January Sucks

So, near the middle of their Junior year, Ellen noticed when he began sitting near her in the two classes they had together, in the lunchroom, and even a few times in the library. One morning he nearly tripped over her in a stairwell, gathered himself, and then leveraged the accident to ask her out on a date. Catching her off guard, she reflexively stammered out a "Y-yes."

Their date was understated but perfect. Brett picked Ellen up in his granddad's old pickup truck and took her to a local park where he had decorated a picnic table with a linen tablecloth and elegant place settings. Sure, the dinner was just takeout from a local restaurant, but Ellen couldn't believe he would go to all this trouble just for her. They talked and talked, until long after dark and the last candle flickered out. Then, together they picked up and stowed the dishes, their occasional touches sending electrical shocks through their bodies. He was so kind, so thoughtful, so genuine.

That began what Ellen had considered her one true love affair. Brett drew her out of her shell, helping her make new friends in his expanded social circle. For her part, Ellen did everything she could to be supportive of her new love. Whenever their schedules conflicted, she would usually acquiesce to Brett. The only real problem came with their intimacy. The abuse in Ellen's past initially made it difficult for her to feel fully comfortable with normal teenage exploration. But as time passed, Ellen came to trust Brett and became more and more comfortable with the time they spent alone.

They continued to date with increasing intensity through the remainder of high school and when Brett was offered a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious west coast university, Ellen excitedly followed, landing a partial academic scholarship and winning a spot on the university's freshman cheer team.

Then Ellen's story took a decidedly dark turn as she began telling of her time at college. How her beautiful Brett began to change as his basketball career took off. She talked about the magical first year, the more difficult second, and finally the wheels coming off the cart at the end of the third. She described his descent into near-egomaniacal selfishness.

By the end of their Junior year, Brett had changed. Even in his classes, he began to assume that special allowances would be made for him; but that was to be expected in a situation like his. He complained about not having enough time to study, so he didn't. If his grades fell, instead of buckling down and working harder, he spoke to his coaches and, more often than not, the grade was altered, or he was provided a special tutor.

She told of the parties with the other athletes, often in off-campus locations hosted by alumni. She described the alcohol and drugs, how she was drawn in and hated herself for it. And she told about the sex. How she and Brett had started as voyeurs, watching with astonishment at the hookups that took place, often right in front of them. And then how he had encouraged her to participate, eventually threatening her if she didn't.

Finally, exhausted in the telling and with her head lowered, she told of the calamitous end. Just before finals she discovered that she was pregnant. Ashamed to admit it to herself, she wasn't even sure the child was Brett's. When she told him, he became angry. He wasn't ready to be a father. His whole life was ahead of him. He blamed her. It seemed, in fact, that he hated her. She had to get rid of "the problem." No, it didn't matter what she thought about abortion; that was her only choice. But he would do the noble thing. He would pay for it.

She described calling the local family planning center, scheduling an appointment, and then the long two-week wait for the next time the traveling doctor would be able to perform the procedure. Her eyes were moist as she talked about the day of the abortion, itself. Her voice softened to a whisper as she talked about the pain she felt for days afterwards and of the bleeding. Of a late-night trip to the emergency room, taken by a friend because her boyfriend was at another party and was either too drunk or too high to drive.

Then, shaking her head to regain control, she talked of complications. Perforated uterus. Hemorrhagic shock. Sepsis. And finally, hysterectomy.

Ellen was weeping softly now. She loved kids. Since she was young, Ellen dreamed of having a family, a big family, a loving family. And then that was gone. And its loss was something that her relationship with Brett could not survive; in all honesty, she no longer wanted it to. She now saw their relationship as the dysfunctional thing it had become. The tears were now flowing freely.

My heart went out to Ellen. Now I understood the sad look in her eye the night we were first introduced. It was empathy. She knew what I had been going through. She felt what I had felt. And, as she raised those beautiful eyes to look at me, I saw that the sadness wasn't there. It had been replaced by hope -- as if by sharing her story and her loss with a kindred spirit, she had somehow purged her soul of the pain.

