When he pushes himself up to a standing position and takes a step, he almost trips over the shoestring. I feel bad but not that bad. “I see you got a new laptop.”
“That I did.” It’s on the kitchen table.
“You like it?” he asks.
“They’re all the same when you get right down to it.”
“Were you able to recover all your stuff?”
“Pretty much. You might want to look at yours after you get out of the shower.”
“Why, did you try to use it?”
“I did, but I had the same problem you had.”
“Really,” he says, rather suspiciously.
“Really.”
I can see he’s tempted to go into his office but he’s afraid to open that door. I think he knows I know what he’s been doing in his so-called office. “Why don’t you go on and take your shower.”
“Maybe I will.”
This whole thing feels weird. This is not how you end a marriage, is it? I’m wondering deep down inside if I really want to end it or if I just want to break up the monotony. I wish I could keep the parts of Isaac I still love. I wish I could pretend I never saw what I saw, that I don’t feel so let down. I wish we still excited each other. But which one weighs more?
He turns down the hallway. I hear his office door open. My heart is beating fast and now I’m anxious. I’m tempted to lunge off the sofa but for some reason I don’t. I want to confront him from where I’m sitting. I want him to stand still and look down at me, so his eyes can’t avoid mine.
“Savannah!” he yells. “What the hell did you do with my computer and what’s all this shit on the wall?”
Out he comes. He doesn’t have the look I imagined. There’s anger in his voice but not rage. After all, I invaded his space. Violated his world, the one he thought was secret. The next thing I know he’s standing over me. “I had no idea you were such a freak,” I say.
“I’m not a freak. What did you do with my computer?”
“It’s in the pool.”
He looks outside as if he might see it floating or doing laps. “You threw it in the pool?”
“That’s what I just said.” I stand up like a soldier. “You are one sneaky, lying son-of-a-bitch, Isaac, and I wish I’d known I couldn’t trust you from here to the corner.”
“I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Yes, you have. And you know it.” I’m trying not to cry but it feels like I’m crying anyway. He takes a few steps toward me. I jump back. “Don’t even think about fucking touching me.”
“Savannah, come on, now. Maybe I went too far. But none of this has anything to do with how I feel about you.”
“Fuck you, Isaac.”
“It’s just something we do for kicks.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Guys.”
“I don’t care what guys do, Isaac. How would you feel if you found a bunch of naked men on my laptop, huh?”
“They’d probably be gay.”
I just roll my eyes at him.
“Look, Savannah, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“Okay, so maybe I have a little problem.”
“But it’s your problem, Isaac, not mine.”
“I’d be willing to stop, I swear. It’s wearing me out anyway, living at night the way I have been.”
“You’ve been having sex with these women, Isaac.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Yes, you have. I’ve seen some of what you’ve been doing, and you can just keep on getting your dick sucked in cyberspace or whatever else you may do with all these freaky-ass women. I couldn’t even watch some of the weird shit you’ve been doing, not to mention the money you’ve been spending. I get it now.”
He sits on a stool and stands up again. I’ve backed away from him as far as I can go and am leaning against the doors that lead outside. The glass is cold but I welcome it.
Isaac gets a bottle of water from the fridge and drinks it in two swallows. This time he leans on the counter and peers over at me. “Well, you know what, Savannah? What if I told you that as much as I still love you, I think I might be tired of being married to you, too. I’m tired of you being in charge of my life.”
This stings. He may as well have shot an arrow right in the middle of the blood vessels that lead to my heart. “How in the world am I in charge of your life, Isaac?”
“You try to be. Just because I don’t like what you like.”
“That is not true and you know it.”
“You’ve never tried to come over to my side. You always expect me to come over to yours.” He sits on a different stool. It seems as if he’s been waiting a long time to get this off his chest.
I could’ve gone down the list of all the things I’ve done over the years just to keep the peace, but it didn’t feel like it was worth it. “What you just said isn’t true and you know it, Isaac. I’ve tried to be as supportive as I possibly could. Who was it that helped you start your business?”
“We both know the answer to that. That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“I can’t help it if I’m not as gung-ho about fences and decks and playhouses as you are!”
“You don’t have to be gung-ho about them, but at least show some respect for what I do.”
“I don’t even believe this! You don’t even watch my shows!”
“Because they’re boring, Savannah. There’s no punch to them. You’re just reporting what you see—what we all see—and what we already know. That’s why I don’t watch them!”
This is just the kick in the stomach I needed. “You know what? Fuck you, Isaac! If they were so boring then how have I been able to keep my job all these years, huh? If everybody felt the way you do, huh?”
“Look, it’s my personal opinion, okay? I didn’t mean to say it the way that it came out. I’m sorry. I know you’re good at what you do, Savannah. That’s not what this is about, is it?”
“No, it’s not, Isaac. Not even close.”
“Then tell me what’s wrong with us.”
“I can’t tell you what’s wrong with us. But I can tell you why I’m not happy.”
“I’m listening.”
“You don’t seem all that interested in me anymore.”
“That’s not true.”
“You don’t seem to care if what you do pleases me or not.”
“That’s probably true.”
“Why is that?”
