February Sucks: Same Old Me (2of4)

After I left the office, wondering about the prospects of an early dinner, that promise was kept for me when my mother called. Speak of the devil, and the devil appears.

"Jim."

"Mom."

"I just got a disturbing call from Linda. She sounded like she was in a kind of a panic, wanting to know if you're okay. Did something happen?"

"Oh, yeah, something happened all right."

"Is anyone hurt? Did you lose your job? Are you... ill, or something like that?" She sounded frightened at that last part. Dad passed six years ago from adenocarcinoma of the prostate, and it's genetic. We both knew I'll have to be on the lookout for it to have an early diagnosis and treatment. If my father had caught it soon enough, things might have gone differently.

"She didn't tell you."

"No. Jim, what's going on? I know things have been... well, please tell me, okay? Your wife is worried sick. I am, too."

"Well. My wife is not really my wife anymore. I wonder if she ever really was. She's busy having an affair right now. I've left the house and I'm not talking to her."

"What? That can't be true. Linda loves you."

"Like you loved Dad."

SHIT. I didn't mean to say that out loud. It just popped out.

We were silent for a while. I was about to hang up when she said "Well. There it is. We've never really talked about this, have we?"

"No, we have not. We've been pretty good at avoiding it."

"No sense in that anymore." I heard her take a deep breath. "All right. Let me have it."

"Let you have what?"

"All that anger you've been holding in. Things haven't been right between us since all that started, and I'm tired, Jim. I'm so, so, tired. You're my son, my only child, and I love you. I love you more than anything and it's been killing me that there's this thing in the way of me being your mom. So let it out. Please. Yell at me. Scream at me. Do whatever you need to do to clear the air, but just please don't say I'm not your mother anymore. That's the one thing I could never take. We're all that's left of our family, Jim, we've only got each other." She was weeping at the end of it. Not hard, barely out loud, but I could hear it in her voice.

"Mom. God. What's the point?"

"You never talk to me any more. You're so cold with me, I can feel your rage, your scorn. You've never expressed it. You've kept it bottled up, you're careful not to show me or say anything outright, but things haven't been okay between us for a long time. Not since your father passed."

"It was earlier than that. It's been since I found out about Roger."

"Well. Yes."

"Honestly? Part of me understands. I know that when Dad was sick, he couldn't... well, he couldn't. He couldn't perform, I mean. I know that can't have been easy on you. Your husband was dying, and suffering, and... that part of your relationship was gone already, even though he wasn't. You couldn't take any comfort in your love life. So, I guess you did what you had to do. That's what part of me says. The rest of me says that was really, really, REALLY shitty of you. You didn't even have the decency to wait until he was gone. You did it right in front of him, and that helped kill him even faster." I let the rest of my breath out in a trembling sob. "It broke his spirit, and he wasn't able to hang on. I'm sorry, okay? I was angry, and I guess I still am. I blamed you. I know it's not fair, and I know you had it worse than I did, okay? Way worse. I still had Linda, and Emma was just born, and that took all my attention. But to you, I was grown and gone with a family of my own while you were losing everything. My head knows that, and maybe I'm being unfair to you, but that's still how I felt. And all this, with Linda, well, it's all coming back up again. All the women in my life are cheaters, and they feel like they're entitled to be cheaters. My mother, my wife, and now I have to worry that Emma will do this to her future husband in twenty years or so, like her mother and grandmother before."

Mom was openly crying now, wailing, really. "You think I don't know that? Oh God, Jim, Jesus God, I felt exactly the same way. You think I wasn't torn apart inside? I hated what I was doing, absolutely HATED it, but it was all I had, it was the only way I could hang on to anything. I was falling apart. Roger was there, the son of a bitch, and he gave me part of what I needed when I had nothing else. I wanted to be strong for James, I did. He needed me, he needed someone to hang onto while he was dying. But I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough, and I HATED myself for it. You think I didn't HATE myself for, what, how did you say it, 'not having the decency?' I DID. Oh, I absolutely did, and I still do. I hate it and I'm never going to forgi-hive myself for that. We tried to be discreet, we really did. I thought if James didn't know, it wouldn't hurt him, and if I could be a little stronger, in better spirits, it would even be better for him. Better for my huh-husband. I could help lift him up. But no, you're right. I was kidding myself. He. He. He knew what was going on and I practically pushed him into his gra-hay-haayve...." She could no longer speak, torn open with heaving, gasping agony like I'd never heard since my father died.

