Susan's Diary

Susan made her entrance. I'd expected her to sweep in like the prima donna she'd always thought she was, but it didn't happen that way. She came in rather tentatively; she was almost shy. I knew my ex-wife and realized this wasn't an act; she was scared.

I walked over, took her hands and kissed her on the cheek, "Good to see you Susan." She had on a very prim black dress partly covered by an apron, a string of pearls I'd gotten her years before when we were both very young, almost no makeup, hair pulled back in a simple bun. Still holding her hands I leaned back, "Just as beautiful as ever."

She was visibly nervous, almost tearful. I could tell she wanted to say something, her mouth gapped open a couple times, there were some deep sighs, but she didn't say anything. I knew Susan and could tell she was afraid, finally she said, "You look nice too Jeremy." She'd made that hiccoughy sound people sometimes make just before they start crying. Her voice sounded low and husky. I wondered, 'Was she going to cry?' It made me nervous. Once upon a time I would've pulled her close and held her.

Gregg came down the stairs, and the spell was broken. Had he been a second later something important might have come out. He looked from me to his mother, "I'll eat with you, but then I've got to go. The guys are meeting at Steve's to watch some football and see some girls."

Samantha was standing behind her mother, "I can't stay either."

Susan stood by nervously, visibly crushed, not saying anything. I believed she was looking at the kids for support.

I felt the tension. I had to say something. I looked at my son. "Gregg," I asked, "when's your next game?"

"Next Friday," he said.

"Home or away," I asked.

"Away," he said.

I said, "Maybe I'll go." I glanced at Susan, the anticipation, I knew she was waiting for an invite. My stomach was torn in a million knots. I didn't know what to do. I had an overpowering sense that with a few words, one short sentence, I could alter the course of history. I just couldn't find the words.

Not impressed Gregg said, "That would be good. I'm a defensive back like you were."

"Tough position," I said.

He said, "Yeah, pretty tough, especially if the other team has a good receiver or two."

"I got that," I said.

Together, while Susan and Samantha began to put things out Gregg and I settled down to watch some football. I concentrated on the game, Dallas and somebody. It wasn't Detroit. I liked football, but that wasn't why I was there. Susan brought me a beer, a Coors Lite, and a frosted mug. I should say 'my frosted mug', one she'd bought me a long time ago. She was very nervous, she kept looking from me to the mug. I felt awkward and sad. I thought of the paper ballerina in the fairytale; one gust of air and she'd been swept into the fire and burned up while the little tin solder stood by and helplessly watched even as he was melting away. They were both just swallowed into nothingness. It was a melancholy moment.

I discreetly watched the goings on between the kitchen and the dining room. I wondered, 'Was this thanksgiving or the last meal for a condemned man, or in this case a condemned family, a condemned marriage.' I wished I hadn't come.

Just before we sat down I excused myself to the bathroom. For reasons I couldn't explain I went upstairs and used our old bedroom bathroom, the one I would've customarily used any other time. Our bedroom looked perfect. All our old pictures were up. There were unlit candles in strategic places. There was a red rose on what was once my bed pillow. Red, red, oh red, why now? I saw she'd pulled the bed spread and top sheet down; like it was all ready for any eventuality. I felt like crying.

----------

We were at the table by 1:00, a lot earlier than in the past. The girls brought out a huge pile of already cut turkey. I used to cut it in the kitchen, but I guess Susan had cut it this time. Out came the homemade stuffing, the mashed potatoes, the succotash, red cabbage, scalloped oysters, cranberry, string beans, biscuits, butter, and candied sweet potatoes. We passed everything all around. I thought about the food, so much starch. It didn't matter, I piled my plate as high as I could. I ate every damn bit of it, and when I cleaned my plate I did what I always did, I took it to the kitchen sink, rinsed it off, came back, and piled on some more.

Susan smiled. 'Jesus,' I thought, 'that was an affectionate smile, she said, "You always used to do that."

