This week's RemembeRed prompt: Recreate a pivotal conversation with us this week. This is a memoir. Limit to 300 words.
“... but we have a responsibility! We were married before God. Surely that’s worth something!”
My body shook with each sob. It took all my strength not to scream those words at him. Exhaustion came bearing down on me, emotions past and present that were impossible to unleash in his presence.
“Well, have you thought that maaaybe I just don’t want to work on ‘us’ anymore?" he shouted at me. "There. I’ve said it, okay? We were never compatible. We shouldn’t have gotten married. It was a mistake!!!”
His words stung. Sitting on the sofa across from me, I saw his eyes, filled with fury, staring back at me. I could sense his patience slipping away with each passing second.
My mind wandered to another time and place. He had told me we needed to talk, and so there we sat—me in an old t-shirt and shorts, and him across from me in his work clothes. For a while there was only silence and my rapidly beating heart. Afraid to look at him, I braved myself for bad news.
Suddenly, he blurted out, “What are your dreams?”
His question took me by surprise. I babbled on... something about wanting to be a wife and a mother. All the while trying not to sound stupid.
I was still chattering left and right when he held my hands, gazed at me and said, “I’d like to make your dreams come true.”
That was the day he proposed to me. The day that, even back then, I never believed would come.
“Look, I took a sleeping pill earlier, so I’m dazed, okay? I barely understood half of what you're saying.“ His voice, loud and clear, brought me back to the here and now. To the muffled sound of me crying, to the pair of eyes that was staring at me. The same eyes that once gazed at me with love and hope, now held contempt and distaste.
“I’m going to bed,” he got up and left.
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I am so glad you have this blog to write this out, to share it and ease the hurt by sharing it with us, a place to drop it off, to leave it.
ReplyDeleteThis was so vivid, I felt like I was spying on you and sitting in that living room.
It goes without saying that I am sorry that you are living this, that the conversation you have to keep reliving is one that makes your heart ache. It was well done from a writing standpoint but I'm hurting because it's so real and so raw.
Sending hugs...xoxoxo
I felt like I was right beside you.
ReplyDeleteBut had I been we would have given a big giant ef you and gone out the door.
Gone to shop the sorrow away, giggle about muffin tops, and point out bad hair.
You deserve someone who will hold you when you are hurting.
Try not to let him have too much of your grief. You are positively wonderful and the only person that can't see it is him.