I let her cry into the phone. I was crying, too, like I hadn't since... well, shit, I'd been crying a lot since yesterday, hadn't I? You'd think I'd be tired of it by now, but these were old, old wounds. When Dad passed, I was distracted by being a brand new parent, and I never properly grieved for him. Mom was clinging to her boyfriend like he was the only thing still floating after her ship had been dashed to pieces against an iceberg. That was how we'd turned our backs on each other, and we've been like that ever since.

How much of my anger at Linda was really my old anger at my mom, just manifesting itself differently? More than I'd thought, I supposed. Dee had her daddy issues. I had my mommy issues.

After we'd wept openly at each other for something like fifteen minutes, Mom managed to pull herself together a little.

"My life is full of regrets," she began, her voice raw and sore, "Marrying your father is NOT one of them. James is the best man I ever knew. I hated his cancer, and those last years were hard, so hard, but I loved him, God, did I ever love him, and I still do. I still think about him all the time. Every day. If I had it all to do over again, I would, even if I knew the cancer was coming. I'd cherish every moment we'd have together. I have no excuse for Roger. I regret every moment of that. He wasn't a tenth of the man James was. Not even a hundredth. And James deserved better from me. So much better. His memory, his last memories of me... oh, Jim. All I can say is that I was weak. I was weak, and I failed. It was stupid of me to marry Roger afterwards like that. I mean, the kind of man who'd have an affair with a woman whose husband was dying, that's the lowest kind of man there is. I don't know what I expected from him. I was terrified of being alone. And I wanted it to look like there was some substance to my affair, some justification. God. How stupid. How Shameful."

"Mom. You don't have to... you don't..."

"Yes, I do, Jim, after all these years I have to say it. I was wrong to do what I did. I was wrong to do it like that. I handled everything so badly. I still beat myself up about it, and I've paid the price, believe me, I have. You won't be surprised to know that Roger cheated on me, too, right after we were married. That's why it only lasted sixteen months."

"I figured it had to be something like that."

"Well, it's true; if they'll cheat with you, they'll cheat on you. I should have known better. The man was absolute shit. I deserved what I got from him."

"Roger can rot in hell for all I care. I hope I never see him again."

"Me too."

"I don't even know your current husband. Bob. I've only ever met him a couple of times."

"He's nice. He treats me well. He's not like Roger. He's not like James. He's like, well, it's like living on a completely different planet. I've got a totally different life with him. A good one. It's okay."

"Do you love him?"

"Sure I do. I love him completely. But, I mean. Ah. One thing I've learned is that love is different every time. It's different with every person, and it changes with the same person over time, too. It burns at different temperatures. It takes on different textures and flavors. Bob's good for me. We're good together. I'll enjoy growing older with him. But it's not like love is when you're young. God, when everything is new and you've got your whole life in front of you, everything seems to mean so much more. It's brighter, sharper, more intense. Everything's so important and you're convinced that it will all last forever, even though everyone knows it doesn't. This marriage is more mature. Calmer. Comfortable. When we're older, we have different expectations. Bob's just a man. I'm just a woman. We both have baggage that we've learned to live with. We've promised to be there for each other, and to work around whatever differences we have. It's just that simple."

"That doesn't sound so bad. That sounds kind of nice."

"It is." She had a heaviness in her voice that I seldom heard while growing up. "I wish you'd come visit."

"I think I probably should. I will." I was, too. "I mean, I'll have the time, what with the divorce, and all."

"God. Don't do that if there's any way not to, okay, Jim. If there's any way around it."

"I don't see how, Mom. I just met with L.W. to go over my options."

"Oh. No. Ah. Tell me what happened."

I did. All of it.

"God," said Mom, "I never would have guessed she'd had it in her to do something like that."

"Me neither."

"The good news is that this is clearly just a fling. This man is not going to stay around in your lives. Divorce sounds like a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

"Mom. If you start talking like that I'm going to hang up the phone right now and not speak to you again until Emma graduates from high school."

