold,” said the receptionist. Ingratiating hold music played.

            “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Emily said as she waited.

Finally, the receptionist picked back up.

“Thank you for holding. How can I—”

“Susan, it’s Emily Smith. Did you see the news?”

“Yes, we just heard. Have you—”

“…heard from James? No. I was hoping that maybe you have.”

“We’ve been trying to contact him,” Susan the receptionist said.

“Do you know what time his meeting was?” Emily asked.

“8:30.”

“Do you know which tower he’s in?”

“The South,” the receptionist said.

“Which tower was hit?”
“The North.”

“Thank God,” Emily said overcome with potential fool’s gold relief, before adding: “But you haven’t heard from him?”

“No,” the receptionist said. “If you do get a hold of him will you please call us?”

“Please do the same,” Emily begged.

“Well, if anybody will find a way out of this, it’s James,” the receptionist said.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Please let us know if you hear from him. And we’ll do the same.”

After she hung up, she stared at the phone, as though willing it to ring. After a few moments, she redialed James’s number.

Voicemail again.

She ran her hands through her hair, watching the nightmare unfold on TV, struggling to fathom the fact that this was reality and not a disaster movie.

The phone rang. This time, it was James.

“James?”

“Anything good on TV?”

“You’re alive!” she blurted out, irritated by his cavalier nature.

“I’m alive.”

Emily was too stunned to speak.

“Emily?” James said after a beat.

“I thought you were dead.”

“I’m okay, baby. I’m okay.”

“Why wasn’t your phone on?”

“It was. The phone lines must be jammed. But I’m fine. And today’s still our anniversary.”

Why is he so calm?

“Where are you?”

Again, she couldn’t help but feel suspicious about his whereabouts. She hated this feeling.    

“At the office. I can see the flames across from my window. And the smell—”

“Why aren’t you leaving?” Emily asked, more as a demand than a question.

She couldn’t help but feel suspicious and hated herself for it. He had proven to be sneaky, but there was no way in hell he would go to this length.

“They asked us to stay put.”

“I want you out of there.”

“Everything’s under control,” James assured her.

“How do you know? Do you even know what’s going on?”

“No one’s panicking.”

“Everyone’s probably in shock. Please, leave.”

“I told you, we got orders—”

“Well, I’m your wife and I’m ordering you to leave.”

            “Okay, okay, I’ll leave,” James finally said, irritated.

“Promise me.”

“I’m grabbing my briefcase as I speak. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel.”

“You call me as soon as you step outside.”

“Okay, okay.”

“I love–”

But he hung up before she could finish.

“–you.” She realized that was the first time she had said it since the incident. In fact, she couldn’t remember exactly when even prior to that.

 She thought about calling him back, but didn’t want to delay him getting the hell out of there.

All she could do now was wait. She took a speck of comfort in the fact that she had  at least heard from him, but until she heard back again, she had to rely on the news. And just as she turned around to look at the TV, the second plane hit the South Tower.

She screamed – shrieked – dropping the phone onto the hardwood floor.

This wasn’t an accident. It was murder.

She couldn’t remove her eyes from the TV, suspended in the horror of the moment, until she was able to stoop down to pick up her phone to dial James. It was useless to even try.

She slumped onto the couch and stared at the TV, rocking back and forth in stunned disbelief, repeating over and over again:

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…”

The phone rang.

Please be James. Please be James. Please be James.

But it wasn’t. It was her mother, calling from Florida.

Emily picked it up, but found herself unable to speak.

 “Hello?” Rose said on the other end.

 “Mom, James, I, I can’t—” Emily struggled to articulate her thoughts.

“Emily? Are you okay? Do you have the news on? All those people—”

“When I hung up, the second plane! – oh my God! – the second plane!”

“It’s just awful,” Rose said, oblivious. “Is James in New York?”

Emily finally managed to form a full sentence.  

“James is – was –  in the Trade Center.”

A long pause, followed by a faint: “Oh, dear.”

“What do I do? What do I do?” Emily kept repeating, on the border of hysteria.

“Have you heard from him?” she asked.       

“Yes, and he was fine, but then I hung up and the second plane, oh God, the second plane!”

“What floor was he on?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know. I’ll call you back.”

