by Meg Farrell
I feel something cold being placed in my hand. I look up and see Red has made me a drink and is forcing it into my hand. I take it as she wipes tears from my cheeks. I didn’t even know I was crying. Gaining some composure, I stand and take a sip of my drink. The liquor makes my throat burn, but it’s just what I need.
“Tell us what’s wrong? Talk to us. Please.” Jess is attempting to break through the wall I’ve put up.
I take another drink and clear my throat. I’m not sure where to begin. The beginning? The whole story? I blurt out the bottom line, “Ryan had an affair. He was on his way to see her when the wreck happened. Oh, and she’s pregnant.” I gesture wildly with my hands in a sarcastic ta da.
I can’t look at Jess or Red. Instead, I take a huge gulp of my drink. I’m not even sure I like what I’m drinking, but it is having the desired effect. I chance a look at their stunned faces. I’m not sure how long I let them stare at me, but I finally decide to sit down and let it sink in.
I was happily married to the best guy anyone ever knew. He was faithful. He was kind. He loved me more than anything in this world, and I loved him just as much. We had an epic love story. Didn’t we?
Red breaks the silence. “Who was it?”
I polished off my drink and hold my cup out to her. “More.”
She gets me a refill, which I gulp down. As soon as I can speak, I start at the beginning. I tell them every detail of my morning revelations with Melody. I let them know that I thought she was just some dumb kid and didn’t do any of this on purpose, but I can’t hold back the hate and venom in my voice. Who am I kidding? They are my “sisters” and would know if I was holding back.
“Did you say she’s a shorter blonde girl that works at Brown’s?” Jess clarifies.
I nod.
“And works at Dancin’ Cowboys at night?”
I nod. “Except Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those are the nights they…they…you know.”
“Don’t you worry about any of this? She won’t bother you again.” Red declares.
It is truly scary when she makes proclamations like that. Mafia movie levels of scary. “Red, don’t do anything. Let her be. She won’t come back here. I know that. What’s killing me is Ryan. Why would he do this to me? Why wasn’t I enough for him?” My body slides from the chair to the floor, as I drop my glass. I can’t finish my rant because of the sobbing. I must sound like a big baby. Stammering and sputtering, trying to come up with a complete sentence and failing miserably. I know I am ugly crying. Slobbering and sniffling like a snot monster. I start laughing. Snot laughing. Sniffle-snort-snot-laughing. At least it’s better than ugly crying.
Jess and Red sit back and let me get it all out of my system. Later, they carefully tuck me into bed. All I can think is my whole day was wasted. I never finished making my list. I never completed the tasks on it. I close my eyes and start to pray. It’s been a while, and I am angry with God for all that is happening to me. I also know I’m not the best example of a Christian, but everything I know about God says he hears the cry of my heart even when I don’t know what to pray for.
I start out praying for understanding, then I pray for Ryan. Eventually, I pray for Melody and her baby. Somewhere in the middle of my prayers, I fall asleep. The emotions my body has been through today leave me feeling zapped like I’ve a run a marathon. I’ve never actually run a marathon, but now I have some imagined comparison.
Maybe it’s because of all the Melody-drama, but I dream of Ryan. It’s a warm, sunny day, and we are out on the back porch. I’m reading a book and he is pretend sleeping, kicked back in his chair. I can feel the heat all around me like a blanket. I stare at him in the chair and wait on him to give up the facade of sleeping to talk with me. But he doesn’t. He eventually lowers his sunglasses to stare at me, but we don’t speak. Well, I don’t. Ryan only says one thing, “I love you. Until the end of time, I love you.” I start crying because I know it’s not true. He might have wanted me to believe it, but it just isn’t true. I know the truth now.
Perspective
Ryan is dead. He had an affair and got his mistress pregnant. My marriage was a sham. Is my whole life a lie? God, I hope you have a better plan in store for me. I don’t know if I can handle things getting any worse.
