Stages of Grace

by Carey Heywood

  Exhausted from the activity, I retreat back to our room to sleep. When my alarm clock goes off the next morning, I still feel rough but well enough to go to work. I always hate calling in sick and am already feeling guilty for missing the previous day. When I go to shower I realize Jon is not in bed. I rush into the front room to see if maybe he’s sleeping on the sofa. He isn’t.

  Opening the door to our apartment, I ignore the cold blast of air and rush to the landing to see if my car is in its spot. It’s not. Even if I had wanted to go to work, I can’t. I am too stunned that he had not come home to react immediately. I call my office manager and lie, saying I am still not feeling well enough to come back and send a text message to Nikita. I get two texts messages back, one from my manager letting me know I can take all the time I need and another from Nikita that is just a frown face.

  This is bullshit, and there is no way I can ignore it. This can affect my job and being able to pay our bills. I cannot help but be concerned as well. What if he had been in an accident and is hurt somewhere? Slumping onto our bed, I go back and forth between whether I should call him or not. Caving, I call him, chewing on my fingernail as it rings and rings and goes to voicemail. In the message I leave him, I try to sound as calm as possible. I let him know I am worried about him and am curious where he is because I need the car to go to work. I hang up, and I pause to reflect on my choice of words. The car. Not that long ago, I had always called it mine.

  I lie down with my phone propped up in front of me so I won’t miss his call, but it’s the front door I hear three hours later instead. I had taken a shower and made myself some breakfast while waiting. I am grateful for being up and dressed when I walk into the front room to see a group of people there. I only recognize the neighbor who had been there the day before. There are six people total, four guys and two girls.

  "Shouldn’t you be lying down?" Jon says, looking everywhere but at me as a couple of his new friends snicker behind him.

  "Can we talk?" I say quietly as I gesture toward our bedroom.

  "Yeah, sure. Hey guys, hang out here."

  Jon hurries past me and down the hall to our room. I’m still not feeling great so I follow him slowly. He’s sitting down on his side of the bed, up against his pillows, legs crossed at his ankles in front of him. He looks very relaxed.

  "What did you want to talk about?"

  My mouth drops open. Did he really just ask me that? I cock my head to the side and look at him as though I have never seen him before. It’s like he’s a stranger sitting on my bed. I am rendered momentarily speechless and close the door behind me.

  "Jon, where were you?"

  "Just hanging out."

  "I missed work because you had the car." There it was again, the car.

  "I thought you'd still be sick today."

  I walk over to sit on my side of the bed. When I sit, Jon gets up and goes to stand by the door. Why did he get up?

  "Are you leaving?"

  "Yeah. We were going to head over to the thing."

  The thing? "Are you taking the car?" The car.

  "Yeah. You’re just going to be in bed."

  "I'm going to work tomorrow so I need the car to be here." The car.

  "Yeah, yeah…" and he was out the door.

  No apology. No “how are you feeling?” I sit there wondering what those people in my front room had thought of me, wonder if he had even said anything about me. Not one of them had made a move to introduce themselves. I suddenly feel paranoid, like I’m the butt of a joke. Maybe Jon will be home early enough tonight that we will have a chance to talk about it. I decide I’ll rest during the day and make a nice dinner for the both of us. If I have the ingredients, I’ll even make Jon's favorite: enchiladas.

  I spend most of the day stressing out over where Jon is and what he might be doing. He’s been taking off so much recently I don’t know how I should feel about it. I’m a mixture of emotions and can’t choose just one. I feel abandoned, jealous, insecure, hurt, and sad all at the same time. I cannot understand why I feel the need to constantly walk around on eggshells around him while he cannot even bother to be polite to me. How is that fair? At this point, I would be so blown over by any small gesture of affection. Can he see that?