“I can’t honestly say.”
“Yes, you can.”
“People’s feelings change, Savannah. Sometimes you can’t do anything about them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It could mean that I don’t feel the same kind of love I once felt for you even though I want to.”
I’m trying my hardest not to start crying again but it’s impossible. I bend my head over and yank my T-shirt up to wipe my eyes before they get wet. Did he just say he doesn’t love me anymore? Isn’t that what he just said? I pull myself together as best I can and lift my head back up. “You know something, Isaac?”
“What?” he asks, moving over toward the sofa, almost directly across from me. “Let’s not turn this into a wrestling match, Savannah, okay? I don’t want you to hate me.”
“Why would I hate you, Isaac?”
“Because even though I love you and will probably always love you, maybe it would be a good idea if we did get a divorce.”
I can’t believe he just said that. “You mean you want a divorce, too?”
“I don’t know what else we can do at this point. Why do you want one?” He’s looking at me as if I’m about to disclose some deep secret.
“Because I’m bored. Because these past couple of years you’ve made me feel dispensable, unimportant, like an afterthought. Because you haven’t tried to do things that make me happy. Because you’ve deliberately done things you know won’t bring me joy. Because it seems like you’ve become my adversary i
nstead of the warm, thoughtful, loving and considerate man I married ten years ago. Because I don’t like who you’ve become. Because you’ve forgotten how valuable I am, and I know how valuable I am and I can’t live with someone who makes me feel bad, especially when you were the one person I could rely on to make me feel good. You’ve been killing me inside, and I don’t want to die like this. This is why I want a divorce. Even though I still love you.”
He looks at me as if I’ve said the unthinkable. I see his eyes begin to glisten and now they’re a glassy red. Tears fall from his eyes. I’ve never seen Isaac cry in all the years I’ve known him. “Well,” he says, dusting his face dry. “Okay.” He stands up. “That’s ten for the home team.”
“Well, you asked.”
“That I did. I will say this, Savannah. I wish I could still love you, because you’ve been the one constant in my life. You’ve been my anchor. But you didn’t hold on to me. Your grip loosened except when it came to things you wanted me to do. Things I suppose made you value me. It was basically all the stuff I could do that you seemed more excited about. Not what was inside me. You seemed to think I was what I did but it wasn’t true, and you never bothered to look any further than the surface. That’s why I started drifting away from you. It’s how I ended up here.”
“Which is where?”
“I’ve met someone who does look inside and likes what she sees, and she understands me.”
“Did you meet her with her clothes on or off?”
“That’s not even cool, Savannah.”
“Was she swinging on a rope or slithering around a fucking pole? Did she dry-fuck you or maybe you met her in a brand-new online church?”
“Does it really matter where I met her?”
“Yes, it does matter. What matters more is how long have you been seeing the bitch?”
“She’s not a bitch. And how long I’ve been seeing her is not important right now.”
I walk over to him. “It is important, Isaac. It’s very important. It means if you’ve been sleeping with me and fucking her at the same time I want to know how long you’ve been doubling your pleasure, you sneaky son-of-a-bitch!” I push him but not hard enough for him to lose his balance.
“About a year. Does that make you feel better?” He looks down at me like he’s getting some kind of sick pleasure telling me this.
With all my might I ball up my fist, charge toward him and sock him in the nose. It feels like I might have broken my hand, but I pretend not to feel any pain. When he grabs me by the wrist, I see a drop of blood trickling from his right nostril. It gives me instant pleasure. Now I know how love can make you violent. “You lying sneaky bastard!”
“Take it easy, Savannah.” He walks into the kitchen and gets a paper towel.
I stand here waiting for the bell to announce the next round but the only sound I hear is ringing in my ears. I cannot believe my boring husband of ten years just had the nerve to say he still loves me but he’s not in love with me anymore—which really is a nice way of saying he doesn’t love me and he’s found it somewhere else with somebody else. “Did you see her in Vegas?”
He takes a few baby steps but keeps his distance while he thinks about this for a second and then says, “Yes, I did.”
“Then why did you keep hounding me about coming?”
“Because I knew you wouldn’t.”
“What if I had said yes, Isaac, I’ll come with you or I’ll meet you there?” Now these stupid tears are calling the shots, and as much as I don’t want them to appear anywhere on my face, they are rolling down my cheeks, so now I head for the kitchen to get a paper towel of my own, and he takes a giant step to the side to make room for me to pass.
“You’re too hung up in your world to come into mine. I knew you wouldn’t change your mind.”
“So why’d you bother asking me?” I wipe my eyes dry. Since they’re feeling the same anger as the rest of me, most likely there will be no more tears.
“Because I was hoping if you had an inch of respect left for me then you would try to show it. And if you did, then it would’ve or could’ve possibly started to restore some of my love for you. It’s not gone, Savannah. It’s just been put on ice.”
“I want you to leave.”
“Leave?”
“Yes, go. Like get out.”
“I suppose I will.”
“Right now, Isaac!”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now.”
“Wait a minute. I can’t—”
“I want you to get the fuck out of here!”
“And where am I supposed to go?”
