February Sucks - The Two Notes

The next day we had great fun with the kids before dinner. They were animated and carrying on during dinner, so we let them watch a bit of Frozen, before they fell asleep, and we tucked them into their PJs and bed.

I decided I'd wait and see if he'd bought condoms. He said nothing. Another day went by, then a few more. It was nearing June. He said nothing, Waiting was not the answer, if I wanted to know, it was up to me. "Jim, you said you'd let me know when you bought condoms, a few days back. Remember?"

"Oh, my gosh! I did say that, and I totally forgot. I am so sorry."

This psych war was hard to deal with. I was crushed. My loving-husband not-only was no longer loving, he couldn't even be bothered. I felt defeated. Choking back tears, I said, "No, that's okay. I'll pick some up." I wanted to add because I need to feel affection, even if he didn't. But I couldn't bear the thought. It wouldn't raise his hackles. He'd just calmy agree.

He shook his head, "Oh, no. I bought them the next day. Just like I said. I just forgot I told you I'd let you know when I bought them. That was thoughtless. I apologize."

Thoughtless my ass. "Oh, that's ok." I muttered, insincerely. "I just didn't see the box."

"I didn't buy a box. I bought two."

"Two?"

"Well, it has been a while for me, and I probably will not last long. I thought we might need two."

I don't know if I can do this. A man goes off to enable himself to have sex after nearly three months and buys a one-night supply. One-night? Horny as he is it probably still won't be much of a night. I must confront this. I just have no idea how. "Jim, I love you. You are breaking my heart. We can't go on like this. What can I do?"

"About what?"

I inhaled and held my breath. I let it out slowly and without trying to be subtle about it. "What do you mean about what?"

He tilted his head, "I am confused. About is a preposition indicating, concerning, and what is well, I'm not sure, I guess an adverb, but its meaning should be clear. What is it you want to know?'

"Jim. You are no longer interested in me. You don't care about me. I so want to go back to where we were. What can I do?"

"Read the note."

He walked off. I cried. There was no sex.

A week passed. He never mentioned the lack of sex, he never mentioned anything. We were two happy roommates, with two little happy roommate companions. I finally needed some relief. "Jim, I'd like to make love tonight."

"Sure." He paused, then looked at me, "I assume you mean with me."

I ran to the bedroom and closed the door.

He came in. Well, not exactly. He opened the door, stood at its threshold and said, "I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot. I promised myself no cheap shots. It makes me too angry to do things like that.Iam better than that. I know you meant with me. I would be pleased to join you."

"Pleased to join me? No thanks."

"Again, I apologize. Let me know if you change your mind, tonight, or in the future."

He quietly closed the door and I cried longer and harder than I ever had before.Unless I found the solution, he had clearly told me repeatedly, we were finished. We were merely marking time.

More as penance than anything else, I waited 'til he came to bed. I lay naked, "Jim, make love to me."

He took off his clothes and lay beside me. He kissed me and started teasing my sex. He knew how to do that to get me excited enough he could penetrate me with a finger and gently tease me to orgasm. He did. Just like he had many times before. Unlike anytime in our married life, he rolled away from me, got in his bedside table pulled out a two-condom packet (he wasn't kidding, he got two), opened one of them, rolled it on, rolled back beside me and entered me. He was right. He didn't last long.

I'd had an orgasm from my husband, for the first time in approaching three months. He'd had an orgasm with me, for the first time in that same period. He got up, rolled the condom off, tied it, and threw it away. He got back in bed.

"Thank you, Jim, that meant a lot."

"Thank you." He rolled over and went to sleep. I began crying again.I didn't time it, but our first time took less than 15 minutes. Were I honest, I am sure it was less than ten. We often spent more time just kissing, getting ready. Make-up sex takes all night. Maybe there is no way back.

I had to talk to someone. I called Dee. She just babbled on and on about Jim needed to grow up and get a pair. There wasn't a woman alive who wouldn't trade a night of wild sex with some NFL stud for a little groveling and the great life that followed. He must be told to let me grovel and get on with life. Clearly, she didn't understand Jim.