I thought, 'Say something Susan! Say what you need to say and I need to hear.' She didn't, she'd frozen up. I said, "I like a clean plate."

During the meal no one said very much, mostly small talk, the usual stuff, the weather, local politics, the cars, Samantha mentioned Roxanne, a too bad about something, but Susan and I both gave her a look and she shut up.

Thanksgiving was becoming more 'wake' than celebration. We were finished the main course by 1:30. There was a pause, Susan and I had coffee. Gregg and Samantha sat by patiently. Around 1:45 Susan brought out the pies, an apple, a coconut custard, a pumpkin, and a container of tapioca. The tapioca was something her father, now deceased, used to like. I thought the tapioca only added to the gloom. It was a gloomy day outside, gray sky, dark forbidding clouds. It was gloomier inside.

At last dinner was over. Gregg sped off. Samantha made a bow and joined him. All that was left was me, Susan, a heap of dirty dishes, and lots of leftovers that needed to be put away.

I looked over at her, "Now what?"

She said, "Would you help me put the food away and do the dishes with me?"

I stood up and said, "Sure." My mind, my heart kept screaming, 'Say something! Tell me what I need to hear, say what I'm dying to hear!'

First came the food. I stood by while Susan did that. Then came the dishes. The pots and pans needed a personalized wash, cups, plates, saucers, and silverware all the got the dishwasher. We'd used her good china, and the sterling silver. Never having much money it had taken us years to get all the pieces of silver. The last piece of sterling had been the butter knife. I remembered how we hugged and how she'd cried. I vaguely remember she'd said something like, "Now we're complete."

My insides kept screaming, 'Susan, say something. Say it!' How could she not hear me?

We were both standing at the sink. Susan was washing and I was drying. She was scrubbing one of the medium sized pots, it may have been the one for the mashed potatoes when she stopped and started crying. I didn't know what to say so I didn't say anything. I took the pot and finished it. For several seconds she was just frozen in space, then she got control of herself, wiped her eyes with her forearm and softly murmured, "Must have been the onions."

She went on to the next pot. By 4:00 we'd finished everything.

It had been like a funeral; it had begun at 12:00 and by 4:00 it was over. She looked over at me. I'd never seen such a forlorn expression, not on anyone ever. She stood there, and stood there.

Then she said, "I'll get your coat." She got it, walked me to the door, opened it and said, "Thanks for coming. I had a nice time."

I stood still. This was it, her, no our, last chance. I watched. Her eyes were begging, but her mouth didn't move. I kissed her on the cheek, "Me too."

I turned and walked down the steps and out to my SUV. I unlocked the door and opened it, but before I got in I turned and looked back. Susan was standing at the door, she was holding a handkerchief. I could tell she'd started to cry. I wanted to yell at her, "I'm here! Run down the driveway! Run down the fucking driveway!"

She waved. I waved back. I got in my vehicle, and drove away.

The epilogue:

Susan and I never went out together after that. I never went back to my old house. I dated some, but met no one special. Samantha told me Susan never dated at all. She kept the house while Gregg was still in high school, but put it on the market right after that. We saw each other at Gregg's graduation, and on a few occasions when family was involved. When my dad died Susan took time off and stayed with my mom for several weeks helping out. I went over several times, but conversation with Susan was always stiff and uncomfortable. I never checked back on that old diary she'd kept, and I never told her I'd ever seen it. One day Samantha told me she'd thrown it out. I wished she would've burned it.

Oh and Susan still works at the insurance company. She's still the assistant office manager; been passed over for manager twice, a woman you know. I'm still just a C.P.A., no promotions and no plans. Bought another canoe. She used to like canoeing. I think about her sometimes, actually a lot. I still miss her. I wish sometimes she'd really loved me. Sometimes I sit and stare at the phone. I wonder, 'Maybe she'll call?' I wonder if she ever thinks about me.

The end.