Out Through the in Door (2 page)

SNOW JOB
 

             
The alarm clock woke me from the nightmare and the morning light pushed away the sleep. My duffel bag, stuffed with clothing, lay in the corner along with some cardboard boxes. Other than the cushion I was lying on the place was empty. After ten years together, I had left my partner for cheating on me.
             
I wanted to escape him and his lies. I wanted all memories of him eradicated from my mind. I wanted to forget so I wouldn't have to realize what an idiot I had been. By running away I would find my freedom – I thought. But without him I was utterly lost. Who was I without Michael?
             
Snow was just starting to fall and the wind rattled the old windows. I walked from room to room recalling memories. It was an old walk-up apartment we'd lived in years ago. I was lucky the landlord was between tenants. How strange it felt to be back in the place Michael and I first lived together. At moments I thought I might wake up to find myself back at home with him and everything as it was. Other times I thought that the last ten years of my life had been the dream and this had been my only reality.
             
On the last night in my house, he came home and went up to bed without so much as a word. It wasn't until I heard the bedroom door close that I even knew he was home. I went up to see him but stopped at the door when I heard him talking softly.
             
He had been distant and dismissive for months and a wall had gone up between us. If I tried to talk with him about it, he was either too tired or said he needed more time and space to sort things out. Whenever I pressed it quickly escalated into a fight.
             
His whispered words were sweet and romantic. Who was he talking to? Anger rose it me without warning. It took hold as I charged through the door. “We need to talk,” I yelled. “Now!”
             
He fumbled and dropped his cell phone trying to hang up. “What?”
             
“Who were you talking to?”
             
“That was my mother.”
             
“Liar.”
             
He sat up in the bed and pulled the covers up to his neck. He picked up the phone and looked at it -  his thumb rubbing it nervously. His expression hardened. “I'm seeing someone.”
             
I looked at him. The man I had fallen in love with was not in this room. His smile was replaced with gritted teeth, his brown eyes were now dark and dismissive and the once soft expressive face wore a scowl.
             
“Who?” I asked.
             
“Does it matter? You don't know him.”
             
“How long?”
             
“Since August.”
             
“So the last four months have been nothing but a lie?”
             
He didn't answer.
             
“Do you love him?”
             
He hesitated. “Yes.”
             
My knees started to buckle, but I held on to the door.
             
“It's hard to love two people,” he offered.
             
His words hurt. It was then I realized he was trying to do just that – hurt me. Make me feel weak.
             
“Why?” I insisted.
             
“We have nothing in common.”
             
“After ten years that's the best excuse you can come up?”
             
He gave it some thought. “When was the last time we even had sex?”
             
“You're going to blame this on sex?”
             
“Among other things, yes.”
             
“You're full of shit,” I said. “You blamed me for getting HIV – even after I tested negative. You never apologized and you had no choice but to admit to cheating. I admit sex was the last thing on my mind but that didn't mean I didn't want it or that I didn't want to be intimate.”
             
He shrugged. “You never even touched me after that.”
             
“You always pulled away or had an excuse,” I told him. “I should have known it was out of guilt.”
             
“Guilt?” He raised his brows. “For what?”
             
“For cheating even after you weren't and lying about it. How many other
men have been up your ass since?”
             
“ Fuck you. You're such a martyr.”
             
“No thanks. You've done plenty of that for both if us.”
             
“Get out!”
             
I took a step backwards but halted there. His anger, whether justified or not, no longer scared me. “I guess you just needed to bide your time until someone else gullible enough came along”
             
“That must be it,” he snapped. “The fact that you never wanted to go out or do anything doesn't count. All you did was work and worry about money. The checkbook got more action from you than I did. Or, how about that you never did anything on your own unless I did it with you. I thought we were joined at the heart not the hips.”
             
I could not deny his words. “Did you ever plan on telling me?”
             
“I tried but you didn't want to hear. You wanted to believe it was all just fine.”
             
My voice cracked. “For how many years was this all a lie?”

             
He didn't answer.
             
I slammed the door as I left.
             
Even after a week, the experience was still traumatic and surreal.
             
My cell phone rang. It was Michael. My voice mail was already full of messages from him. With each one his tone changed. First he was remorseful, then irritated, and finally furious. Now all he did was spit venom and bile into the phone and his words were meaningless. He didn't like being ignored so I sent his call to voice mail.
             
I would eventually have to talk to him but not at his convenience. And not before I was ready. It wasn't out of any concern or sadness for our defunct relationship that he called. It was about his loss of power and about having to take care of things for himself. Michael didn't like getting his hands dirty or getting involved in the details. Being the responsible one had always been my job.
             
After showering, I stared in the mirror trying to shave but was distracted by the unfamiliar reflection. Where had all the new lines comes from? I'd never given my age much thought, but at forty-five and alone, it suddenly hit me.
             
