I walked through the second floor, down the stairs, and into the one room where I’d spent most of our marriage—the kitchen. I sat at the table, my eyes fixed on the stove, on the food I’d spent all afternoon cooking. The food that my dear husband had bypassed after coming home late to make his grand announcement. I had waited for him so we could eat together because that had always been important to me and at that moment I realized I was hungry, famished.
So I walked over to the stove and fixed myself a plate of the food I had been keeping warm for him. I sat back down at the table and was halfway done with my dinner when Marcus appeared in the doorway, the handle of my beloved Zephyr 70 in one hand, his golf clubs in the other, and his duffle bag over his right shoulder. “Well…” he said.
“Well…” I replied.
He stood there with an awkward look on his face for several minutes, I suppose waiting for me to say something like, “Please, don’t go.”
Well, if that was the case, he’d be waiting until the end of time. Finally, he said, “I guess I’ll talk to you later. I-uh-left some stuff. Couldn’t take everything at one time.”
I nodded as I shoveled more food onto my fork. “Okay, just let me know when you want to come back and get the rest of your stuff.” I placed the food in my mouth and shifted my focus back to my plate.
“Is that lasagna?” he asked.
“Mm-hmm.”
He stood there for another few moments and I could almost hear his mouth watering. Then he finally left. When I heard the front door close and lock behind him, I told myself that I should’ve taken his key. Oh, well, I would just have to have the locks changed.
I finished dinner and walked through the quiet, empty house to my bedroom. I sat on the side of the bed and stared at the young faces of me and my soon-to-be ex-husband on our wedding picture, which sat on the bedside table. My hair was relaxed back then; my thin brown face held the promises of years of happiness to come. Marcus’s arm was clutched protectively around my waist as he beamed with pride and excitement. We were so happy.
I sighed as I lay back on the bed, figuring I needed to try to get to sleep because once word got out about our separation, I knew I’d be bombarded with an endless barrage of phone calls and visits from concerned and/or nosy family and friends. The kids would be upset, but what could I do? Hell, I was upset, too, but I couldn’t make him stay and I definitely couldn’t make him be in love with me again.
I rolled over and sighed again as my eyes fell on Marcus’s empty side of the bed, felt a little tug on my heart, and willed it away. I closed my eyes and had almost drifted off to sleep when I heard a sound. I quickly realized that living alone wasn’t going to be easy. I was going to have to get an alarm system or I was never going to get any sleep.
I lay in the bed, trying to figure out if the sound was just a figment of my imagination when I heard it again. I sat up, searched the room with my eyes for some type of weapon, and chided myself for not keeping one of Marcus’s other sets of golf clubs near the bed. A driver would probably make for a good weapon.
When he appeared in the doorway, I nearly jumped out of my skin. But before I could ask the man who’d just requested a divorce what he was doing back in my house, he dropped the golf clubs on the floor, laid the suitcase and duffle bag on the bed and began to unpack them, silently opening drawers and neatly stacking his clothes inside them. Once he was done, he put my suitcase back in its place in the closet, along with his duffle bag. The he left our bedroom and when he returned, he had a plate of lasagna in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. He handed me the wine as he sat at the foot of the bed and ate his dinner.
“You wanna have a barbecue this weekend, Kell? We could invite the kids over and everything. Make it kind of a celebration.”
“A celebration?” I asked as I took a sip of the wine.
He turned and looked at me, nodded, and said, “Yeah.”
I shrugged.
“And then maybe we can take a vacation. We haven’t traveled in a while. As a matter of fact, I think we need to start traveling more often, get away more since the kids are grown and gone. I got plenty of leave saved up, may as well use it.”
I shrugged again. “If you want to.”
“And we need to eat out more. You shouldn’t have to cook every day.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, I guess you’re right about that.”
He set his plate down, crawled toward me, and kissed me deeply. “I love you, Kell. I love you and I appreciate you. I don’t tell you that enough,” he said. “And… I’m sorry for—for almost making the worst mistake of my life.”
“You should be.”
“And I’m gonna make it up to you.”
“You better.”
“Thank you for letting me come back, baby.”
“I really didn’t have a choice, because I love you, have for more than twenty-five years, and that’s just the way love goes.”
Adrienne Thompson has worn many titles in her lifetime: teenage mother, teenage wife, divorcee, registered nurse, and author. This mother of three young adults currently resides in her newly empty nest in Arkansas where she writes her stories full time. Learn more about her and her books at: http://adriennethompsonwrites.webs.com.
Never Too Late
By Cheryl Cloyd Robbins
His kiss tasted like crisp peppermint and I felt the color red pour down over me in a wave of love. My smile invited him to pull me closer. Life pumped from his soul into mine. The saxophone sang in my ears and I rested my head on his chiseled chest. Each note melted into the rhythmic soundtrack of love.
He nuzzled my neck, grabbed me tightly and lifted me off my feet. I was literally walking on air and his embrace kept me afloat. The saxophone continued its song as the high notes on the piano drizzled a love letter into the backdrop of our first dance.