Oh, my God. Please let the hammering in my head stop! What is that? Slowly, I surface from sleep and recognize the noise as the alarm on my phone. It’s earlier than normal because I planned to be early for my first day back at work. I wake up with swollen eyes and my pillow is soaked. I recall the dream I had about Ryan last night. It makes me feel like there is a knife twisting in my heart. I take a deep breath and throw my legs out of the bed. Sitting on the edge, gathering my thoughts, I decide I have to start moving.
My routine allows me to get through the morning without much thought. Make the coffee. Toast a bagel. Get a shower. I wrap myself in a towel and go into the closet. I decide on the white top and gray pants. Ryan’s favorite yellow dress is not an option today. In fact, I may give it away. I can’t even think of things that made him happy right now. I know it’s childish, and I don’t care.
I brush my teeth and my hair, and style my curls with some oil and shake it out. I use a rhinestone clip to hold a back a small section. I don’t bother with much make-up. Less is more today. I decide on a sterling silver chain and bracelet, then notice my wedding set is on my left hand. Sighing, I decide I don’t need my rings anymore. My chest burns as I muster the willpower I need to place my rings in the jewelry box.
Honestly, I don’t know what other widows do. Do they continue wearing their rings? I’m sure the answer to that would be “yes” since they have only suffered a death. I, on the other hand, have the added insult of finding out my late husband was having an affair. Shaking that thought, I dig into the closet for a pair of shoes. I choose the Iron Fist Zombie Stompers, a fantastic heel with crazy art on the sides. A punch of color in my otherwise monochromatic fashion choices today. They definitely match my current mood.
I slip on my shoes and turn to the full-body mirror on the back of my door to take in my appearance. Functional. Passable. Boring. Bereaved and yet still living. I hope no one will see through my facade. I really don’t want to be around people today, but that isn’t new. I need to get through today and forget about everything Melody told me. No, today, I won’t think about anything except getting my work-life back on track. I don’t have client meetings, as I have been missing for a while. I probably need to meet with the designers who have been working my sites since I’ve been off. I hope everything is documented properly. I won’t worry about that before I get there. Everything in due time.
I grab my to-go coffee mug and lock the front door. The drive to work is faster than I wanted it to be. Typically, it takes me around forty minutes to get to Memphis from Bell Hills. I park my car, locate my ID badge, and get out. I lock the doors and take another deep breath, forcing strength and confidence into my limbs. I think that might be my mantra today—breathe deeply. As long as I do that, I can get through anything, can’t I? If I keep the biology of living intact, maybe the emotional part will recover and join the party.
Our sweet old man of a security guard is at the desk this morning. I’m thankful for his kind smile. “Good morning, Ms. Rhae. How you been?” His standard greeting.
“I’m just fine. Thank you for asking.” It is my standard answer, for today. Another part of my strategy—standard smiling responses. Nothing too fake about that, right? I head to the elevator and then to my desk. My reports have been piling up, but other than that, nothing has changed. I’m not sure what I expected to change. I mean, just because my world has imploded doesn’t mean other things had to change.
As usual, I’m the first in the office. I try to take a sip of coffee but discover my mug is empty. Only I would drink the last of something and not realize it. Smiling, and exercising today’s theme of breathing, I make my way to the office coffeepot. After I make the coffee, I flip through the stack
s of reports on my desk. Everything seems to be in order. So much so, it makes me wonder how necessary I am to the company. I might just be a waste of money for them. The other designers took care of my clients in top order. As I’m finishing up my initial review of what happened while I was out, others start arriving. The typical grumbles about traffic, pleasant good mornings, and complaints about a lack of sleep fill the cube-farm as more and more people arrive.
For the most part, people are kind and don’t ask any questions. They gave me smiles and say things like, “Glad you’re back,” or “Welcome back!” Some even come up with, “How ya been?”
To which I can use my standard answers, saying, “Thanks,” or “Good.” My smile gets easier and easier to show off. Reluctantly, I begin to wonder what they’re thinking. Are they judging me on my lack of grief or apparent grief? I mean my husband died, and here I am smiling at work. I must be a cold-hearted heifer. A small chuckle escapes involuntarily.
“Well, that is a nice sound!”