"Jim, please..."

"No, goddamnit, you're going to take me seriously. That man's shadow is now a permanent part of my relationship with that woman. Every time I see her, I'll see her HAPPILY sneaking away with him. That's burned into my vision. Every time I look at her, I'm going to experience that pain, that rejection, all over again. And I'm always, always, ALWAYS going to worry about the NEXT time she's gonna do the same goddamn thing. So don't you DARE tell me 'it's only temporary.' I know what she is. Now. You've got a choice. You can either take the side of the only child you've ever had, the one you've been estranged from and now have an opportunity to show support, or you can take the side of the cold-hearted bitch that's betrayed him and is abusing his feelings and this relationship. What's it going to be, Mom?"

"You! Jim, it's you! It's always going to be you! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I... I only want what's best for you, and your family. Please. Please. Please."

"Yeah. My family. I'm having the kids DNA tested right now. I'll let you know about that."

"Jim, you can't believe that."

"I know that I don't know what to fucking believe anymore. Look. I know you want the best for me. I know you think that what's best for me is to stay with Linda and keep the family intact. But God, mom, would you really want me staying with a woman that treats me like ABSOLUTE SHIT?"

"No. No, of course not. You're a grown man and I'm so, so proud of you. I know you'll do the right thing for yourself, and for the kids. Look. Some of your hard feelings about Linda are going to be bound up with the issues you've got with me. Please don't hold any of that against her. That only compounds your problems, and she doesn't deserve that. That's separate."

"I can see that. I'll try. I want to do this right. I'm not going to talk to her until I meet with her in front of a marriage counselor on Thursday. I want to have a mediator. Otherwise, I'll be too angry to deal with her. I know she wants to corner me and 'just talk,' which means she'll cry her eyes out at me and try to convince me that this betrayal is 'no big deal.' I'm not falling for that."

"Good. Don't."

"Huh. You're not going to tell me that it'll be my fault for breaking up the family if I can't get over my stupid pride? That my hurt feelings aren't worth it?"

"No. You're my son. You're my only child. I'll back you up no matter what, whatever you decide. It's your choice. Do what you need to do, for yourself. Never mind her."

"I..." I choked up a little. "I needed to hear that. Thank you."

"Well. You're welcome."

"I thought you liked Linda. I mean, you accepted her. You gave her your blessing and welcomed her into the family."

"I did. I meant it, and I will always honor that. I do love Linda. She is family, and she always will be. She's given me my grandchildren. Nothing will change that, not even if you divorce her. However, she is my daughter because she's my son's wife, so that part is up to you. I guess she's not acting like much of a wife right now, if what you've told me is true, and I'm sure you haven't lied."

"Lying is wrong. You taught me that."

"Lying is wrong. You've learned well." She hesitated. "Do you know why?"

"Why? Because it's wrong."

"Morally wrong, you mean. Ethically wrong." Mom was using her 'teaching' voice.

"Well, yes. That's what it means, right?"

"Yes. But there's more to it than that. It's a bit much to explain to a child, but I think you've got enough wisdom by now to appreciate the rest of it. Lying isn't just morally wrong. It's wrong because it's incorrect."

"You mean, because you're saying things that are false."

"That's not what I mean. Lying is an incorrect way to go about life. When you lie, you're doing it wrong. You're screwing up. You think you're grabbing hold of an advantage, but you're not- you're weakening yourself. Your word means less. You're taking away from your integrity and your character. If you chip enough of that away, you'll have nothing left. You'll stand for nothing, you'll believe in nothing, and nothing will be left of you. Nobody will believe a word you say. Nobody will believe in you, period."

"OH! Like the boy who cried wolf. The story."

"Precisely. That's not a perfect story, though. I've never really liked it because it kind of misses the point. When children hear that one, it teaches them that nobody will believe them if they lie too much. They learn that they can get away with a small amount of lying if they only do it once in a while, so long as nobody finds out. That's the takeaway, and I'm sorry to say it's kind of true. But turn it around. Look at it the other way. What would you think of someone who always told the truth, no matter what? No matter how hard it was for them? No matter what it might cost, or what delicate balances they might upset? How would you describe someone like that?"