A few nights later, there was a phone call. I was in a much better mood. I had gone out and bought condoms to get us through a couple of good months. We hit the supply better than even I had anticipated. I was hopeful. Good mood or not, I was up to my elbows in a fancy dinner and asked Jim to get the phone. He did.

I heard, "Hello."

Pause.

"No."

There was no further conversation. Telemarketers never stop. We sat and were enjoying our meal. The kids were excited by some turtle they'd seen on TV, they wanted one. Well, one each. We said we'd talk about it. The phone call, I wondered who'd called.

"Jim, was that a telemarketer on the phone?"

"No, it was Dee."

"Oh, I see. What did she have to say?"

"Nothing, really. She asked if I had time to talk to her and I answered.

I remembered his answer. Damn, I remembered his whole conversation, "no." Not even hell no. Just a simple no. At least she had the common sense not to call back. Our exchange was the exact pattern of any of our conversations regarding our difficulties. I asked a question and Jim gave a simple answer, leading to no further conversation. The kids didn't hear anything that hit their attention span. I learned from the word or two, not to pursue, and everything was peachy. I bet when I get to my cell phone, it will be full of messages from Dee, who'd not caught on to the nature of these conversations.

I found texts and voice mail from Dee. She was pissed. "When I talk to him, he's going to get a piece of my mind."

I texted back, "Dee, when you talk to him it will be because he doesn't have a piece of his mind left, or he has died. He will have nothing to do with anyone from that night, particularly you. What did you tell him after I left, anyway?"

"Nothing really, I told him not to worry, you loved him and would be home the next day. Any of us would have done the same thing."

"What did he say?"

"You, know, he didn't say much of anything. He had this hollow kind of a look."

"Hollow?"

"Like he was lost, maybe. Confused. He rallied, told us we were dead to him and left."

"He was betrayed, Dee. I betrayed him. He isn't going to snap out of it. I must find the way, myself." She babbled on, telling me her view of what I should do. I listened politely. Well, that's not true. I sat quietly until she seemed to run out of steam and then said I had to go.

Jim and my routine was better. I regularly asked him to make love to me. He never corrected me, and never really made any effort to make love, but we'd fuck, and he was sure I had at least one orgasm during our session. But if I tried to work in some mention of getting back to normal, I'd be referred to the note. It was just more than a page long you'd think he'd know I could recall those few words. I had to alter the status quo. Maybe at the annual bar-b-que.

Our housing development has a small park, with one tennis court, some swings for children, an open area for baseball or football and several picnic tables. Every July 4th we have a neighborhood bar-b-que. We always went. Trouble was two of the couples we were with that evening also always went. The kids were excited to go, Jim told me to take them, and he might catch up with us. I looked at him longingly, wordlessly begging him to go. He smiled and admitted, there was no chance, he should be up front. He was not going to be confronted by "those people", he'd said with air quotes.

So, the kids and I went. There were a dozen or so children the same age and two of the mothers were watching them all, so others could enjoy some adult interaction. The two mothers even had planned relief, from other mothers. I could leave my two and seek, well I really didn't know who I would seek.

I noticed directly across the street from where the children were playing a man, about my age was sitting, in his own yard, by himself. I had no idea who he was but, he looked alone and lost. I was too, so I walked over to say hi.

He stood as I approached. We introduced ourselves, his name was Gary Patterson. He saw me wince when he said his name. "I'm so sorry, Gary. I remember reading about the shooting."

"Thanks, yes, this past Christmas eve was the one-year anniversary. My wife bought gas and was buying our nearly four-year-old daughter a smoothy. She stood behind a man, just waiting. She was holding little Judy in her arms. We'd laughed about that, Judy was almost too big, but Sally loved holding her. The addict was crazed, needing money, I guess to buy more drugs. He screamed at the owner who was getting the money. Apparently, Judy said she didn't like that bad man and Sally tried to quiet her. The addict spun around, and the clerk thinks maybe by accident, fired his gun. One bullet killed both of my girls."

He stopped talking he was misty-eyed and held up a finger, like he needed to pause for a minute. He walked back to his open garage door and brought back a second chair. We sat. We both watched the children playing across the street. A couple of minutes later he started, again.