  I change my clothes into something slightly nicer than the sweats I’ve worn all day and make the enchiladas. As I slide them in the oven to cook, I wonder if it had been silly of me to even assume he will be coming home at dinnertime. I check my phone to see if he had maybe sent me a text. He hasn’t. While dinner cooks, I second-guess myself, not sure if this had been a good idea. At worst I’ll eat alone and pack up the leftovers to take to work as lunch the next day. I turn on the TV to act as a distraction from the thoughts crowding my mind. Watching the news, I learn there is snow in the forecast and dream of someday living someplace warmer.

  Jon never shows up. I eat by myself and pack up the leftovers. I leave a note on the fridge that there are leftovers in case Jon is hungry when he gets home. Wanting to be fully rested for work the next day, I head to bed early. When my alarm clock goes off, I’m relieved to see Jon asleep next to me. He must have come home at some point after I went to sleep. Careful not to wake him, I get ready for work. When I go to the kitchen, I see that he hasn’t eaten the enchiladas and decide to take them with me for lunch, throwing away the note on the fridge.

  As I sit in my car while it warms up, I notice the tank is on E. It had been almost full the last time I had driven it. I’ll have to stop on the way in to work to get some gas. It annoys me, but Jon doesn’t have any money so it’s not like he can buy any gas either way. It would have been nice if he had gotten a couple of bucks from his new friends. I’m worried about filling it up all the way in case he takes the car again. I can’t afford to be filling it up all the time. I fill it up halfway and continue on my way to work. Nikita’s parking at the same time I’m parking and rushes over to greet me.

  "How are you feeling? Oh my gosh, Grace. What happened to your car?"

  I grimaced. "I feel better. Thanks. Jon hit something."

  "I'm so happy you're feeling better. That sucks about your car. What’d he hit?"

  "Not sure. We haven’t really talked about it."

  "No way. You are so nice. I would have lost it."

  We chat as we head into the office. It’s Friday, and there are many last-minute sick appointments. It seems like whatever I had is going around big time. At lunch, I look over the want ads, not seeing anything that might be a good fit for Jon. I wonder about the two places I had sent his resume to and if they had contacted him. If they had, Jon had not said anything. After lunch, I dip into my spare change dish to buy a soda. It’s been the first day in a while that I had been so active, and I really need some caffeine.

  It has been a long day, and I am grateful once the day ended and I can go home. All I want to do is make myself another can of soup and go back to bed. Not feeling as though I am in any danger of falling asleep behind the wheel, I skip the metal station this time. Jon is in the front room when I get home, watching TV.

  "What happened to the enchiladas?"

  "What?"

  He stood. "What happened to the enchiladas?" He enunciates each word.

  Oh no, I think. "I took them to work for lunch today. I didn't know you wanted them. I thought that since you had not eaten them last night that you had not wanted them."

  "No. I was actually saving them for lunch for myself today. Just think of how I must have felt when I went to the fridge and found out they were gone."

  Couldn’t have been worse than the feeling I had when I saw my car was gone the day before, I thought to myself. I don’t say it, though. That would only make things worse.

  "I can run to the store and get stuff to make some tonight. Would you like that? I'm so sorry. I did not know you wanted them."

  "Don’t bother. It’s already done."

  "Well, let me make you something else. What would you like?"

  I end
up making spaghetti and meatballs per Jon's request. Sure, it’s not the soup I wanted, but it’s still good and now Jon is less upset. After dinner, I wash the pots and pans and dirty dishes from our meal. Jon returns to his armchair and is watching TV. Once I’m done, I go to bed. The next morning, I am relieved to see Jon asleep again beside me. As I was falling asleep last night, I worried that he might go out again. I quietly get out of bed and make myself a cup of tea and some toast.

  After washing my cup and plate, I sit down on the sofa to read. My plans for the day are simple: rest, and maybe later on take a couple loads of laundry down to the Laundromat. I am well into my book when Jon comes out of our bedroom. He nods in my direction before making himself a bowl of cereal. I hold my spot in my book with my hand as I watch him eat. I still think he is so handsome, although recently he looks more tired than he had in the past. If only he could find a job.