White lace, draped just so, cascaded off my shoulders and down to my waist. The sharp darkness of his tuxedo reminded me of the night sky, and I was his light.
We existed in a space that transcended gravity while time stood still. He was the honey that would seep into my pores and make my life sweet.
Suddenly, I was startled by the blare of the saxophone. The light notes from the piano began to sound more like thunder. There was a screech that jolted me into consciousness and my feet hit the floor. He was disappearing into darkness as I was crashing into the light. What was happening?
The screech was like a train rushing through my head. My eyes fluttered open upon the morning light. The alarm clock on my nightstand was obnoxiously loud and the sun was unforgiving. A dream. It was another cursed dream of Keith.
Before I could distract myself, Keith’s scent filled my nostrils. I’d washed my bedding a thousand times, but I still smelled him.
“These are going in the trash,” I uttered. “I’m getting new sheets and a new comforter. Maybe I’ll paint this entire bedroom.”
I gathered the pillow in my arms, pressed it against my nose, and inhaled. It was like he’d never left.
“The pillows have to go too,” I declared and kicked back the cover.
I willed myself out of bed, grabbed my phone and shuffled to the bathroom. While I brushed my teeth I checked for urgent messages or emails and then looked at my calendar for the day. Meetings, phone calls and more meetings were jammed into the nine hours I planned on spending at the office. Yet the date reminded me that this was the 124th day that I’d awakened to thoughts of Keith.
I spit my mouthwash into the sink and found my inspirational quote for the day staring back at me on the mirror.
Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.
You took the words right out of my mouth, M. Kathleen Casey. I began my morning prayer.
“Dear Lord, I thank You for another day. I thank You for Your love, Your grace and Your mercy. Lord, I ask You to be with me today that I may be focused and successful. Amen. Oh and Lawd…please take the image of Keith out of my mind. I can’t bear to remember hi
s face. Amen.”
I flipped through the closet and found my “skinny pants.” The broken heart diet was in full effect and I was happy to find a silver lining to my cloud. I tucked in my V-neck blouse instead of covering my waist with a sweater or blazer. My day was looking up!
I fixed a cup of coffee to go and even though I knew better, I added a shot of Bailey’s liquor. Then I added another shot to keep the first one company.
My driver was right on time. I climbed into the backseat and sipped on my special brew of “Girl, get your life together” coffee.
I took my last swig just as we were pulling up to my building. It was a cool morning in Northeast Washington, D.C. I inhaled the autumn air and stepped inside my office building. I was early and the first to arrive, so I popped on the lobby lights and headed to my office.
I unlocked my door and just as I reached for the light switch, I heard a boom that stabbed my eardrums. For a split second I thought my lights had exploded. Then there was a second boom, louder than the first, and the floor beneath my feet began to tremor.
Next, there was a pow and a boom! Pictures jumped off the walls, books crashed to the floor. The lights flickered off and on before shattering into snowflake-sized pieces of glass around me.
“This is D.C., not California. This can’t be an earthquake,” I reasoned as I made a mad dash to my desk and crawled underneath it for protection. The windows cracked and I heard car horns blowing, sirens blaring and people screaming.
An eternity passed as I trembled, covered my head and waited for the world to stop crumbling around me. My desk had moved – with me under it – approximately eight feet, against the inner wall of my office. I snapped back into the present moment and realized I was trapped.
I pushed my shoulders against the back of the desk and tried to use my legs to make enough space for me to get free. But the desk that moved freely across the floor moments ago was like concrete now and too heavy for me to move. I began to panic.
I’d dropped my handbag in the race to get under the desk and along with it, my cell phone. I had no idea what had happened and more importantly, no way to call for help. I began to scream, but the heavy dust and smoke in the air filled my lungs. My eyes watered, my lungs burned and I coughed uncontrollably for several minutes before I could regain normalcy.
I pushed against the desk again, but it still wouldn’t budge. I tried shifting into a more comfortable position, but there was little relief. I reasoned with myself that I should concentrate on remaining calm and thinking clearly. I remembered my morning quote, “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”
That mantra worked right up to the time my spiked coffee reached my bladder. It was then that I could no longer ignore the crisis I was facing.
I had no way of knowing what catastrophe had occurred. My co-workers hadn’t made it to the office and could possibly be dead. My parents had died when I was young and left me an only child. No one would be looking for me. I could literally remain in this rubble for weeks before anyone realized I was missing.
The only person in the world who loved me was Keith. He was my lover and best friend. I was Bonnie and he was Clyde. I was Beyoncé’ and he was Jay Z. I was Michelle and he was Barack.
I wanted him. I needed him. But I had been too full of pride to admit it. When he tried to provide for me, I found ways to let him know there was nothing he could buy for me that I couldn’t buy for myself. When he attempted to protect me, I told him I could take care of myself. My foolish pride had pushed him away.
I took care of myself for so long, I didn’t know how to allow someone to take care of me. I struggled with trusting him to be my blanket of security. He finally got fed up with having his masculinity rejected.
“What is it that you need from me, Kelly?” he’d asked in our last heated argument.
“I don’t need anything from you,” I hissed back at him. I proved my point but my victory was short-lived.