            Emily hung up before Rose could even reply and dialed James’s phone once again. It actually rang this time.

And then voicemail.

She went ahead and left him a message, as though in doing so, it would somehow force fate to keep him alive to receive it. But deep down, she knew better.

            “Hi, James. It’s me,” she said, trying to hold back tears to no avail. “I really hope you get this—” she was disconnected before she could finish her sentence.

She called back James’s office.

“Freedom Marketing –”

“It’s Emily again. What floor was James working on?”

“The 80th,” the receptionist said, with panic in her voice; the sound of chaos all around her.

“Above or below the crash site?”
            “We’re still looking into it,” the receptionist said. “You still haven’t heard from him?”

Emily hung up and raced to her computer, regretting that they had never updated their modem – one of many things put on hold in recent months.

She frantically searched ford details relaying the impact zone of the South Tower. There was a lot of contradictory information, but it seemed most likely that the point of impact was around the 78^th floor. This information left her swirling in a whirlpool of hope, panic, and confusion. On one hand, she knew he wasn’t directly hit. But by the same token, he could be trapped.

The phone rang again.

            “Have you heard from him?” Rose asked.

“No. But he was above the crash site.”

“Then he must be on his way down.”

“What if he’s trapped? Why isn’t he calling me?”

“I’m sure he’ll call you as soon as he gets out.”

“Why can’t I reach him?”

“Maybe the signal’s jammed.”

“Why is this happening?”

            “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m not even sure God knows.”

Emily was taken aback by this statement. Unlike herself, her mother was a devout Catholic. And even though her mother knew she was a borderline atheist, she was used to hearing sentiments from her such as “put your trust in God”, or “God will help you through this.”

The last thing she would have expected to hear from her mother was the pessimistic sentiment that “I’m not even sure God knows.”     

            “You know I’m here for you,” Rose added. “You’re not alone in this.”

            “I know, mom,” Emily said, turning her attention back to the TV, greeted by an image of the smoldering Pentagon.

            A call came through the call waiting.  

It was James.

            “Mom, I gotta go.”

            “Okay, keep me posted.”

            She switched over to the other call.

“Oh my God, I thought I lost you! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay. And I’m out.”

She had never felt a greater sense of relief in her life. They still had one another and from here on out, that was all that was going to matter.  They would get a clean start. All it took was the near murder of her husband.

“Thank God! Where are you now?”

She could hear screaming, coughing and a cacophony of chaos in the background.

“I am making my way out of the lobby right now. Oh, my God, there’s debris and bodies everywhere. Parts of bodies. Oh my God, a body just landed 10 feet from me! Exploded almost. This is unbelievable. This is insane. But I’m okay, baby. I’m okay. I love—” 

Suddenly, a deafening roar drowned out James’s voice.

Drowned out everything.       

“James?” Emily panicked.

She turned around to look at the TV, just as one of the towers of the World Trade Center came crumbling down. As she watched it in seemingly slow motion, she never felt more helpless in her life.

She could come to only one conclusion.

James was gone.  

It was more than simply being a witness to the destruction that made her think this. She felt a cord – the lifeline connecting her heart to his – snap and break into two.  

And then she felt nothing.

Take Me With You

They were in that stage of a breakup where they still did things together, even though the end of the road was in sight.

 A dead end.    

He decided to take a much-needed one-day get away to Lake Michigan, hoping to clear his head in the crisp, autumn air.

The threat of rain did not deter him. In fact, it was fitting in a poetic sort of way. Every other time they had come here had been bright sunny.

The night before his trip, he went to bed in the guest room, as he done for the past couple of months. Once again, his snores did him in.

When his alarm went off the next morning, he noticed a note on his bedside table with one sentence:

Take me with you.

As much as he needed to take this trip alone, he couldn’t possibly say no. He didn’t want to break her heart any more than he already had. He would have plenty of time to take a solo trip.

This trip would be their eulogy. An epilogue at the end of bittersweet love story.

As he stared at the note, he imagined her standing in the door way as he slept, hoping he would wake up, before leaving the note, then retreating to the bed that they once shared.

 How many nights did he pretend to be asleep, knowing that she stood there, seeking reconciliation and comfort?