"I hope you don't mind me sharing this. I have kept it bottled in me and I think it needs to come out."

"No, really, it may sound odd, but if I could help someone with their problems right now, it would make me feel a lot better."

He looked at me like that raised questions he wanted to ask me, but he continued his story. "I got home early, about 4:00, I think, because it was Christmas Eve. Judy and Sally were not there, which was odd. But I thought maybe she had some last-minute detail, and they would be home shortly. But they never came home."

"Mr. Patterson, Gary, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. I need to talk about the half-second. I just have to." He paused and looked at me, I nodded for him to continue. "I was starting to really worry when there was a knock at my door. It was two policemen. They told me both my wife and daughter had been shot and were pronounced dead at the scene. I collapsed."

He gathered himself, and continued, "They were short on detail but knew one shot had gone through the chest of both of them. They did add the store owner had shot the addict, who was also pronounced dead at the scene. I knew I had to go to the hospital; but could not drive. One of the officers took me in my car, the other followed in the police car. I still don't recall anything of the time settling up there and driving home."

He tried to smile, "Life does go on. In a way I was fortunate to be in a new city and a new job. I poured myself into it. Family is too far away, and we had no real friends here, as yet, so I was free to work, brood, eat, sleep, and repeat. I did that for months. Then, one day, I decided I needed to talk to the convenience store owner. I stopped there after work."

He looked at me and suddenly asked, "Can I get you something to drink?"

I asked if he had a beer. He said in a glass or the bottle, I said the bottle would be fine and he disappeared for a moment, returning with two bottles.

"Where was I? Oh, the owner is a nice man, very polite, and when he knew who I was, he almost choked up. His first words were, 'I am so sorry. I have worried, it was my fault.' That stunned me. How could it have been his fault?"

He paused again, and looked across the street at the kids, playing. For a fairly large group, of varying ages, they seemed to be getting along very well. He started talking, again.

"The owner was the one who told me he saw Sally come in holding Judy. Judy said she wanted grape, they had been in before, he knew the little girl liked grape smoothies. Before they could get to the counter, this addict ran up to him and put a gun in his face. He was screaming for money and clearly not in any kind of control of himself. The owner, I am sorry, I don't remember his name, had prepared himself for armed robbers. Just below the cash drawer he kept a handgun. He was reaching for it when Judy said she didn't like the bad man. As the thief turned around, the owner grabbed his own gun. But when he had it, he realized he was in a direct line with the robber and my girls. He took a step to the side and in that instant, the addict shot. He told me his camera showed the two shots were fired a half-second apart. One half of one second. The difference between my girls coming home and ..." His voice trailed off.

"I think you are doing well. It had to be incredibly heartbreaking. I am so sorry to cause you to dredge it all up."

"You're wrong. I sat out here half-way hoping someone would sit and talk with me. I saw how loving you are with your children and that you looked around trying to find somewhere to be giving them a little space and still be able to watch them."

"My that's observant. I wished their father had come with us, but he and I are going through a tough patch. It is all my fault, hopefully time will heal the wound I caused."

"Oh, that's what you meant." I looked at him with my head tilted. "When you said it would make you feel better to hear someone else's problems. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No, I think not. It has consumed us for more than four months. I ..." I could not go on, I started sobbing, then crying.

"Clearly, not talking is the wrong approach. Like you, it would do me good to hear the problems of a new friend. Maybe I can help."

I decided the reason I didn't want to tell the story was I was embarrassed. You can't say you just left your husband on a night that was to be a romantic get-away, and snuck off with some well-hung jock, to get a good fucking. So, I tried to explain it to him as I'd experienced it through some fog-like fantasy. He listened very carefully.

"He's shown no anger?"

"No, strange as it sounds, I am hoping he is too mad to let it out."

"Well, that is one possibility. He didn't leave, that means you have the opportunity to show how sorry you are. I sense you really are sorry."

"More than that, I am crushed. I cannot imagine why I did it. I must show him it was a fantasy gone wrong and I will make it up to him, somehow."