Would I be like some creepy old man trolling for ass. Relationships were important to me. They took work, but to me it was worth it. At this point, I didn't know if I would ever want another one. It was much too soon to worry about it but starting over scared me.
             
I unpacked clothing into neat piles on the floor. I would need a bed, furniture, dishes – everything. I dressed for work.
             
The office was only a mile away so I decided to walk. I dug through the boxes until I found a hooded wool coat in a box full of photo albums and loose pictures. I couldn't help but look at some of them. The faces hadn't change much, but the people behind them certainly had..
             
We were younger then and full of hope. Michael was handsome with his black hair and those dark eyes that always drew me in. His smile could stop me in my tracks. Although he was five years my junior, he seemed to have a calm grasp of the world beyond his years and a heart just as big.
             
We were in love and around it we built our lives together. He had opened my eyes to a world full of color and experiences and a life bigger than my own.
We owned a beautiful home, took wonderful vacations, and enjoyed our lives together. I adored him. He was the leap of faith to my look before you leap.
             
Again, the cell phone rang. I tossed it in the box with the photos and left. The November air was crisp. Maybe it was because of how it muffled sounds or how it shrouded everything in white, but I found comfort in the falling snow.
             
Walking always soothed me. In the quiet calm of the storm, I could sort things out.
             
Running away had changed nothing. It didn't change that I loved him. It didn't take away the anger and hatred that I felt for him. Even now I wished there was a way to forgive him.  I wanted revenge. I wanted him to hurt. I wanted justice. Torn didn't come close to describing my pain. A gust of wind pulled me from my thoughts.
             
“Hatred,” whispered the storm.
             
The snow was falling heavily. I pulled the hood down over my eyes. For too long I had been fooled. I searched my memories trying to figure how long I had been a fool – the exact moment the relationship had changed.
             
Honk!  I didn't see the car as I was crossing. It slid passed me and plowed into a small snow bank. Out stepped Michael. Even through the snow, I could sense his anger. He looked furious and ready to attack. His face was unshaven, his hair uncombed, and his clothing disheveled – nothing like the well-manicured image he presented to the world. He marched up to me until we were face to face. Fear washed over me, but I remained where I stood.
             
“Why won't you answer my calls?” he screamed.
             
“For what?” I answered.
             
“We need to talk. You can't just leave me with all this.”
             
Despite his best scowl and angry tone, his eyes betrayed him – he too was afraid. In the past I would have done whatever it took to fix things and make him happy. I always thought this was my greatest strength. But Michael had a talent for using it against me by making it seem as if he were doing me a favor. He was an expert manipulator and I the willing puppet.
             
“Not my problem,” I said. “You can have it all. I don't want it.”
             
“You have responsibilities.”
             
  In the wind, I  heard the faint voice.
Who would you be if it weren't for him?
 
             
The question echoed in my head. I pulled off my hood and locked my eyes on his. The wind stung my face. I saw for the first time the darkness in my own heart. How much of my anger was for his betrayal and how much of it was for having to face my own demons? For years, I'd hidden behind his.
             
Was I that oblivious to who he was? Did I play a part in our demise?  What judgment could I render against him that would not also be against myself?  My hatred turned inward.
             
The cold truth was far greater than the chill of the storm. What I felt converged with what I knew. In the maelstrom, my thoughts fragmented. Everything that was me – that had been me – whipped frantically around lost in the whiteness.
             
“No, Michael,” I said. “What I have is choices, You made yours and I made mine.”
             
“When did you become so cold?” he pleaded.
             
“About the same time I stopped loving you.” The words got caught in my throat. It wasn't entirely true. I hated what he'd done, but the details no longer mattered.
             
His eyes welled up with tears.
             
The cold air filled my lungs and stung like hot needles in my chest. I walked past him, glancing back long enough to see him staring off into the storm. Perhaps he would find some kind of redemption.
             
My thoughts slowed and coalesced. I could no longer hold hatred in my heart for him  – anymore than I could hold a snowflake in my hand. He was forever gone and so was what I had been.
             
Now, he would have to be responsible for himself. And that, for me, was the saddest part. His panic wasn't because he was losing his partner, lover and friend. It was because he was losing his accountant, secretary, and go-fer.
             
To escape him I had become like him in part – self-serving, unfeeling, and cold. Perhaps our respective penance would serve us well. The justice was nothing if not poetic.
             
I continued walking until the lights of my office appeared. The walk was much longer than I had anticipated. I put my hand on the door but hesitated, expecting to hear the wind's voice. Nothing came.
             
The wind was slowing and the snow was abating. The trees were covered in glistening glass and the ground in the shimmering white powder. It was beautiful. In the utter silence of the moment it was perfect. And it was enough.