Funeral Dirge for a Fairytale

“In the letter, the one I sent to you. I saw that– that you had a bunch of things highlighted and circled. That there were some notes.” Tim’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened. “I didn’t read them! I put it away. I shouldn’t have intruded and, again, I’m sorry for that.” He seemed mollified. “I don’t know if it’ll help you– help you, I dunno, try to get past things or understand them or whatever. But if I can explain anything, in the note or out, if you have any questions, I’ll answer. I promise, I’ll be as honest as I can be; I was in the letter, too.” I looked down. “I know my promises probably don’t mean much to you right now.”

“No, not really.”

“I understand. I deserve that. But the promise is there anyways. I won’t try to shade the truth or hide anything, either to make myself look better or make you feel better. I want to… I know we’ll never get past this, not really. But I want to be able to get past it enough.” I glanced up. “Do you get what I mean?”

He slowly nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Enough that we can be around each other, be decent around each other for… you know, at some point we’re going to have to think of a name for her.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “Yeah. Yeah. Be awkward if she’s trying to get a driver’s license as ‘Unnamed Daughter.’”

He grinned, the first time I’d seen him honestly and openly smile since this all began. It was so beautiful and so heartbreaking. My breath caught for just a moment. God, why did I throw this away?

“So, if there’s anything you want to know, please, just ask. And this is an open invitation. If you think of something at two in the morning a year from now, call me and wake me up.”

We sat in silence for a while as he weighed my offer. I ate a little more, drank a little more. It wasn’t bad, but there was a reason that I cooked when we were together. Maybe I could make him something nice this week, if I was feeling decent. “Yeah, okay. I did have a couple– no, I really only have one question.”

I put my utensils down and braced myself. “Shoot.”

His gaze was steady and his face almost emotionless. “Did you really blow up our life over a fucking hobby?”

My jaw dropped open. I closed it again, then opened it again. I’m sure I looked like a fish. The part of me that thought of herself as a “Writer” with a capital W, who thought of her writing as a calling, almost as a religious sacrament, was deeply offended.

Then I realized she was the same idiot that had destroyed my life.

It was… I loved to write. And that was the problem: I had loved the spark, the rush of creation, the persistent buzz that whispered ‘this must go from pen to paper, it’s phenomenal and important and the Truth,’ all of it, more than I’d loved my husband.

It was just a hobby. Derek at least had the excuse that his art was his dream and his livelihood. I hadn’t realized, until Tim asked me that question, just how much I’d put him into the background. How much I’d let a rush, a thrill, an… an addiction. That’s what it was. How much I’d let an addiction take from me.

“Yes.” My head dropped down. I couldn’t look at him. “I didn’t think of it that way then. I… I fell in love with the romance of writing, of making something that no one had ever made before. Something that was mine, just mine. I could share it with others if I wanted, or I could keep it secret and safe. I can’t… I don’t know how to explain it. It was the thing that I used… when I was trying to escape from my life, with Gloria and Don, and being an affair baby that was used as a bargaining chip, and my boyfriend that cheated on me with my permission, and… and all the other shit that happened to me, or was done to me, or that I allowed to happen to me… it was my refuge. And I think– no, I know, that I had an unhealthy relationship with it. I didn’t realize it until now. Not really.”

Tim snorted. “Christ. You know…” He stopped and looked away.

“No, please, Tim. Don’t– I want to know. Please. If it helps you, even if it hurts me, please. I just want to… I’m so sorry. Please, let me help you through this, if I can. At all. I’ll do anything. Please.”

He sighed, still not looking at me. “When I was a kid, I… my family wasn’t as bad as yours. Not even in the ballpark. But I needed my time away from them. Games were that refuge for me. I grew up with a controller in my hands. When… when things got loud. When mom was yelling at dad, or dad was yelling at my sister, or they were slamming doors and stomping around, they were my refuge. My escape.”

I nodded.

“And I still love them now. Still play every day, just about. You know that. But I would never… if the choice was between cheating on you even once and never playing again, taking every one that I own and throwing them into a fire, it would be a no-brainer.”

“I did.” It slipped out before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“I burned them. My writings. All of them. Everything since I was a kid that I hadn’t given away or… or worked with someone else on.”

He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah. Your ‘collaborations.’ I can’t even listen to the radio anymore. If one of his songs comes on, I just wonder ‘how many times did he fuck Ellie to get this one finished?’”