“Go live with your bitch or your mama! I don’t care! But I want you out of my house!”
“Oh, so it’s your house?”
“It was my house when I met you, and the last time I checked you have yet to make a mortgage payment, so whose house do you think it is?”
“Yours,” he says, hunching his shoulders. “It’s yours.”
“I can’t stand to look at you right now, Isaac. And the thought of—”
“What if I said I don’t want to leave?”
“It doesn’t matter what you want. Just go! And I don’t really care where!”
“Okay. Take it easy, Savannah. Don’t blow a gasket. You got a good punch in, and I hope it makes you feel better.”
I just roll my eyes at him.
“I’ll take off for now to give you a chance to cool down.”
“I don’t need to cool down. You’ve made yourself crystal clear, Isaac.”
“And so have you.”
“Yeah, but the difference is I’m not the one who’s been having an affair behind your back while fucking you at the same time, have I?”
“I don’t know that.”
This time I grab a paperback off the counter—Sugar by Bernice McFadden—and throw it at him, but he’s quick and dodges it. “You do know! You’re making me sick to my stomach! Now go! I mean it, Isaac!”
“So this is how we end our marriage? Like a boxing match?”
“You’re the one who hit below the belt. You’re the one who didn’t play by the rules. Not me. And for the record, if I hadn’t cared about what made you tick I never would have married you in the first place. I certainly wouldn’t have helped you start your business. But I did it because I had faith in you and because I had something you didn’t have at the time, and that was resources and money, and I showed you something else you still don’t seem to understand, and that was patience and compassion because I understood how hard it is to be a black man with talent and skills, and so I gave you my shoulder to lean on and all I wanted was for you to let me lean on yours.”
“I thought I was.”
“That’s what the problem was, Isaac. Your shoulder was synthetic. You went through the motions because your heart wasn’t in it. So just go. Please. Go.”
“I’m sorry you feel this way.”
“I’m sorry I do, too.”
I walk over toward him but this time he just stands there. He looks down at me and I cannot look at him. I look down at his feet and then push him toward the door leading to the garage. Touching him burns.
“What about all of my stuff?”
“You can get it while I’m at work. And please leave the key on the table.”
“Leave the key on the table?”
“I don’t care. Keep it. I’m going to be changing the locks anyway,” I say, not having thought about any of this until this very moment.
He looks at me as if he just remembered something. “I’m not a burglar, Savannah.”
“Yes you are.”
Now his black eyes are glistening. “I’m really, really sorry, Savannah.”
“No you’re not,” I say, and slam the door. I turn the lock so hard I break two nails. I then lean my back against the door and slide until I’m in a sitting position. The tile is ice cold against my bare thighs. I sit here for the longest and count the number of tiles I can see, over and ov
er and over. It becomes obvious to me that some things just don’t add up, because I keep getting a different number.
I think I knew it was over when we celebrated our eighth wedding anniversary. I remember looking at him across the dinner table in a restaurant we’d eaten at the previous seven. That’s when I realized we had flat-lined. Being married to Isaac was like walking on a sidewalk that suddenly stopped. There was nowhere else to go. Little did I know he was apparently feeling the same way.
But here I am. Fifty-one years old. I’ve been out here on this raft of love and the love boat so many times it’s not even funny. This time is different. Isaac is my husband, not my boyfriend. I don’t have a Plan B because I never thought I’d be needing one. Based on the urgency and strength of our love in the beginning, I thought we were going to keep blooming. But here we are, like two dead roses.
It doesn’t seem to matter if you’re thrown overboard or you jump ship. Both lead to sorrow. I think it might weigh more now than it did at thirty-six. So many people think because we’re older we should be used to failed relationships and bad marriages, but especially disappointment. How do you get used to it? This is the complete opposite of what I was led to believe I could expect when I grew up and became a woman. Back in the ’70s I wasn’t preparing for the worst that could happen. I was preoccupied with the best that could happen. I didn’t know some men could be such big liars and such good liars because neither I nor my girlfriends saw anything redeeming about lying. We were honest. About most things, but definitely our feelings. We didn’t cheat on our boyfriends, especially if we loved them. We never thought some guy would deliberately fill our hearts with brown sugar and then pour hot water over it. We thought boys would grow up to become decent men who would love us as hard as we loved them.
I push my shoulder blades against the grooves in the door. I’m going down in an elevator that’s not going to stop. But then it does. The doors open and here comes heartache. I feel it right now. That thud. These acid tears. The tear inside my chest. My elbows are getting heavy. I can’t stop myself from keeling over, so I go ahead and roll into a knot but find myself unable to stop rocking. I want to sit back up, but I just can’t. Even when I suddenly feel like I’m freezing, I can’t get up. All I can do is look around the room and hear how loud the silence is already. My marriage is over. I live alone now. This is not the way I dreamed it. This is not what I had hoped for, what I asked for. I want to skip this part. I want to push the fast-forward button until I get back to happy. In fact, I wish Isaac would walk back inside this house and wrap his arms around me and hold me close, the way he used to, because even though I know he’s the source of this brand-new pain, he’s really the only one who can stop it.
Getting to Happy Page 8