But then her eyes took on a look of confusion followed quickly by surprise. I turned to see what she was looking at and saw Linda striding up to our table, her face filled with anger.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Who is this slut?"

I stood up to confront her. "Keep your voice down, Linda." I whispered.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do!" She shouted, if anything increasing her volume by several decibels. "You're having an affair?"

Seeing that taking the calming approach would not work, I decided to raise my voice so that the other patrons could hear. Rather forcefully, I said.

"This is not an affair, Linda. This is lunch. An affair is when a wife has sex with someone who is not her husband, and I believe you're the one whose an expert at that!"

She looked shocked, glancing from side to side to see the faces of all the people who had heard my response. I've heard the expression, 'taking the wind out of someone's sails,' but I'd never actually witnessed it happening in real life before. It was amazing.

"Ellen, please give us just a minute." Then turning to Linda, I said, "I think we should take this outside so that you don't embarrass yourself any more than you already have."

I held my wife by the elbow as I guided her back through the restaurant and off to the side of the valet stand. As we passed by the door, I saw Dee trying to look inconspicuous while sitting with a group of her friends and I instantly knew how this scene had been triggered.

"I hope you're satisfied, Linda. Now everyone in the restaurant knows what you did and probably thinks you're crazy on top of it. Just go back to your office or wherever you came from."

Linda looked properly rebuked but still angry.

"Who is she? How do you know her?" She asked.

"Her name is Ellen and you're responsible for introducing us." I replied.

"That's impossible." She stated. "I don't even know her." So I relayed the story.

"So, you see, if you hadn't spent the weekend with LaValliere, Ellen wouldn't be sitting in there with me today."

"But Dee said that she saw you holding her hand. What was that all about?" She asked.

"Consoling, Linda. Ellen shared something personal and very painful with me. I was consoling her. That's what kind people do." I replied.

"And you had to do it behind my back?" She spat. "If it was that innocent, you should have invited me. You've always said that married people shouldn't see others alone without the other knowing."

Well, she had me there. I had said that repeatedly in the past. But somehow, I supposed that her having an actual affair should have allowed me a little leeway.

"Yes, in a public restaurant, Linda. What did you think was going to happen? Besides, it's not as if you haven't done much worse lately."

"You keep going back to what I did. Can't you understand that was very different?"

"I wasn't talking about last Friday." I stated seeing a look of surprise cross Linda's face. "What did you do last night, Linda?"

"Nothing." She stated flatly. "I just spent the evening with the kids like always."

"All evening, Linda?" I asked.

Realization was now apparent. She had made the connection. While I still didn't know what exactly took place, I was sure that she had crossed well over the line that she was now trying to enforce with me.

"Of course." She replied hesitantly.

"I stopped by the house last night, Linda." Her look of realization was now replaced by fear.

"Why didn't you come in?" She asked.

"Because you weren't alone, Linda." Now my anger was rising.

"What did you see?" Her words coming out more sheepishly now.

"Enough to know that what you just told me was a lie." Her hand flew to her mouth reminding me of how she looked standing on the Asshole's porch. I also realized that, since I hadn't looked through the entire video, I probably shouldn't tip my hand until I knew what had gone on for sure.

"We need to talk alright, Linda. But not here and not now. I'll come by after work to see the kids. After dinner we can talk." I said, brooking no argument. She was still looking down, but now nodding. Without another word or touch, I turned and headed back into the restaurant.

As I passed into the dining area I turned and stood in front of Dee's table staring into her apprehensive face.

"You are a vile person, Dee. I want you out of my life. Completely. I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. I don't even want to hear about you. If I do, I will probably be forced to do something you won't like. Do you understand?"

Dee sat, obviously stunned by my attack. I went on. "I need you to nod your head, Dee. Do you understand?" She nodded.

"Good." And I turned and walked back to my table.

Ellen was sitting quietly looking out the window as I sat in my seat. She turned to me, not with anger or embarrassment, but with a look of kindness.