When there was a still a chance to make things right.

Like that time she put her hand on his back when it was turned from her.  

And he pretended to keep sleeping, trying to restore their shared promise of forever. A promise that no not quite dead, was still on life support.

Did she know he was awake?

How many times did he ignore her presence? Would things have turned out any differently if he didn’t? He didn’t initially ignore her. Usually, it would lead to regrettable sex. Not because it wasn’t good, but rather the act itself only delayed the inevitable, giving false hope.? Deep down, he knew it was too late. So why prolong the inevitable?

He had already hurt her enough. It was bad enough they were both stuck co-habitating for a few more weeks until he could move into his new place.

He still couldn’t help but wonder to himself: what if it wouldn’t have been false hope? What if they somehow could have fixed things? He was still living there, at all.

Of course, he was still living there because his new place wouldn’t be available for a couple more weeks. At which point, her new roommate moved in.

It seemed just like yesterday that they were moving in here.

Their fresh start they both so needed.

A place to call their own.

When the embraced in the kitchen the day they took possession of the placed. He cried. Because for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was home again.

Now, they were nothing more than roommates. And no longer soul mates. Going through the motions until he could finally move out.

He reminded himself that they never officially broke up. But what else could this possibly be? He used to think that a break-up was both sudden and finite. He knew better now.

He reminded himself that they technically never officially broke up. Neither could pinpoint the exact moment it was truly over. Yet, they both knew. What else could it be?

Their denial ensured a long, prolonged death.          

Take me with you.

Day trips and weekend getaways were a significant part of their relationship. Neither had enjoyed traveling with someone else as much as they did with one another.

But right now, what he needed more than anything was to travel solo – to the town they used to dream about owning a summer cottage together someday.  

Take me with you.      

They would make one lasting memory.

Following months of unhappy ones.

They would make this memory one that they could hold on to that existed outside of the context their sad timeline.

A bittersweet coda, with no turning back. Because they were too stubborn to try.

Despite the miserable weather, they would make the most out of it.

Just like they used to do. When being together was all that mattered.

When they dreamed of one day owning a summer cottage on Lake Michigan.

As they drove, they listened to their “infinite playlist”, which had been finite for quite some time now. Neither one remembered when the last time a song was added, let alone what song it was.  

This would be the last time either one of them would listen to it.

But neither one of them would delete it, either.

Take me with you.      

When they arrived, they headed straight to mostly empty beach – especially in comparison with the packed beaches they were used to.

They stared out at the open water enveloped in a foreboding fog, mixed with a misty drizzle, and a whirling, whipping wind.

The lack of sun gave the illusion of a world of black and white like one of old French films they used to fall asleep to together.

Even the red lighthouse jutting out in the distance was bleached out like a ghostly figure shrouded in fog, as violent waves splashed against it.

Though neither did anything about it, they both secretly longed to hold one another,

as both shelter from the cold, and a last chance to salvage themselves, before they faded forever into the mist.

Take me with you.

Sometimes, things are too late, even when you don’t want it to be.

At least they would have one last memory to keep in their pocket.

A welcome respite from arguing and the resulting lingering sadness.

A memory as sweet and beautiful as their first, but steeped in melancholy.

One last memory to keep in their pocket.      

Like the final note she left for him:

Take me with you.

He moved out as planned a few weeks later.

They stayed in touch, here and there, but over time, even that ended.

In truth, it was too painful.

They eventually moved on as best they could.

But the ghost of their life would stay with them.

He held on to her note for the rest of his days.

A promise fulfilled.

Just not in the way they had promised once upon a time.

As these things so often go.

The Pig

The Pig was born chubby.

The Pig was an even chubbier toddler.

And then a fat kid.

And even fatter adult.

The Pig never had an issue with it. It was everyone else who did.

From the time she started school, she was taunted and jeered.

Out loud.

To her face.

And in whispers behind her back.

Somehow, the whispers were always worse.

Like daggers.

She was nicknamed ‘The Pig’ in the third grade.

Not just ‘Pig’.

But ‘The Pig’.

It wasn’t long before more knew her by her nickname than her actual name

But she learned to live with it, much like someone learns to live with illness, or a disability. She was simply too nice to do anything about it.

