So this is how it feels, she thinks. Hands submerged in the
cooling dishwater searching for silverware.
She had heard about this. She
knew of two marriages in the last three years that had ended in divorces. The empty nest syndrome she guessed. With the children gone there was nothing left
to bind them.
Their last
child, Paul, was a junior in high school. A year and a half left before he
moves out. She turns the faucet on to
rinse the spatulas and pots. She puts the frying pan in the dishwater.
“That was a
good meal, hun,” he says. She leans into him as he kisses her cheek. He is headed to his chair. It is Monday night so he will watch AMC or
the History Channel.
She
couldn’t deny that life was good. She
was standing in the kitchen she wanted.
They had built this home eight years ago. Nothing too grand, about 1500 square feet
with an open concept for the living room, kitchen, and dinning area. The basement was finished. Every once and awhile the end of the month
was tight, but nothing like their first couple of years of marriage. Life was good.
She started
in on the frying pan, scrubbing at the stuck remains of chicken fried
steak. Comfortable was good, but was it
love? Her mind moved to different snap
shots of their life. The time they
scrapped together change and had a dinner date off the dollar menu. Their first kiss, right in the middle of
celebrating a touchdown during the homecoming game in college. She smiles. It was so quick, and he didn’t
talk for the rest of the quarter until she grabbed his hand.
She holds
up the frying pan to see if it was clean, nope a little grease still by the
handle. She frowns as she scrubs
remembering the biggest fight they ever had.
Sarah was just over a year old.
He was working almost 70 hours a week.
She was lonely. The apartment complex was filled with college kids. It was a pivotal moment: money or
family. They actually didn’t talk with
each other for three days.
She rinses
the frying pan. Pulls the drain and hits the switch for the garbage disposal.
She wonders why the light switch and garbage disposal are always together. The grinding sound from the sink eases away.
She hits the switch off. She grabs the
towel hanging on the oven handle. She
watches him as she dries her hands. A flood of emotion fills her chest.
On the
fourth day he had come home from work with a single flower. A daisy. He said
that he would find a better job and that his only goal was to love her. To provide her the best life possible. And here we are, she thought. Wondering at how you can have everything but
feel hollow inside.
“Dad, can
you read over this essay for me?” Paul had his computer in his hands.
“Yes, what
is the topic?” he asked as he muted the TV.
She
smiled. Paul looked up at her and smiled
back. She stood there watching father
and son discuss the homework as she dried the dishes. Fifteen minutes later Paul headed back to his
room.
She tidied
up the counters. Sitting on an idea. One
of those ideas that can easily be dismissed because life would simply go on if
she didn’t do it.
“Dear?” she
walks to the living room.
“Humm?” he replies
looking up at her but then quickly back to the TV. It was Monday night and he was watching the
History Channel. He did this almost every
Monday night.
She falters
in her decision. Life was good. It was predictable and secure. “Do you want to go get some ice cream?”
He doesn’t
respond. It seems like he doesn’t hear
her question. She starts to walk back to the kitchen, blinking to keep a tear
from falling.
He answers
quickly as he stands up. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to try that new blizzard they
have advertised. Grab your coat, I’ll get the car warmed up.”
He holds
the door open for her at DQ. As she walks past he quickly kisses her. She
smiles up at him. He shakes his coat
pocket; “I thought we would pay with coins for old times sake.” They both
laugh.
Hours later
the manager had to ask them to leave because the crew wanted to go home.
I’m watching another anonymous tweet go by