"That must have made you feel horrible." She said focusing on me. "But you handled it so well." How could a woman who had been the victim of a surprise attack and called a "slut" in public still think first of me?

"Empathy," I thought. That was it. The ability to understand and internalize someone else's feelings. The capacity to put yourself in the shoes of another human being and experience the emotions they were experiencing. That's exactly what Ellen had -- empathy -- and exactly the characteristic that Linda had lacked throughout this whole episode.

As I listened to Ellen work her way back to our "Pre-Linda" conversation, my mind drifted back to try and recover a time when Linda had exhibited this trait. Linda had many wonderful characteristics. She was kind and generous, loving and sweet, strong and confident. But I couldn't think of a single time that she had demonstrated empathy in a difficult situation.

To a great extent, it was Linda's lack of empathy that allowed her to leave me at Morrison's that night or alter her plans when I showed up at the Asshole's door several hours later. It was her inability to understand my suffering that made her think that I would be okay with the humiliation she had heaped on me or prevented me from "getting beyond" what she had done. Whether it was in her interactions with me, or even with our children, empathy was just not one of Linda's primary attributes.

Ellen and I finished our lunch but the mood had obviously changed and could not be recovered. We each thanked the other for a wonderful meal and agreed to stay in touch, but no firm plans were made to do so.

We parted sharing a chaste kiss on the cheek. 'A little time and a little space,' I thought as I walked away. That's what we needed right then, especially with the calamity surrounding us.

My team greeted me as soon as I returned from lunch. They were exuberant at how well our solution to the problem had played out. And, frankly, I was equally glad since its failure would have required my attention for the rest of the afternoon.

Instead, I told Karen that I needed some time alone, went into my office, closed the door, and within a few minutes was back to reviewing the recording from the night before.

I was gone for the rest of the afternoon. Oh, I was physically there but after watching the videos, I have no recollection of anything that happened. I vaguely remember Karen poking her head through my door to say 'goodnight' but nothing else. It was now after 6:00 and only one or two stalwarts were still at their posts. I knew that I had promised to go over to my house to see the kids, but I could not imagine being able to see, let alone speak with, Linda.

Nevertheless, for the time being at least, 'normal' was the watchword.

When I arrived, the house was empty. Something was baking in the oven and the table had been set so I wasn't concerned. As I looked more closely, I could see that an envelope had been left on the plate in front of my chair. I picked it up and opened to see a letter from Linda.

"Dear Jim," she had written.

"I know you've tried over and over again to explain to me why my night with Marc was a big enough deal to you that you would even consider divorce. Some of it made sense to me, like the things you thought you knew about me that turned out not to be true that night. Still, I felt that you were making it a much bigger issue than it had to be, and I have to admit that sometimes I've resented you for it.

"Now I know. I watched you sitting with another woman, knowing I could never compete with her, knowing there wasn't a single thought of me in your head, and I knew how you felt when I danced with Marc. I saw you smiling as you held her hand and I knew how you felt when Dee told you I'd left with Marc. I hope I'll never know how I'd feel if I knew you made love with another woman. I know enough as it is.

"I am sorry, so very sorry, for everything I did with Marc. I am sorry I danced with him, I am sorry I left with him, I am sorry that I ruined our special night for him, and I am sorry that I shared with him what I always intended should be yours alone. I couldn't say that before, because I wasn't really sorry, as I think you know. I was sorry you were hurt, but I clung to the illusion that it was just one night, you would eventually get over it, we would be fine, and I could still enjoy the memory. I really didn't know how badly I had hurt you. That sounds silly to me as I write it, but it's true. Now I know, and I wish with all my heart I had been stronger, and had not let him take me. Any part of me.

"I know our old marriage is dead. Nothing can bring it back. My dearest wish is to begin a new one with you, starting today. I choose you, over anyone else on earth, deliberately and continually, with every breath I take. I have learned that promises don't keep themselves: they have to be tended and protected and sometimes even fought for. There are no time-outs from promises. I will keep you first in my mind and heart every moment I'm awake. Now I have the pain, mine as well as yours, to remind me of what can happen when I don't.