It wasn’t so much that their insults bounced right off her plus-sized body, as it was that she could quickly get back up on her feet.

But she never seemed to show it outwardly.

To reiterate, she wasn’t ashamed of how she looked. Not one tiny bit. Nor, was she naive about she looked.

Though the jaunts hurt, the nickname never seemed to phase her. After all, she liked pigs. They were her favorite animal from the time she was a baby. In fact, it was her first word,.

Pigs were sweet and innocent creatures. Intelligent and loving.

  So where was the insult?

But deep down, she knew it was.

Why couldn’t they be her friend, rather than choosing not to be?

She always thought she would be a good friend to have

Maybe someday, she would be able to prove it.

 So she would continue to wait patiently.

Her nickname followed her into middle school, along with all the other insults, despite the addition of new peers.

Puberty came as expected. Neither too early, nor too late.

But maturity sadly did not follow suit as far as her classmates were concerned. The taunts remained, as did her weight. In fact, her weight only continued to go up. And it wasn’t that she didn’t try. She ate mostly healthy and the only time she overly indulged were on the particular rough days. Which were many.

The bullying eased up in high school, but her nickname lived on. Fortunately, she finally made a couple of friends. Social misfits like her. They never called her The Pig. Sophomore year, she was even asked to a dance. But just as friends, of course. It didn’t stop her from having a crush on him. He would later come out as gay.

As high school dragged on it, so did her nickname.,

It wasn’t until her senior year that she decided to finally do something about it. But what? She was never a vindictive person, so it wouldn’t be too mean-spirited. But she hoped whatever it was would be just as effective.

And then it finally came to her. So simple, but hopefully effective.

It would happen at the upcoming Halloween-themed Homecoming dance.

She would arrive at the dance, dressed as a pig.

She never waivered from her commitment to get the last laugh.

And when she finally did, nobody knew what to say.

An awkward tension filled the air the rest of the night.

Nobody ever called her The Pig after that night.

Her only regret was that she didn’t do think of this years before.

Better late than never, she supposed.

It was the best night of Peggy Smith’s life.

One of Your Stories

They matched on a dating app, but in reality met in real life about 10 years ago. They had been social media friends ever since with the occasional interaction in the form of comments, but nevr sliding into DM territory. 

Once they matched, it quickly became one of those “oh, hey, I guess we should go on a date!” situations. An unwritten rule of the digital dating world. When drowning in horny strangers vying for your attention, there is a rather comforting feeling of familiarity lacking from matches with strangers. Of course, for most of those years, he had been married so the idea of dating anybody else would have been a huge stretch. In fact, Liz was rather surprised he was back on the market. Pleasantly surprised even (or, so he hoped).

Of course, he entered the dating market just in time for Covid, so the pickings were pretty slim. He figured if someone was desperate enough to date during Covid (like himself), then it might be worth a shot. If he recalled correctly, he wasn’t exactly impressed with her personality. She had sort of a pompous air about her, which wasn’t a good sign. But it was a long time ago. And people change. Sometimes.

They quickly agreed to go out the following weekend. She proposed a picnic in the park, which would have been great if it weren’t for the fact that it was going to be a 43-degree spring day. It was, after all, March in Michigan. But he would suck it up and dress accordingly.

His only qualm as her suggestion they get carry out from the fanciest restaurant in town. He agreed to it, but then immediately regretted it.

He was fine with the picnic portion, despite the forecast. His only issue was the choice of restaurant. For one thing, he had never been there before, but had always wanted to go. He would have preferred his first time be a dine-in experience. Secondly, this was the kind of restaurant you go to for a special occasion. Like Valentine’s Day, or an anniversary.

Certainly not a first date.

And certainly not in a park when it’s that cold.

He figured there was no turning back at this point, so he would he would just go with the flow. Something he had been trying to make more of a habit. This was a perfect early test.

He had agreed to place the order. She would bring the wine and dessert. He received her order: duck.

Duck!

He tried not to judge. But how could he not?

As he perused the menu, most of the offerings might as well have been in a foreign language. And the ones he did understand had little appeal to him. So, he settled on a burger, which didn’t exactly pair with well duck. But fuck it.

As the day dragged on, his reservations about the whole situation really ate at him. Nothing sat right with him.

