It always
starts this way. But when I finally appear, it is only something small she
needs. A lightbulb stored in the cupboard just above her reach. I walked slowly
towards the kitchen. She stood, leaning against the counter, thin arms folded
tightly against her chest.
This time,
it wasn’t something trivial. “We need to talk.”
So right
there, standing in the middle of the kitchen, in bare feet, an old pair of
shorts and no shirt, I learned that my wife of sixteen years was going to
divorce me. Not that she wanted a divorce. No. She was going to get a divorce.
They say
that this often happens to men. They are blindsided by the torrent of anger.
Pain seems to leak from every pore. And the men have no idea.
___
As I stand
and survey my new quarters, I realize how much my life depended on Alisa. The details
that I took for granted and wondered why it made her so angry when I didn’t put
something back in the right place or remember where things went. Now I know. I’m
doing it all myself. I never knew that there were so many choices at the store
for organizing silverware. So I just decided to forgo it altogether. Now I just
open the drawer, a tangle of forks, knives, and spoons, reach in for what I need
and quickly shut the drawer again lest their menacing sharp edges threaten more
damage than just delivering fat foods to my mouth.
The children
are gone, and we only had to work out the custody of the cats. I insisted
there. I needed one. At least that. I got the boy, naturally. Alisa was close
to them both but even in the midst of her anger, she had compassion. She knew I
could not be completely bereft of all comfort. So I got Maxie. I picked him
out, anyway, even though he was more attached to Alisa than he was to me. Not anymore.
He sleeps with me every night. On top of my back or my stomach, whichever is available.
I am an equal opportunity back or stomach sleeper.
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