by Paul Hina
have been walking past each other in their own home like strangers, and the ghost that moves between them is Melissa's ghost. And who knows, maybe Melissa has always been an emotional impediment in their relationship. But, now, the sound of Jacob's voice calling out her name is still echoing through the house days after the dream.
The rise of tensions has kept Jacob in his home office, keeping their conversations short and banal as he moves to and from his private space. Honestly, he wants to avoid the subject of Melissa altogether. He hopes, as more times passes, that the anxiety cast by the mere mention of her name will eventually become less weighty, but this is probably wishful thinking.
Still, he hates to see the emotional toll that all of this has on Rachael, but the nasty truth is he doesn't want to deal with another emotional outburst like the one she had the other day. He's not used to that from her, and doesn't want to expend the energy it takes to console her insecurities. Besides, at this point, the only words he could use to comfort her would be lies anyway. He does still think about Melissa. He loves her now just as he always has, and always will.
Emotionally, the truth is that he's been reevaluating his relationship with Rachael, and he fears that maybe she already senses this, and if they talk about Melissa, what could come of it other than hurt?
Jacob has spent much of his voluntary exile in his home office, waiting for glimpses of Joelle across the street, and, most days, he's not had to wait long. Lately, she has spent more time looking out her windows, trying to catch glimpses of him looking for her. And when they do see each other, there is a quick acknowledgement of looking, a half-embarrassed exchange of reciprocity between them. They've stopped trying to hide from one another, but they've embraced this distance as a way to more safely connect to one another. Standing in their own private, nonthreatening spaces allows them to feel as though they can still control this thing that is growing between them. Under the surface of this connection—maintained through the illusion of isolation—is a swirl of swelling desire that they both know will pull them under if they get too close.
And when they're close, they try their best to fight the current.
But even when Jacob is in his home office, looking for Joelle, he can't ignore the silence in his house. The tension has gotten too great to continue to pretend that it will just simply subside. He knows that he can no longer let the gulf between he and Rachael go unaddressed. He's going to have to talk to her about his dream and, by default, about Melissa. He needs to let her know that he's making an effort to repair the damage that it's caused, that he's trying to put an end to the silence in the house.
He walks downstairs and leans against the doorway of the living room. She is on the couch, curled up with a book, exactly as she has been every evening this past week.
He stands there, waiting for her to look up at him.
She doesn't.
"Things have been pretty quiet around here lately," he says.
"Yes, they have," she says, glancing up from her book.
"Are you upset about the the other night? My dream? Is that what this is about?"
"I don't know. I don't know what happened in your dream. All I know is that you were calling her name."
"So, is that why you've been avoiding me?"
"Funny, all this time I thought it was you who were avoiding me."
"Well, maybe we've both been avoiding each other."
"Maybe."
"Is there anything I can say that will make this go away?"
"I don't know."
"It's difficult for me to mount a defense for my subconscious."
"I'm not expecting you to defend your subconscious."
"Do you want me to tell you about the dream?"
"No, that's not important. You can if you need to, but it's not something I need to know."
"Is there anything you need to know?"
"Yes. I think I'd like to know why it is that whenever her name is mentioned in this house—no matter the circumstances—I feel that she is suddenly standing between us."
"I don't know if I can answer that."
"Can you try?"
He sits down on the chair across from where she is sitting and takes a breath. "These last few months have been difficult. I've never been unable to work for this long before. And I think Gary's death turned an already difficult time into something more desperate. I suppose it's no surprise that the death of a peer would cause some desperation, but I panicked. I felt that I had to find a way to work again. I was afraid the longer I went without poetry, the more that would become the new normal for me. And I can't live without poetry.
"So, I started reading Imeros again in the hope that I might reclaim some of that old fire. Reading Imeros naturally led me to revisit other stuff from that time period, and the night that I called out for her was after a day of reading through old journals. I suppose revisiting that time dredged up something in me.
"And, I guess, I was embarrassed about it—about calling her name. I felt like I didn't want to talk with you about it. Mostly because I'm aware that, to you, I've already been acting strangely."
"But can you honestly say that you don't think you've been acting strangely toward me? Or at least admit that you've been distant?"
"I'll acknowledge that I've been distant these past few days, but only because of what happened the other night."
"I think it's been going on longer than that."
"I know you do, but I don't know what to say about that. I just don't see it that way."
"OK," she says. "Well, How do we get past this?"
"There's no magical solution. I suppose I just have to ask you to be patient with me while I work through this. I feel like I need some space, and I feel like you misinterpret my need for space as a personal rebuke to you. But I don't want to worry all the time about whether or not I'm hurting your feelings."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. See, you're taking this the wrong way."
"Am I? Are you or are you not asking me for space?"
"Yes, but not like that. I'm not saying that I need to be rid of you. I'm saying that I can't have you getting upset with me, or judging my introspection as some growing distance between us. I'm kind of working through a personal crisis right now," he says, and she turns away from him, and audibly sighs. "You're not getting this. I haven't been able to work. This is my life, Rachael! This work is what I've got!" he stops himself, tries to pull back his frustration. "I feel like I'm close to getting back to where I want to be, but I need to stop worrying about how my personal turmoil is hurting you. I need to stop thinking about what you're thinking."
"That is the most selfish... I can't even... How do you expect me to respond to that?"
"My only expectation is that you honor what I'm asking for."
"You're an asshole, Jacob," she says, getting up from the couch.
"Rachael. Wait."
"You know, in all the years that we've been married, this is the most absurd conversation we've ever had. You're telling me to just leave you alone. Do I have that right?"
"I don't think that's exactly what I—"
"I'm sorry my concerns are such a burden to you," she says and leaves the room, but not before turning back to him. "I'll try to make myself more scarce. You let me know if you would rather I become nonexistent. Maybe that's what it takes for a woman to get your attention. It seems to have worked for Melissa all these years."
As she storms up the stairs, he realizes that his inclination to just let this whole thing play out on its own was probably the better move. He knows that he's made a horrible mistake trying to talk about it. He just hadn't prepared anything cogent to say, and he came off far crueler than he intended. Now, he's gone and made a bigger mess of an already messy situation.
Class has ended. The shuffling of the students' papers, and the sound of footsteps moving out the door, has quieted. Jacob is packing up his books and notes, but he can still feel her in the room. When he looks up, she is looking
at him, not even trying to be coy about her stare. She has her backpack all zipped up, and it is clear that she is waiting for him and that the time for their silently agreed upon avoidance has come to an end.
"So, how's everything going?" she asks.
"It's going well, I think."
"I've been enjoying Pound more than I thought I would."
"Yeah, he's full of surprises," he says, smiling, though he feels as though that may've sounded more patronizing than he would've liked.
He grabs his bag and looks at her, "You waiting for someone?"
"Yeah, you," she says, smiling. "I was hoping I could walk with you."
"Sure."
As they walk out of the classroom, she is following closely behind him. He turns to her as they exit, and he is suddenly as nervous as he was when he saw her in his class that first day. He can feel those butterflies bouncing around in his gut again.
"What's on your mind?" he asks.
"I'm sorry. I'm sure I'm making a pest of myself."
"What? No, of course not."
"It's just that I've waited about as long as I could since our last conversation, and I had another question about Imeros that's been bothering me."
"Yeah?"
"I was wondering about the title. I tried looking it up online, but after pages and pages of search results that just reference the book, I couldn't nail down the meaning. I know it's Greek, and that it doesn't translate properly into English, but—"
"Right. Yeah, it's hard for us to understand the word in English because there isn't an easy, single word equivalent."
"But what does it