I see them. John and Hope. John and Gina, dare i hope?
…no
John and Hope. They turn to look at me, and the look on both their faces is confirmation enough. They are lucid and act of their own volition. There is the initial reaction; anger and despair. But then, there is the unexpected split second aftermath.
An irrational part of me simply does not care. But, really, is it irrational? Yes, this man is my husband, and the woman previously embracing him intimately is a so-called friend, but is it really so strange for me to be so stoic about this?
I look to Bo. Poor deluded Bo. He never saw this coming. I suppose I am partly to blame for that. We all kept the dark truth from him; shielded him from any possible suspicions as to the nature of John and Hope’s “bond,” though I suspect he clearly had his own suspicions to begin with.
It’s no surprise to me when Bo’s anger flares to new heights, and he unleashes the burden of being lied to upon the accused. And when all is said and done, he flies past me in a wind of anger. I suspect he will be drinking and licking his wounds for the rest of the night.
Possibly longer.
How typical.
My reaction, I surmise, was not typical, as the looks the silent pair give me are part worry and part curiosity. I can see the wheels turning, read the look so clearly upon their faces; ‘why isn’t she more angry?’ ‘what is she thinking?’
I’m tired. so tired. I’m so tired of trying.
So tired of understanding.
So tired of this bullshit. All of it. My marriage, I realize with a sudden precious clarity, has been nothing but a well served platter of first class bullshit. This sudden realization is humorous in an odd sense, and I laugh loud and long.
John and Hope exchange another worried look, and I see John take a step in my direction, his hand raised slightly as if I were in need of it. The laughter stops and I am faced with these new developments. No one has yet said a word and as the silence stretches on I can feel the tension begin to reach new heights as well. I am reminded of John’s earlier words, that no matter what were to happen, that his love was unconditional.
And something has happened. And despite those loving words, I am not assured of their truth. I hate my insecurity. I was never like this before, but I suppose I was never in a situation quite as unique as this.
I am increasingly tired. I want to leave.
I hate this mansion. I hate the memories and the feelings that rush within me while I am housed within it’s walls.
I want to leave. I will leave.
With no warning or parting words, I simply turn to leave. I must leave.
There are heavier steps behind me, matching my calm but still quick steps. It’s John. He’s following me. Perhaps to explain? To tell me what? That he’s had another relapse? Ah yes, the excuse of a lifetime.
I don’t want to deal with this.
I don’t want to hear the excuses I know I’m to be given. I don’t want to hear
… the truth?
By this time, John has caught up with me, most likely having gotten tired of pursuing me at a minimal pace. He brings to face him, and I see the pain and self pity there. I see the guilt. so much guilt. A hand comes to caress my cheek. I should have moved away. He doesn’t deserve it.
He’s wiping my… tears?
… tears?
Don’t cry, Marlena. don’t you dare cry!
I can’t help it. Despite my distance, I can’t help this. I want to know, “why?” my voice sounds pitiful in my own ears. I shouldn’t be begging for an explanation. He should be groveling at my feet! Spewing forth excuse after excuse, Vainly attempting to justify his actions. It’s what I expect. It’s what I know will happen. I know this man.
But what I got, was actually not what I was expecting. After all these years, John still has the ability to surprise me. The slight tremor I hear is genuine. rather than explain, he tells me what is truly in his heart, “I’m a fool. An utter fool,” he pauses, and speaks a less volume, perhaps reproaching himself, “I should have seen this coming. I should have known.”
I want to be angry now, as Bo was earlier, and yell and scream. Call him names and put him down for his inability to see something that wasn’t all that hard to see. But I can’t. That’s not how I am, and I don’t think I have the energy nor the desire to truly care.
What’s happening to me?
As I waiver between the extremities of indifference and the slowly building hurt, John goes to take my hand. I can see his eyes, gray with exhaustion, look to me sadly. This is all he has to offer, “it’s over.”
I want to laugh again. Laugh at him and scream that it will never be. That he is a moron to think it. But as I look at him closely, I see his determination and the sincerity. This must end. Or it will cost us our lives. Our sanity.
Perhaps it is selfish to think this, but what happens to Hope now, is her problem. I refuse to worry myself about her situation. She will reap the consequence of uncovering her past alone. Finally he recognizes this. The slight nod and grin he gives me are proof of that.
My chilled hand slips into his larger one, seeking more than just physical warmth. It is a commitment of this new day, our new life. Perhaps now, I can truly begin to believe. Yes, maybe he means it, this time, that the past is now forever left there.
I expect a backlash of insecurity and doubt to hit me any moment, as I have rarely gone without one in my years of this relationship. But there are none. Instead there is a rush of warmth and there is a completeness within my being that has before now eluded me. I can now freely lean against the wind, for I have wings.
Finis
The Jarlena Journal 