I look up to see a coworker who shares my cube quad. “Hey there. What’s a nice sound?” I ask.
“You laughing. That is a nice sound. I wasn’t sure I’d get to hear it again. You okay?” Mr. Bill always has a way of making me smile. He knows how to ask that question without making me cry.
“I’m good.” This time my smile is genuine.
He pats me on the back and heads on to his desk. It’s not ten minutes later that he hollers at me to help him remember his password. I can’t help falling back into old routines, yelling, “Bill! I’ve been out of the office. Why do you think I can help you with your password? Maybe you reset it. Did you write it down?”
“Aww, Rhae, give me a break. IT said not to write passwords down, so I didn’t.”
“You know you can write them down and keep them in your wallet, right? As long as you don’t leave it on your desk, you’re good.”
“Why didn’t I think of that? You’re too smart for your own good.”
I head over to his desk and walk him through the self-help password reset. Too bad he’s forgotten all the answers to his security questions, too! So, I help him make a call to the support desk. It’s out of my hands at this point. Good thing the coffee finished because I am going to need a ton today. I grab Bill’s cup and fill us both up before returning to my desk.
Just when things start to feel normal and routine in the office, I hear her. The Dragon Lady. A small ping of panic fills my chest and I start to look for a way out. What do I need to do that will take me away from my desk? Scrambling for anything, I see Bill walking away, shaking his head. He must be headed out to smoke. Convenient. He can’t stand her either. “I swear, when I retire...” he always rants. Unfortunately, I don’t smoke, so I’m stuck. She doesn’t sit on our side of the building. Why in the world would she be over here? She’s been lying in wait for me to return. Scary thought. That’s when it happens.
“Heeeeyyyyy Girrrllllll! So glad you’re back. Are you okay?”
Jesus help me. The syrup dripping off her words is nauseating. I start to have a post-traumatic stress flashback. She was at the visitation. She was the one that finally put me over the edge and sent me bailing out the back door. Bernice Daigle, office gossip and fake bitch extraordinaire. I reinforce my chest with a deep breath, “Hello, Bernice. How are you? Did you need something?”
“Me?” Insert mock surprise. “I’m good. How are you? I remember when my third husband died. Girl, I couldn’t come back to work for forever. I was just so depressed. I didn’t know how I could go on every day, but somehow, I did. So why are you here?”
I didn’t think I’d have to answer. She was off on a tangent all by herself, per her usual conversational skills. Her statements are rhetorical. She doesn’t care how I am or what my answer would be. I notice she’s stopped talking; I think she’s waiting on my response. “Oh, well, I’m good. I had to get back to work at some point. Today is as good a day as any.”
“Lord, you are so strong.” She leans in, it’s like one of those movie slow-motion events. I see it happening and I’m powerless to stop it. Catastrophe right here in my cubicle. Oh God, she’s going to...she hugs me. I don’t really do a lot of personal contact outside of family and seriously close friends, so this is disconcerting. My body locks up and I don’t move. Perhaps if I hold still she’ll let go and leave me alone. Her perfume is so strong I can taste that shit in my mouth. Why hasn’t she let go yet? Oh, she might be waiting for me to hug back. I bring up my right arm and gently pat her back near her shoulder. Finally, she lets go. That was nasty.
I motion to my computer. “Lots of catching up to do. Did you need something?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to it. Let me know if I can do something to help you. I mean it. This is going to be so tough on you.” There’s that fake bitch sympathy smile I hate so bad. Fucking hell.
She has no idea what I’m going through. I call in my fake bitch from her bullpen and muster a smile for ol’ Dragon Lady. “I will. I think most of my sites and clients were well cared for in my absence.” Too well.
She walks away and wiggles her fingers in a half-wave as she goes. Thank God.
“Sqeeaakkkkkkk!”
I jump. What in the world was that?
“SQUEAAAAKKkkkkk, squeak, squawwwwwkkkkkk!”
What the hell is that sound? I stand and look over the cube wall. Bill’s head pops. He is red-faced from laughing. “You like that?”