I willed myself to not start crying. I was here for him, not me. My tears could wait until later. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. So, why’d you burn them?”

“I couldn’t stand… they were a reminder of what I’d done. What I did to you, what I threw away. I couldn’t take looking at them anymore. Didn’t even want them to exist.”

“Did it help?”

“No.” I couldn’t anymore. The tears came whether I wanted them or not. “No, it didn’t. I don’t regret burning them; I wouldn’t have been able to stand having them around.” I looked up at him. “But it wasn’t the poems and the stories that were the problem. I was the problem. How I… what I did.. To write them. That I was the type of– the type of person that could do that. Burning them didn’t fix it.”

I wiped my eyes and I continued. “That morning, you said I was just like Gloria.” He opened his mouth, and I could see he was about to apologize; he’d been angry, he hadn’t meant it, whatever. “Don’t. Yes, you were angry, and you were trying to hurt me, and I fucking deserved it. But you were wrong. I’m not just like her.” I looked away. “I’m worse.”

“El– “

“I am. I know you’re trying to keep me calm right now because of the baby, and I know– I know you’re a kind person, even after what I’ve done to you. I don’t deserve that kindness, but I appreciate it. But I am worse than Gloria.

“She… Gloria was a terrible person, but the abuse she suffered was orders of magnitude worse than what I did. She was a manipulative, opportunistic bitch, but she… she at least had the excuse that life had made her that way.

“So I had a bad mom. So my dad wasn’t around as much as he should have been, and he let her get away with more than he should have. So my only friend grew up to be a narcissistic asshole. Gloria… Gloria’s life made all of that pale in comparison. She was an awful person, but she came about it honestly. I was just a stupid girl that wanted her fairytale and then, having got it, decided it wasn’t enough.

“Yeah, Gloria was an addict, but heroin– heroin withdrawal is truly awful. It’s an intense pain. It’s a physical need worse than just about anything when someone has to go cold turkey. I saw it when I helped dad at the homeless outreach occasionally. People writhing in agony and willing to do just about anything for a fix. Straight guys begging to suck a cock. Mothers ready to abandon their kids. Anything, no matter how vile.

There was so much self-loathing in my voice. It had surfaced in the past few months, but it lay submerged inside me for years, the self-loathing a junkie always has, always suppresses so they can get on with getting their next fix. “I didn’t have that excuse. I had a beautiful life with a wonderful husband, the best fucking man in the entire fucking world, and I threw it away because– why? Because princess needed to write. Needed to have her tiny little mood boost. So she could show herself that she was still so clever, so good with her words. So that she could get the tiny bit of adulation from people she didn’t like.”

I wanted to throw up. “I love you so much, Tim. So much it hurts. And I’m so sorry you fell in love with me.” I looked at him, pleading. “I’m so sorry, Tim. I’m so, so sorry, that you had to throw your lot in with me. A stupid girl that couldn’t be content with only having someone wonderful be in love with her. You deserve so much better, Tim. So much better.”

I stumbled to my feet. “I’m sorry. I– if you have more questions, I can answer later. I promise. But I need– I need to go lay down. I’m not feeling– I just need to go.” He stood up as if to help me to bed, but I motioned him away. “Not… not like that. Just…” I smiled at him, a sad, wan smile. “I love you, Tim. I love that you are who you are, even now. I’ll… I’ll manage. Thank you for making dinner. It was good. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

I wandered into our… my… his room. Into his bed, that I was taking from him, because I hadn’t taken enough already. I didn’t even bother to change, just laid down and cried myself to sleep.

The next few days went by without much comment. He made a nice breakfast for me in the morning and coddled me a little bit, but things didn’t really thaw that much those first few days; he was just being kind because he was kind.

There were a few little changes after that. He invited me to watch TV with him one night; we were on opposite ends of the couch, but he still asked me to be around him. He chose to subject himself to me, even though he didn’t need to. That became a regular thing for us, and, while we never got to the point where we were cuddling on the couch, we also stopped acting like there was an invisible crowd separating us.

I did end up making him dinner one night. He was irritated at first, because I was supposed to be resting, but I just showed him the care instructions that came with my release from the hospital, with “light duties are allowed, including cooking and some housework” underlined. The next day, I took over a little bit of the cleaning as well. If he objected, out came the paper. He smiled at that, and eventually relented.