We talked for quite a while. He had been in isolation for so long, he was anxious to talk about how the pain of losing his wife and daughter was just starting to diminish to the point it was tolerable. He told me he didn't think he could ever risk his heart again. He had always wanted to be a father and could not face a life where he might lose another child.

I told him how I was struggling to find the way back to my husband. I had made a terrible error of judgement and had to find how to explain that. He was a great listener and asked a few questions. One of them was why was I willing to talk to him about this and had not found someone else.

I looked over at the kids, all of them were getting tired. A few were cranky, unless I missed my guess there would be some squabble and tears shortly. I thanked Gary for a wonderful afternoon and went to gather my two and head home.

On the way home, they talked about their hot dogs and ice cream. It occurred to me there was a mountain of food available, and I'd not eaten a bite. I was in a bit of a funk walking in the house. It would be nice to share with my husband that I'd talked to a lonely man who'd lost everything and helped him have a good afternoon. My relationship with Jim was not one in which such a conversation was possible. Instead, we got the kids in bed and then used a couple more condoms.

Nearing five months and no progress. I had to get us out of these doldrums. I came up with a plan.

Maybe if we went out and had a great evening and spent some time with other people we could come home, make love, and get started back to normal. I talked Jim into it. I even volunteered I would drive my own car, per his note. We went to a nice place we'd never been to before and got there just a few minutes after 9:00, when their band started playing. I saw a table of four people, with an empty table beside it. We vaguely knew two of the four people sitting at the four-top, I steered us toward the empty table.

We sat and got drinks and introduced ourselves. We were chit chatting when Phil and Jane, from that night, came and joined the four. Jane brightened and said hi to us. I said hi, Jim just glared at me. We sat talking, just the two of us. He finished his beer. He excused himself to go to the bathroom. Ten minutes later I knew he didn't go to the bathroom. He left.

He left by himself and I was humiliated. I was beginning to feel what I did by leaving with another, publicly humiliating him.I looked at my phone. "Oh, my, Jim says he has a headache, we are going to go home." Of course, there was no text from Jim. He was already on his way home. I paid for our drinks. At least his two-car idea enabled me to pretend to be joining him.

So much for an evening out.

It was fall. Most of the year had passed and there was no progress. It is a funny thing, if we were fighting and life was difficult to endure, it would pass so slowly. But that was not the case, we really got along well. If you define well as being smiley and cordial all the time. It was deceptive.

I was trying to be a good wife and he was complementary of my cooking, thanked me for every little thing I did, and down-right loving—in front of the kids. But love making was non-existent and while he made sure I was satisfied from our fucking it was like checking the house to see the doors were locked. A valuable thing to do, but not real high on an emotional level.

I found I was a nervous wreck. I desperately wanted him back and it looked like he was serious about not coming back. You can't live with the dread, so you settle in and get used to the lack of emotion. Every time I went through our situation, I came to the same conclusion. Jim loves me. I hurt him. He must get through his pain and we will find the path back to where we were. Another week went by. I needed to talk to an expert.

I made some phone calls and found a counselor, Wilma Schott, PhD. I knew Jim would never go, but I explained myself and asked if she would see me. Her office said normally she just did couples, but she was intrigued by my story. I went to see her.

She had me sit, I said I didn't need anything to drink. She started, "I don't think I ever heard a story just like yours. I see here you left your husband in front of a group of friends to have sex with a strange man."

"Not a strange man, Marc Lavalliere."

"Hunky guy, how does that bear on what I said?"

"Hello? Marc Lavalliere!"

"Well, I see your problem. How does your husband respond when you remind him who the man was?"

"He won't even talk about it."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I guess I really don't know."

"Oh, come on now. You do know. You just don't want to admit it. You sent me the note he left you. What does it say?"

"He is so angry he is not ready to talk about it."

"No, that's what you want it to say. What are the words? His words?"

I squirmed. She was right. I don't know why I refused to believe what it said, but until that moment I felt he loved me, and the note just expressed his pain. "He isn't mad, or even sad. He's disappointed he married someone so self-absorbed she would throw her marriage away for a night of sex.