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Vito whined beside me. I stood. This wasn’t fair to the dog, who’d had his last trip outside when our walker, Tami, came by at noon for his afternoon break. “We’re just going out front for a quick potty break,” I told him. “We can do a longer walk later. I promise.”
I got him harnessed and leashed, and then changed my mind. A long walk along the lakefront would do me as much, if not more, good, than it would him. The lake always calmed me. And being in view of it and around other, normal, folks might help alleviate the anxiety causing my heart to race and my skin to grow clammy with nervous sweat.
We went outside and I walked up and down the blocks, the drying leaves above me whispering, as Vito took care of business. We headed down to the waterfront, but it was no good. All the benefits I thought of being beside this literal great lake never happened. We turned around.
Back home, I set out his food bowl, filled with our homemade blend of chicken, rice, sweet potatoes, and green beans, and refreshed his water bowl.
And then I sat back down on the couch and took up the letter once more.
I’d let Marc continue with his fantasy that our love was ‘dead in the water’ a statement that I suspected would later rip my heart out even more than it already had. But right now, I was in too much shock to feel anything other than a kind of numb curiosity.
I took up his letter again.
When was the last time you touched me? When was the last time I touched you? When did we last felt like a real couple? I can’t deny the truth—we were living separate lives and our passion for each other was snuffed out a long time ago. Who knows why? People change, find different paths. Life changes.
The end of a relationship doesn’t always have to be someone’s fault.
All I know is that I suddenly couldn’t stand another minute of the life I was living with you. I know that sounds harsh and I want you to know that I do love you, but not as a husband, lover, or partner. I love you as the kind person and the dear friend you are. I know these words hurt, but you need to hear them so you’ll hopefully at least have a bit of understanding for why I did what I did.
What I said above is key: I suddenly couldn’t stand another minute of the life I was living. For me, the future looked bleak and, sadly, not worth living. I considered killing myself, which might surprise you.
I needed to get out, to start over, to live anew.
Before it was too late.
I turned the sheet over to continue reading. I barely noticed the tears on my face until they spotted the paper in my hand.
So, one day, without thinking about it, I packed a few things and just left. You can probably never forgive me for that action, but know this: I simply had to walk out. If I didn’t do it that day, I might never have. I don’t know why. Inertia? I do know that if I stayed one more minute, I was assuring myself a kind of death, either one that would take years or one that would come much more quickly.
I want to talk again, to see your face, to assure you this is certainly the old cliché about being more about me than you.
But for now, I need this time on my own. Understand, even if you now hate me. Or if you can’t understand…hell, I don’t know what to tell you to do.
I will be in touch.
I am okay.
Live your life. You can start over too. You might find that my walking out was the best thing that ever happened to you.
I hope the same will be true for me.
I’ll be in touch soon.
Love,
Marc
I flung the letter to the floor, where Vito sniffed it, and then lifted his leg and pissed on it.
“Bless you,” I whispered, and my tears turned to laughter that bordered on hysteria.
I sat there on the couch for the longest time. The night came along fully, stealing the light from the room, until I was that pathetic character sitting alone in the dark. Vito snored on the couch beside me. The evenness of his breathing lulled me. My head lolled to the back of the couch and I drifted off with my pup.
A dark wood. An opening in the trees.
Jeb moves into that opening, the shadows swallowing him up.
“Don’t go back there!” I shout, but there’s little volume to it despite the fact I feel I’m screaming.