"Wow. Um. Okay. Well, they say a man is only as good as his word. So I'd have to say he's a Good man."

"And you'd be right. Your word is your power, Jim. Your word is your strength. People who tell the truth all the time show up bigger. They have more presence, they're more engaged with the world. They have a kind of a Gravitas about them. Think of what would be possible if you refuse to lie even to Yourself. When you say only what you mean, and you mean only what you say... when you keep the promises you make, and don't ever promise what you can't keep, you can do anything. Anything at all. The world is yours. You're doing it right."

"Well. Gosh. Thank you for raising me to be a good man."

"Don't ever stop trying. I'm proud of you, Jim. Do the same with Emma and Tommy."

"I will."

"Is that a promise?"

"It is." The promise had extra weight now.

"Good. Thank you."

"Well. Speaking of promises, Linda called you. I assume you told her you'd call her back and tell her whatever you learned from me."

"Yes. And I'll tell her the truth. But I won't tell her anything that you specifically ask me to keep confidential. If she presses me, I'll say I promised you. And if there's anything you want me to pass along to her, I will."

"Then tell her you don't know where I am or where I'm staying, aside from the fact that I'm avoiding her, and I'm asking her not to come after me. I'm not willing to talk until we see the counselor together, and you can tell her that I need the time and the space to get my head together. I've got decisions to make that she should be prepared not to like. She made her choices, now I've got to make mine. I think she'll be horrified to realize that I DO have a choice. I've asked several of our friends to pass along the same thing to her. She might as well hear it from you, too."

"That's all?"

"Well, I told some of them to say 'Fuck You' first. You can. You don't have to. I wouldn't ask."

"I think she probably has it coming."

"Mom?"

"I have some very specific thoughts on the subject of marital infidelity, born from my own painful personal mistakes. When I compromised my marriage, I broke myself. I'll carry that injury for the rest of my life. I mean, I've healed from it as best I can, but if you lose your leg in a car accident or something, your leg is still gone. If that woman thinks she can do this to you and say everything's fine, then she needs to have that stupid notion slapped out of her."

"I told Rich and Janice."

"You did? Good for you."

"You keep surprising me. I would have thought you'd tell me I should keep everything quiet."

"What's the point? Secrecy is for the cheaters. Everybody's going to find out sooner or later. Might as well be sooner. You haven't done anything to dishonor yourself yet, have you?"

"No."

"Not seeing anyone else?"

"God no. I couldn't. I don't even want to think about that."

"Good. Don't. Trust me, it's not worth it. Wait for everything to be over and done with. If you do break up with Linda, don't be petty or cruel. Don't fight about anything pointless. Do what you can to protect my grandchildren. Come out of this with your head held high, however it works out. And you'll have me in your corner all the way, no matter what. Okay?"

"Okay. Mom. Thank you."

"I love you, Jim."

"I love you too, Mom."

"Call me tomorrow?"

"Okay."

"Okay. Good luck."

"Thanks. Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

Huh. That went well.

My phone had pinged any number of times during that call, but I'd ignored it. Looking back, I'd gotten seven or eight calls and a whole slew of text messages, only a few of which interested me.

Linda's messages had changed their tone several times. She was no longer talking down to me. She'd become even more desperate:

Please, Jim, don't be like this! I know you're getting these messages, I know you've been talking to my parents and our friends, I need you to talk to me! Please! You owe me at least that much. You owe it to our marriage and your children to at least talk to me! Then she became angry and accusatory. Don't do this to me, Jim! Don't do this to US! I know you're upset, you have every right to be upset, but you need to pull yourself together. You can't threaten our marriage like this! Don't you dare break up our family! Think of Emma and Tommy, for god's sake, you don't want them growing up in a broken home just because your feelings got hurt for one night! I nearly threw my phone out the window over that one. I resolved not to read any more messages and I sure as hell wasn't going to listen to any of her voice mail.

Gus sent me She's making the rounds. I delivered your message, including the Fuck You' part. Good. I got a similar one from Andy, but I don't know if he said 'Fuck You.' Maybe not. He's probably too nice for that.