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Davis
Stepping out of the shower, I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist.
It’s before six on a Saturday morning and yet I’ve been awake for hours. I’ve downed four cups of coffee, watched endless reruns of Gunsmoke, and done far too much overthinking for someone like me. Overthinking is not what I do.Hell…I doubt I’ve thought long and hard about anything in years, except the sad state of my marriage. But ever since that night a week ago when I just showed up at Merrick’s house, all I do is overthink.
Thank God I’ve calmed down. Walking back to my house that night I felt like my head had been put into a wood chipper. Shredded. Pulverized and turned to dust. I tossed and turned, threw up twice, and outright refused to give into anymore tears. And it’s been that way every day since. I’ve managed to go to work and do my job, mostly because I’m used to doing everything half-assed.
The nights are the worst. I barely sleep. When I do, the bad dreams are relentless. But even the bottle doesn’t help anymore, and by night number three I all but tossed the booze out the window. I’ve gone running by myself, pushing my body to the extreme, but that doesn’t help either. I’m pissed at myself for my weakness, for imploding like a winey baby in front of Merrick, and for ever—ever—thinking that the affection he showed to me was anything more than friendship.
I was out of my mind that night, I’ll admit it. So it is fair to say my judgement was off. A lot. I have no regrets about the touching, which seems weird, though there is a great deal of embarrassment that I feel. Our embrace felt right at the time, but in the light of day I can’t imagine looking him in the eye and remembering how desperately I clung to him. How even after I’d cried myself out, I still reached for his hand.
Something strange happened between me and Merrick that night. Something I can’t put into words. Something Iwon’tput into words. The way I see it, the best thing for us both is to take a step back and put some space between us. Lots and lots of space.
I miss him and that’s just nuts. It’s not like I really even knew the guy, and until that night he didn’t really know me either. I do miss having someone to run with, having something and someone to keep me occupied. I do miss our conversations, even if we only ever talked about the surface stuff. I miss the impromptu weeknight beers and meals eaten on the patio or in front of the TV. But there is no way to rationalize any of this. It’s simply a fact: I miss spending time with him.
In the past week, I haven’t seen him even in passing. He hasn’t contacted me and I’ve not reached out to him either. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe whatever this thing is between us just needs time to drift away. Then we can hopefully get back to being friends.
With a heavy sigh, I grab up my toothbrush and smear toothpaste across it. While I brush, my gaze drifts over to the edge of the sink, where my wedding ring is perched in a lid from a jar of pickles. Seems like a fitting end to something I wore for only a few years; something I removed the day I moved into this apartment, without any pomp and circumstance or any real feelings one way or the other. That ring only symbolizes all that I lost years ago. Now even the good memories can’t be found anymore.
My birthday came and went, amidst all my sleeplessness and overthinking. Ma wanted to have me over, bake me a cake, but I feigned overtime at work and got out of it. I heard from Grady and Vic, and got nothing more than a forced, “Happy birthday,” from Chantal when we passed in the kitchen. I so badly wanted to tell her that I’m planning on filing for divorce, but I held back for reasons I can’t explain. I know our marriage is over. It’s been over for years now. The only thing I feel toward her now is pity.
Picking the ring up between two fingers, I slide it on my left ring finger and wait for the avalanche of emotions to come. Minutes pass… and nothing. All I feel is cool metal as it warms against my skin, and buckets of regret for allowing the two of us to end up where we are right now; despising one another. I don’t want to hate Chantal. She is, after all, the woman I once loved with every breath I took. She is and always will be the mother of my child. She could have been the love of my life.
Pulling the ring off, I set it in its place and finish up, then pad into the main room to dress. I have no idea what I’m going to do today. I could work in the yard, but frankly I’m too exhausted to find the energy. And since there’s always the possibility that I’ll run into Merrick, I think better of it.
I’ll hang around the apartment for a few more hours, pick-up some groceries, and maybe take myself to a movie. Anything to get away from the temptation of showing up at Merrick’s door once again and making a fool of myself. For a now thirty-five year old man, I’m starting to behave like a glorified teenager. What’s the big deal if I have a friend that I have feelings for; weird, unexplainable feelings, but feelings just the same. Suppose it’s nothing more than gratitude, what then? Have I somehow created a bigger issue with all this overthinking of mine, or is there really something there to be worried about?
I’m giving myself another week to sort out all this shit in my head, and then I’m either calling him, or I’m staying away for good. I’m not about to spend years with Merrick doing what I’ve been doing with Chantal; waiting, wondering. If he and I are meant to remain friends, it will work itself out. If our friendship is important enough to both of us, we can work through all the strangeness of that night and move on.
Or we can walk away for good this time.