“Then I have no reason to be here,” he quietly stated as he grabbed his keys and left me sitting on my bed, refusing to stop him.
I should have called him and apologized. We could have worked it out. Now it may be too late. I couldn’t hold back the tears that were stinging my eyes, as they flowed down my dirty cheeks. My quiet whimper became a full-fledged sob as I considered I may never get the chance to take back everything I’d said and done to push Keith away.
I could still hear sirens outside but the sound seemed so distant. I was squeezing as hard as I could to avoid urinating in my skinny pants and surrendering even more of my dignity.
I’d pretended to be so strong, yet here I was with my tear-stained face, quickly giving up hope. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to regain my composure.
Suddenly, I heard the sound of crumbling bricks. The floor started to move while the foundation of the building began to shift. I was on the bottom floor. If the upper levels tumbled, I’d be buried alive!
I began frantically pushing against the desk again. I tried to kick, but the space was so small that I couldn’t gain enough force to help.
“God, please help me,” I prayed.
The sound of falling debris made me feel like a tomb was being built around me. I heard voices and screamed with everything I had inside. I coughed and choked, but I kept screeching. I used my elbows to knock on the sides of the desk. I yelled as loudly as I could for as long as I could. Then I heard a call.
“Kelly!”
God was answering me!
“I’m here!”
“Kelly!” The voice got closer.
For a split second I felt the familiar comfort of a voice I knew. But then the terrifying crash came from above my head.
“Kelly, baby, it’s me!”
“Keith, help me. I’m under this desk.” My hero had arrived to save me. Keith yanked out the desk drawers and peeked at me between the slats.
When I saw his face, I vowed I’d never let him go again. I cried out with relief, but quickly realized we were far from being safe.
“Baby, we have to hurry. When I count to three, I need you to push as hard as you can toward me. Ok, baby? Can you do that for me?” I nodded, because at this point I couldn’t speak.
More debris fell from the ceiling. But I concentrated on waiting for Keith to count so I could push.
“One!” he yelled just before a beam slammed down behind him.
“Two!” I planted my hands and got ready to push.
“Three!” he yelled as he pulled with all his might. I pushed as hard as I could. There was no more holding my urine and I didn’t care. We moved the desk about six inches on the first try.
“Now use your legs and push.” This time he didn’t count. When he pulled, I pushed and we moved the desk another twelve inches. It was enough for me to squeeze out while Keith pulled.
My legs had been cramped so long, I couldn’t stand, but we had to move. Keith threw my arms around his shoulders and pulled me to my feet. I looked down and saw my wet pants.
“I had an accident,” I said with embarrassment.
“Baby, I spent three hours digging you out, afraid you were hurt; I don’t care about an accident. Let’s get outta here and I’ll buy you fifty pairs of pants.”
Another shift in the foundation and the entire wall collapsed and blocked the doorway. Keith had covered me with his body and protected me from the falling wood and plaster.
There was now one way out and that was the window. It was already partially cracked and he used a chair to break out the rest of the glass.
My legs were regaining their feeling but I still needed help getting up to the ledge. Even on the first floor, we were still about six feet off the ground. There was no easy landing below us because the sidewalk was filled with busted brick and concrete, glass and debris.
Just as I was about to jump, the floor under Keith crumpled. I hesitated and reached for his hand, but he pushed me out of the window to safety.
“Keith!” I called hysterically
. I couldn’t see him.
“Keith!” I cried, and then saw him pulling himself up into the window frame. He jumped and yelled for me to run. We ran toward the street and looked back just in time to watch the entire building collapse. As the adrenaline began to deplete and my tunnel vision widened to my surroundings, I saw the remains of two city blocks flattened to the ground by what I would later discover were suicide bombers. I could hardly process the enormity of the cataclysmic event around us.
I stopped in my tracks and tried to bring my mind into the present moment. I looked into Keith’s eyes and processed the fact that he had saved my life.
“You came for me,” I said as I fell into his arms and we slid onto the ground.
He pulled me close, kissed my dirty forehead and said, “I’ll always come for you.”
***
Eight months later I found myself swaying to the harmonious melody of a piano and saxophone. I could feel the notes weaving our souls together. I inhaled and attempted to digest his scent.
Our heartbeats swayed in cadence with each other. We were as perfectly in tune as the instruments that played in the background.
I looked into his eyes, falling more deeply in love with him with each passing second. Our love eclipsed the crowd and we were momentarily encompassed in just each other.
Then the clinking of silverware on crystal glasses filled the air. I wrapped my arms around Keith’s neck as he leaned in and kissed my lips. When I opened my eyes, he was still right in front of me and I knew this was a dream, and yet it was very much real.
Cheryl Cloyd Robbins is a native and current resident of North Carolina. Her love for writing has enabled her to use words to transport some of her readers in exotic places and times while also providing some of her readers with therapeutic tools for emotional healing. Cheryl is a co-founder and partner of Reign Incorporated. It is “Never Too Late” to discover more of Cheryl’s work at www.cherylcloydrobbins.com or www.reignincorporated.com.
The Ex Chronicles Page 3