  "Want something?"

  I had zoned off and didn’t realize he had noticed me staring at him.

  "Oh, I was just thinking."

  "About what?"

  "It's silly."

  "I'm listening."

  "I was just thinking how handsome you are." I am not sure why saying that embarrasses me. I used to tell him that all the time.

  Jon shakes his head at me, not looking convinced, and goes back to his breakfast. I return to my book. When he finishes eating, Jon sets his bowl and spoon in the sink for me to clean. I rest my book on the arm of the sofa and go to wash them.

  ~*~

  For the most part, over the weekend, we steer clear of each other. If Jon is in the front room, I am in the bedroom and vice versa. Lying in the same bed as Jon each night, I am aware of the fact that I have never felt so distant from him. He doesn’t talk to me anymore. It’s like living with a stranger. I lie in bed thinking of how I can find intimacy with Jon again. It’s hard for me to understand how we have gone from telling each other everything to this. I try not to dwell on thoughts like these. It’s too painful to take alone, and since I can no longer confide in Jon, I feel as though I have no one else.

  When I interact with coworkers and patients at work on Monday, I feel like a fraud. I smile and laugh when socially appropriate, but there is a hollowness building within me. Sometimes I wonder how everyone around me cannot tell how unhappy I am. Everyone I work with is so busy with their own lives that they don’t seem to notice the change in me, or if they do, no one mentions it. That does not help me from feeling isolated. Even Nikita, who always cheers me up, is preoccupied with something that day.

  I feel so overwhelmed by my loneliness that I cry most of my drive home. Crossing the river is particularly hard today. I miss my parents and want more than anything else to talk to my mother. Not that I want to say anything. I just want to feel her embrace and hear her voice again. I dry my eyes once I park, hopeful Jon won’t notice how red they are.

  I’m barely in the door when Jon says, "Were you going to tell me?"

  I look to where he is sitting, confused, not sure what he’s talking about.

  "You didn’t think I would figure it out when they contacted me?"

  Someone contacted him. Could it be about one of the resumes I sent? "Did you get an interview?"

  "So it was you. No, I did not get an interview. What I got was the opportunity to make a complete ass out of myself when they called because I had no idea who they were and why the fuck they were calling me."

  "Oh no." This was not good. I close my eyes and set my things down as he continues.

  "You didn’t think it might help to tell me someone might be calling me? Or did you just want me to sound like a complete idiot on the phone with them?"

  "I was only trying to help."

  "Sure you were. Can you do me a favor and let me fucking handle it?"

  "I just thought—"

  "No, you didn’t fucking think."

  Tears cloud my eyes as I rush to our room and shut the door. Jon is close behind me, though, and pushes the door open. "Don’t you ever walk away from me when I am talking to you."

  I cover my ears with my hands and look down as I try to block him out. Jon stands over me almost panting with anger. After a few moments, I peer up at where Jon had been standing to find I am now alone. As my heart slowly stops pounding, I pull my legs into my chest and hug them, jerking up at the sound of the front door slamming. Jon has left, and I am grateful for it. My only fear is about my car not being back in time for me to get to work the next day. It’s the first time Jon has left that I can admit I’m not sure if I even want him to come back. I wonder if maybe Jon had been pushing me away on purpose. Maybe he didn’t love me anymore but doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

  I venture out into the kitchen to make a plate of cheese and crackers before retreating to our bedroom. Jon had scared me and somehow I feel safer in the bedroom. I think about locking the door but don’t want to upset Jon more than I already have. I feel stupid for even hoping that I could have found Jon a job. I had known deep down that it was something he needed to do on his own. I just could not understand why my trying to help him had made him so angry with me. Was it just that the call had caught him off guard or was it more?