Tim went out some nights. Always came back before midnight. I didn’t ask. It wasn’t my place to anymore. But he usually came back smelling just a little bit of cigarettes and beer. I assumed he went to a bar those nights. Once I thought I caught a whiff of perfume on him, and he was smiling a lot more. I cried myself to sleep that night, hoping he wouldn’t hear me.

Near the end of our month, we were having lunch on a Saturday. He took a long drink and said, “You should just stay.”

“What?”

“There’s no point in you moving back to Don’s, at least not yet. You still need to be on bed rest and I’ve got the okay to work from home for a few more months. Don has to be out of the house for eight hours out of the day, at least, and I’d just… I’d feel better if there was someone able to watch out for you and the baby.”

It made a certain amount of sense, and I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to jump right at the opportunity. We weren’t anywhere near reconciled, and I didn’t expect us to ever get all the way there. But we’d moved closer to being comfortable around each other again. I didn’t want to screw that up by overstaying my welcome.

I sighed. “Tim, I… I really appreciate that. But this is your apartment. I’ve kicked you out of your bed, you’re having to sleep on that couch, you’ve got no privacy… It’s just not fair to you.”

A frown appeared on his face. “Yeah, I know. Not a goddamned thing about this is fair to me, El. But it’s the hand I’ve been dealt.”

Fuck. “I’m… I didn’t mean– “

He shook his head. “I’m not– “ A deep breath, then he continued. “I know that’s not what you meant. But this sucks, Ellie. I thought my whole life was planned out in front of me, and it turned out to have been a lie.” I couldn’t look at him. “You said that you’d do anything to try to get us to the point where we can be around each other again, maybe be friends. So please, just fucking accept the offer, okay? Give me one less goddamned thing to worry about.”

“I’m sorry. Of course, I’d love to stay. Thank you, Tim.” I would. That was the honest truth. I’d stay the rest of my life if he’d let me, however he wanted me to.

We resumed eating, then a few minutes later, he said. “I never thanked you.”

“What?” I had a mouthful of sandwich, so it came out “Wuh?”

“For getting Derek to not press charges.”

I chewed a few more times, then swallowed and took a drink. I wanted to buy a little time to think about what to say to that. “Um, of course. It was the least I could do. The least– least we could both do. I mean– “ Time well spent, Ellie. Real quality wordsmithing there.

He laughed at the consternation evident on my face. “I understand, I think. You don’t need to explain. Regardless, thank you. I was… I’m not proud of that.” He rolled his eyes. “Okay, yes, part of me is. There’s a part of me that wishes I’d done more. But I know I shouldn’t have. I could have gone to jail for a long time for that. And you made sure I didn’t. So… thank you.”

“Of course.”

The rest of our lunch went on without incident. The rest of that month, too, for that matter. There were things going on, of course. Tim asked me to make a shopping list for the nursery; he spent the better part of two weekends buying and putting together the furniture and decorating it. He also added a small twin bed to the shopping list. “I’m tired of the couch, and if someone needs to stay over, they can sleep there.” Someone. I smiled inwardly, but tried to not read too much into it. Someone.

We kicked around baby names for a while. We thought about a bunch of different options: literary allusions, because of course, mythology, pop culture, family names, throwing darts at a baby name book. We finally settled on Amelia. Why? We liked how it sounded.

A couple of nights later, I woke up to a strange noise coming from the nursery. Tim had moved in there for the time being, sleeping on the new twin bed. I heard it again; slipping on a robe, I made my way there as quietly as I could. I was eight months pregnant by then, so I moved like a duck trying to be a ninja.

Pushing open the door, I quietly whispered, “Tim?” He was twitching on the bed, small, frantic movements. Muted, unintelligible frightened noises were coming from his mouth. I moved to his side and put my hand on his shoulder. “Tim. Tim, babe, you’re having a nightmare.” He cried out my name in his sleep, a sound of anguish in his voice. “Tim! Tim! I’m here!” With a start, he sat up and gasped for breath.

I sat next to him on the bed. He was shaking, and I could see tears starting to roll down his face in the dim moonlight coming through the window. His voice was so small when he asked, “Why did you do this to us Ellie?” I hugged him as we both cried.

“I’m sorry, Tim. I was weak and stupid and selfish. I love you so much. I’m… I’d give anything to have never done any of this.” He held me close, and we stayed that way for a while, desperate to find warmth in what remained of us. I stood up and took his hand. “Come on. There’s room for both of us in your bed.”