“What in the world are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” Laughing even harder now, Bill squats out of sight and holds up a large rubber chicken.
I start laughing too. I can’t help myself. “Where did you get a rubber chicken?”
“You like her, don’t you?”
He starts rubbing her belly and walks around to the inside of my cubicle. He perches on the edge of my desk and lays the chicken down, ever so gently. Then Bill pushes that poor chicken’s belly down until it is flat against the desk. He slowly starts letting up the pressure and it seems to me he is playing that rubber chicken with a reverence that would rival a good fiddle player.
That poor chicken squawks the most God-awful sounds. I laugh until I almost pee my pants. I love this man like I love my own daddy. Our antics have drawn a crowd. Everyone is having a good belly laugh off that rubber chicken. Then he gingerly picks her up and says, to the chicken, “Let’s go, baby.”
I’m not sure how long I laughed. Eventually, everyone goes back to business as usual. Sitting back, I have to take deep breaths for reasons other than feeling sad or overwhelmed by fakeness. It feels good to laugh. Really laugh. Forgetting the torment my life is in, and just laugh at something because it was hilarious. I want to hug Bill’s neck for that. Maybe I’ll keep the pot full of fresh coffee for him. He is as big an addict as I am. Silently, I smile to myself and thank God for sending Bill over with that confounded rubber chicken.
The day wears on and on. At one point, I seriously think I’m in a time warp or that the clock is broken. I have meetings with my manager and other designers to get up to speed on everything that happened while I was out. I feel even more useless because everyone is on top of everything without me. Great, now my work feels as shattered as my personal life. Maybe not shattered, but I definitely don’t fit here anymore. It’s only the first day back, I remind myself. I’ll stick out the week and see if it gets any better. I don’t feel hopeful. I hope God has a plan in the works. Better to think there was something happening than nothing.
When my usual lunch hour approaches, I disappear to my car. Yeah, it is hot as hell, but I am so overwhelmed that I need some time to straighten out my head. I roll down my windows and open a new book on my phone. The warmth from the sun and the calming breeze coming through the windows lulls me to sleep before I can finish the second chapter. There’s nothing like napping on a summer’s day. I dream of Ryan, then I re-live the talk I had with Melody. She seems different in my dream. Perhaps my mind is starting to forgive her fo
r her part in the betrayal with Ryan.
The alarm I set on my phone startles me awake at the end of my hour. Groaning, I roll up my windows and head back into the building. I have so much to decide. None of which has anything to do with Ryan. Nothing in my life is about him anymore. Realization strikes me. I’m on my own. For the first time in my life, I’m on my own.
I’ve lived with my parents and sisters, then my dorm roommate and shortly after that, Ryan. I have never had a place of my own. I have always made decisions based on cooperation with another person. I don’t have to do that anymore. Maybe my life isn’t a hot mess. Maybe I need the right perspective.
Still a little groggy from my car nap, and just a tad sweaty, I head to the HR office. This is a tiny little space in our building and only three ladies work in here. Luckily, I am blessed with finding Ms. Jimmie coming back from her lunch. She’s a plump lady with rosy cheeks. I want to hug her. It’s a natural instinct with her. She notices me waiting to go in the door and she smiles her sweetest for me.
“Hey, honey. I’m glad to see you. You look well.”
“Thank you, Ms. Jimmie.” I reach out and hug her anyway.
She squeezes me good. I feel my eyes well up while she holds me tight. I haven’t felt like crying today, but now, with her squeezing like my mama would have, there it is. The feeling in my chest is like I’m going to split wide open. I force myself to take a couple of breaths as she pulls back to stare at me. Sometimes you don’t know you need a hug until it happens.
“You’re barely holding on, aren’t you? Do you need to take some more time off?”
I shake my head. “No, ma’am. I came to change my name. I want to take my maiden name back. I think it’ll help.”
Her expression changes from maternal concern to all business. “Well, I can definitely take care of that for you. Come on in. Have a seat.” She motions to the gray chair at the visitor’s side of her desk. That thing has seen better days. Carefully tickling through pages in her drawer she pulls out a few forms.