"I'm still just plain old, same old me. I can't compete with Ellen. In spite of that, could you go all in, and build a marriage with me?

"Love always, with all my heart, soul, and body,

"Linda."

A week ago I would have treasured the letter. Even twenty-four hours ago I would have loved it, especially the self-awareness Linda was finally beginning to show. But that was yesterday, a lifetime ago, and today was today. I had seen the recordings. I put the letter inside my coat pocket, grabbed a beer, and waited in the living room for my wife and children to come home.

That evening with the kids was great. It is almost impossible not to be "in the moment" when you are down on the carpet playing with trucks and bears and dolls. And we wrestled around on the floor. The playful touching was a healing balm for my soul. But all too soon we were called to dinner. All of us washed up and headed into the kitchen as Linda placed the dishes of food on the table, all the while looking and acting like a modern version of Mrs. Cleaver from "Leave it to Beaver."

After dinner I helped put the kids to bed and, as was usual in our household, helped them with their prayers. I even said a silent one of my own, praying for the wisdom to help me do the right thing; the thing that would make this nightmare go away and give us all peace. But peace didn't come.

When I entered the living room, I noticed that Linda had poured me a drink and was holding a glass of wine, obviously setting the stage for an important discussion. But I just couldn't do it. I told her that, while I realize that I had promised to talk to her, I was really exhausted and needed to beg off for the night.

"But what about my letter? Did you even read it?" She asked.

"Of course I did, Linda, and I would love to discuss it with you. Just not tonight." And with that I picked up my coat and headed toward the door.

"Don't I even rate a kiss?" She asked.

I looked at her for a moment, then remembering my 'keep things normal' mantra, I kissed her politely on the cheek and headed out the door, telling her that I would be back tomorrow and we could talk then.

Back at the hotel, I had just begun to slip out of my work clothes when I heard the now-familiar "chirp" on my phone. I picked it up and saw that it was a text message to Linda from Dee.

"So, how did he take it?" Dee asked.

"I don't know." Linda replied. "He didn't stay long so I didn't get a chance to talk to him about it."

"He's such an ass," texted Dee, obviously ignoring my reprimand just a few hours earlier. "How is it that he can't understand you love him and that the moron will never be lucky enough to get someone like you ever again."

"I don't know, Dee." Linda replied. "He seemed so distant this evening. Almost like someone had died. I'm not sure where his head is or even if he is coming back."

"Well, don't worry about it, sister. It's not like you're stuck in a convent or anything, is it?" Came Dee's cryptic response. "Has "Marc" said anything about next time?"

"No. I'm just playing it by ear."

And after a little neighborhood gossip and a sincere goodbye, the text exchange mercifully ended. It was clear that Linda had told Dee about the Asshole stopping by the house last night and at least some of what they did. But it was also obvious that Linda was withholding the most damaging information, even from her purported best friend.

I really was tired, so I only watched the cable news channel while I got ready for bed. Once I climbed in and was comfortable, I had no sooner closed my eyes when the "chirp" sounded again. I debated saving it for morning but, ultimately, my curiosity got the best of me. I rolled over and grabbed for my phone.

It was the recording of a phone call -- one that Linda had placed to LaValliere right after she ended her text conversation with Dee. I clicked the "Play" button and began my descent into hell.

"Hi Marc, sorry to be calling so late, but I promised that I would." It appeared that they had spoken on the telephone again while Linda was at work.

"No problem, Babe. Just sitting here with a beer and a playbook, taking a look at what they're going to run at me on Sunday."

"You know, it's going to be fun watching you on T.V., especially knowing you so much better now."

"Tell you what, Linda. As my special signal to you, I'll wear my football towel on the left side of my belt during the first half and on the right in the second. That way you'll know that, even in the middle of an important game, I'm still thinking about you." He didn't bother to tell her that he had said the same thing to dozens of women over the years and did it for every game just to keep their foolish hearts swooning for him.