He had also just entered a “you only live once/live in the moment” phase, so he stuck to the game plan.

But as the day wore on, it continued to eat at him. And then he sent her a simple text.

“Hi. Would you be okay if we scale back a bit on the dinner front?”

Quite some time passed before she replied back. He tried not to read too much into it. Perhaps she was one of those people who didn’t check her phone constantly.

“Why?”

“Just wondering if we could do something a little less expensive.”

“Are you kidding me?

“Just to scale back a bit. I’m not saying we still can’t do something nice – just not that nice.”  

As he thought about how to respond, his phone rang.  

“Hello?”

“I can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“I bought a dessert and a wine to pair with my duck!”

“It’s just that, I have never eaten there before. And I would prefer my first time be in person. And maybe not for a first date. Besides, it’s so cold—”

“In other words…I’m not good enough.”

 “No. That isn’t it at all. And it’s not like I suggested Applebee’s. We can still do something nice. Just not…that.

In truth, he would have been totally fine with Applebee’s.

“My time is very precious and limited. I am very selective with who I speak to, and especially who I go out with. And right now, you are wasting my time.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t know if I even want to see you now.”

“I understand.”

He really didn’t.

“Look. Let’s start over,” he offered, but knowing deep down it was too late.

“I don’t know if we can.”

“I truly was excited for our date. And honestly, I don’t really care where we eat. I’m just trying to be more careful with my money.”

“Again, you don’t think I’m worthy.”

“No! That’s not it.”

“Again, you are wasting my time.”

“I am not trying to waste your time. We can still stick to our plan.”

“Too late, buster.”

Buster?!

“Because of the fact we are having this very conversation.”

“We can still right this ship.”

“Don’t even bother.”

“What if we tried it another time? We can still do a picnic, but maybe on a warmer day.”

“No. I already invested too much in to this relationship. It clearly wasn’t meant to be.”

“Okay, well take care.”

She had already hung up.

Did this really just happen?  

In typical fashion, he couldn’t help but feel like a jerk. That he screwed something potentially beautiful up.

He was immediately searching for ways to make things right, rather than just moving on. He should have known better.

As he struggled to process everything, he received one final communication from her a few minutes later:  

“Please don’t turn this into one of your stories.”

Published in the T.J. Eckleburg Review!

Enya 4-Ever

One More Episode

“One more episode.”

An almost nightly re-run.

 How many late nights were made even later after succumbing to just one more episode? Followed by another. And another

Binging shows together was their “thing” from the start. Their first date was a movie night. He held her hand for the first time. But made no other moves, even though she was hoping he would. When he left, she was worried that he wasn’t interested after all. She would later admit this. And he would admit how much he wanted to do more than hold her hand, but he promised himself that he would be a gentleman. And that made her like him even more.

Watching TV together was not their only thing, but certainly the one they enjoyed the most – if only for its low key, simplicity. They equally discovering new shows together, re-watching shared favorites, or introducing individual favorites.

 Combined, they had access to all the streaming services, even sharing the same password across them all.

Then came along a global pandemic, which took their binging to a whole new level, especially during the first couple of months. They could not only get through more shows faster…but carve in time for new ones.

 The apex of their pandemic binging was by far The Sopranos – a show that they had both wanted to watch ever since it first came out, but somehow never found the time for until now.

No more excuses.

They chugged along at a steady pace, sometimes switching to another show, or two, for some variety, including that train wreck that was Tiger King.

As the seasons progressed, the unthinkable happened: their relationship began to slowly erode. Before it quickly crumbled. At first, they failed to even notice. But eventually, once the denial wore off, it became painfully obvious that they were heading down a one-way street to a dead end. And once it go to that point, it seemed that there was nothing they could do to stop it. Or, perhaps more accurately, they didn’t know how.

In the weeks and even months to come, the one constant source of stability and unification in their dying relationship was The Sopranos, which played against the backdrop and upheaval of their real-life drama.  

They both admitted it was now their favorite show of all time, eclipsing Mad Men and Twin Peaks.

And despite the fact their love was crumbling all around them, their usual refrain remained untarnished:

“One more episode.”