  I stiffen when I hear the front door open a couple of hours later. Quickly turning off the light, I pretend to be asleep. I hear Jon walk into our room, and then a few moments later, walk back out. I wonder if I should go to him and try and talk about what had happened that day but don’t know what type of mood he’s in so think it safer to talk another time. The next morning, after getting ready for work, I write Jon a note. I tell him that I’m sorry about not telling him I sent his resumé places. I had honestly thought if he got a call back he would have been happy. I end the note with I love you.

  As I sit in the car while it warms up, I see that I need gas. Again. I stop at a station and have a mild shock when I pull out my wallet and find it empty. I had sixty dollars, and it’s gone. Jon took money from me. I sit immobilized as I process this. I lean my head back against the car seat and stare up at the ceiling.

  Anger

  a strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism

  -Merriam Webster

  Calm down, calm down. I feel the pulse of my blood pounding all over me. I try to catch my breath. How do people calm down? Count to ten? I count, and that doesn’t work. Maybe if I count backwards. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…I slowly catch my breath. I'm done with being nice. Now I’m angry. I grab my purse and head into the gas station to use the ATM. I don't plan to take any money out, but I want to check my balance before I try to use my card to pay for gas. I’m relieved when the balance is what I expect. I walk back out to the pump and start fueling up. It’s cold out so I wait in my car. To anyone else fueling at that station that morning, I appear to be having a very heated discussion alone. I scream at myself for being so stupid and letting Jon walk all over me these past months. When had I become such a wuss? My parents had raised me to have a backbone and here I was completely failing at it.

  I decide to fill up my tank because there is no way I am going to let Jon take it again. As I sit in my car, I wonder how easy it would be to change the PIN number on my card. If Jon had taken money out of my wallet, what would stop him from trying to use my card at an ATM? Once my tank is full, I continue on to work. As I drive, I think about sending Jon a text to let him know I know what he did and to finally confront him about the dent. I’m angry I let that go. I finally realize I’m angry about a lot of things. This is just the final straw.

  One thing I learn about anger is how energizing it feels. Adrenaline is pumping me up, and it bleeds into my driving. A car rudely, with no signal indication, cuts me off before a red light. I take deep breaths and talk myself out of ramming the asshole driving the Ford. Instead, I coldly glare at the driver in front of me. I turn right as the other driver continues straight, and after I park, I laugh out loud when I see the same driver pull into my parking lot from a differ
ent entrance.

  "Serves you right," I mumble. "You drove like an asshole, and I still beat you. Ha!"

  That small victory is enough to cheer me up and make me laugh, calming me a bit. I’m setting up the sign-in sheet when Nikita walks in.

  "Good morning," I greet her happily.

  Nikita looks at me for a beat. "You seem to be chipper this morning. What's going on?"

  "I have been in a bit of a funk, haven’t I?"

  "A bit…" Nikita deadpans, which makes me laugh.

  "Yes, well, I'm done with that."

  "I'm happy to hear that."

  Nikita asks me a couple of times what has changed or what has been bothering me. I avoid the questions, not wanting to get that personal at work and tell Nikita that with the holidays and being sick I have just been missing my parents more. This isn’t completely untrue. It just doesn’t include the fact that I had decided I'm not going to let Jon walk all over me anymore. If Jon can’t accept some responsibility and start pulling his own weight, I'm done.

  I’m still young, and while I currently do everything in my power to downplay my looks, I know I'm pretty. If Jon can’t handle being civil to me, I’m sure someone else will. Not that I want that, because even though I’m furious with Jon, I still love him and am hopeful that we can get past this. If we can’t get past it, I know that I won’t be happy walking on eggshells the rest of my life. I would rather die alone than accept the way Jon makes me feel any longer. Things are going to change. How much, depends on Jon.

  Jon had never really seen me angry. With the exception of the last year, he had never given me a reason to be really angry. I spend most of the day wondering why I had not stood up to him from the start. That first morning he had yelled at me for waking him up, I should have gotten right in his face and screamed back. I think of the story of Ferdinand The Bull. I am a Taurus, born the end of April. I had always related to Ferdinand because it did take a lot to make me angry. Jon will get his first taste tonight.