“Ellie, I– “

“No, Tim. It’s not… It’s– I just don’t want us to be alone tonight. That’s all. You want me to be here so you don’t worry about the baby. I want you with me tonight so I don’t worry about you, okay?” It was self-serving and true at the same time. I did want him in bed with me. I missed it, and the way he had held me reminded me of that. But I also didn’t want him to be alone, even if it was just for tonight.

We laid together in the bed, and for a while, I was able to convince myself that it was us again, the real us that we were before I’d fucked everything up. I nestled in next to the man I loved and tried to give him what comfort he’d allow. He fell asleep before me, and I tried to freeze the moment in my mind, in case it was the last time this happened. His smell was still one of my favorite things in the world, and I breathed it deep before I joined him in slumber.

The next morning, he was gone. He’d left the apartment; that wasn’t that unusual, but he didn’t return until nightfall. He came through the door and said, “We need to talk.” The tension was written across all of him. His face, his shoulders, even the way his hands clenched and unclenched.

We sat on the couch together. “Tim, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t–”

He cut me off. “No, Ellie. I’m going to talk. You just listen.” I nodded.

“I can’t do this. I need… I want to have you here. I want to make sure Amelia is safe. That means I need to make sure you’re safe. But– “ He stopped, taking a deep breath. “But I need to be safe, too. I need to feel safe. And I don’t. I can’t– last night, you said you love me. I won’t– I can’t trust you. I don’t.”

I nodded sadly. “I understand.”

“No!” He snapped. “No, you don’t! I want to! I want to so badly that it hurts! I miss you, I love you, and I fucking hate you! This morning was the most painful thing that’s happened to me in months! Since I found out– found out that you were fucking Derek and might be pregnant with his baby!”

He stood and started to pace. “I woke up next to you, and it was like a fucking nightmare had ended. For just a moment, I thought the last year had been a bad dream. I kissed you on the forehead and cuddled up to you, and I felt happier than I’ve ever been. But then I looked down at your belly, and the new apartment we were in, and I realized it had all happened. I wanted to cry.”

He stopped and closed his eyes. “I know you were trying to be kind last night.” He opened them again and stared at me. “No. No, that’s not right. I want to believe you were being kind, but I’ll never know. I don’t have that kind of certainty anymore. My wife, Ellie, I’d know she was trying to be kind. The bitch that cheated on me? I have no idea. Maybe she was. Maybe she was just trying to figure out how to not lose her meal ticket.”

I nodded unhappily. He was right. I was trying to be kind, kind to both of us, even if I was being a little selfish. But he had no way to know if that was the truth.

Tim sighed. “You say you want to be my friend. Okay. I’m willing to believe that. But friends don’t… if I was just your friend, you wouldn’t have offered that last night. I need you to… I need some distance. I’m not asking you to move out, but please, don’t do anything like that again. You can be kind without being…” He searched for the word.

“... Intimate.” He nodded.

“Yes. Intimate. I can’t be that with you again. It hurts too much.”

That put a damper on our burgeoning… whatever we were for a few days. I tried to figure out how close was too close; I erred on the side of distance over intimacy. He had another nightmare a few days later, and I went to wake him up, but didn’t embrace him. We stayed further apart on the couch when we were watching TV. Meal times were still friendly, but there was always a tenseness there that kept them from getting too friendly.

Things might have continued like that, but a couple of weeks later, I woke one morning to find the bed drenched. I was disoriented; at first I thought I’d pissed myself. But then I realized… “Tim! Tim!” He burst into the room. “My water’s broken!”

I’ll spare you the gory details, but Amelia was born in the late afternoon after nine hours of labor. She was beautiful and healthy, all her fingers and toes exactly where they should be, with a very, very healthy set of lungs. Tim stayed in the room for the whole process, giving me support and comfort as I needed, holding my hand and counting for me between pushes.

Any attempts at avoiding intimacy went out the window that day. I told him that I loved him over and over during the process, apparently quite a rarity according to the staff. When it was over, he gave me the sweetest, softest kiss on the forehead. His voice was warm with gratitude and, I wanted to believe, love as he said, “Thank you, Ellie. She’s so beautiful.” Then he put her in my arms. I cried big, happy tears. They were mostly for my little girl, but I’d be lying if I said that show of genuine and unguarded affection from my husband didn’t contribute to it.