 Before they would go off to their own separate beds

It seemed like the only thing keeping their relationship alive – or, at least on life support – was the show itself. Perhaps deep down, they knew that once the series was over…so would they. It was almost as though they knew they couldn’t possibly break up until they finished the series. And what about the unfinished audiobooks and podcasts that they had started, but never finished? They couldn’t rest their entire relationship on the backbone of mass media, could they?

They continued to stretched it out as long as possible, continuing to mix in other shows, or an occasional movie. 

Dreading not just ending a show that they loved so much, but the inevitable real-life ending.    

Not a fade to black.

But an abrupt hard cut of a relationship they thought was foolproof.

The first relationship either one of them felt that way about.

But it was over now.

And all that was left in its wake was one more episode.       

How could they not have finished the last episode of a show they loved so much? Together. After nearly six full seasons. And three years of happiness together.

Despite all the uncertainty leading up to the sad ending, they never questioned their ability to at least finish what they started.   

How was it possible that they were over, anyway? This wasn’t supposed to happen. Their meet-cute romantic comedy was never supposed to end. With all the uncertainty in their lives and the world at large, that was supposed to be the one thing they could count on. They had promised one another that.

They were supposed to be cancel proof.

But sometimes, the network executives, the universe, fate, God, whatever you choose to believe has other plans.

Neither one felt right about watching the last episode without the other. So, neither did, clinging to the irrational hope that they would somehow find their way back to each other. That they would one day soon laugh at this accidental hiatus, which would only make their love stronger.

But days soon turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.

And yet, they both clung to the hope that someday, the would be back together again.

And could finally finish what they started.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be end like this.

Or, so they said. And thought. And believed.

A sad, unsatisfying series finale.

Ending both a show and a relationship the right way is one of the hardest things to pull off.

Other relationships would come and go. After all, what is life but one ending after another?

They would continue to hold on to that one last episode until their dying day, thinking about it from time to time, but never finding closure.

If only to ensure that at least something didn’t have to come to an end.

That some things could last forever.

Even if incomplete.

And without resolution.

Observations from the Tangent Gallery

Observations from the Tangent Gallery

i.

She barely looked old enough to be out so late.

Let alone with someone his age,

Though he couldn’t be more than 25,

It spoke volumes about just how young she looked.

Perhaps she was older. I hope.

With her drugged-out, spacy, quasi-vegetative state,

a puppet in a Barbie doll skirt,

following her master like a puppy dog,

without a consciousness to call her own.

He spoke nary a word to her,

nor did she speak to him.

How could she in that state?

His only interaction with her

consisted of tossing his jacket over her head.

A human coat rack.

He then turned his back from her

and toward his bros,

and she barely blinked,

promptly removing the jacket, placing it over her chair.

She then fixed her messed up hair,

caused by the jackass’s jacket.

He with the backwards douchebag hat,

Shooting the shit with his douchebag bros.

As though she did not exist.

Beyond an existence for her convenience only.

Eye candy

and presumable sexual gratification,

A likely two-pump chump.

If even that.

Perhaps this was some sort of sub/dom fetish thing?

Would that really make much of a difference?

Perhaps, if it made her a more willing participant.

As the minute dragged on,

she continued staring into the void,

as the douchebag continued giving

her more reason to disappear into it.

And then he got up,

motioning for her to do the same,

as he was the one who called the shots.

She handed him his jacket.

He snatched it from her with grave indifference.

He was the one who called the shots.

He headed toward the exit.

The puppy puppet followed.

I couldn’t help but feel the need to save her.

Could I save her?

Did she need to be saved?

Wouldn’t it have been worth a try?

Like so many other things left undone.

ii.

On the other side of humanity’s coin,

entered a girl in a wheelchair,

pushed by a caretaker.

Sister, friend, or lover?

Not clear. And perhaps not relevant.

She had two artificial limbs,

capped off with some bad ass classic Doc Martens.

Her friend wore a matching pair.

Her friend, who was so attentive, navigating her wheelchair

through the pebble-coated ground.

Adjusting the chair for the best possible sightlines.

Engaging her in conversation,

even if it meant having to stoop down on her level.

A reminder that love lives among us.

As hard as it is to find.

And of course, the old adage…

where there is love,

there is always hope.