a questionable life

by Luke Lively

  That night I barely slept. Although I was exhausted from the hike, I could not take my mind off of what was ahead of me. I was a planner. I knew better than to plant something that wouldn’t grow.

  My inner demons were well fed that night. After hearing how I could discard them all day, I couldn’t ignore them while I was lying awake.

  There were many things I needed to know. But there were also many things I wished I could forget.

  Soon after taking her first steps, Jessica displayed a natural physical ability. She loved to dance. Hearing music made her face light up. I couldn’t help but remember how Benny had described how his son looked when he was running.

  It was the same when Jessica danced.

  With Tina as the primary motivator, we enrolled Jessica in dance classes when she was three years old. Her first recital was a year later. It was held in a large high school auditorium filled to capacity with parents who sat through four long hours of seeing someone else’s children perform for the few brief moments their own child would take the stage. Although the youngest and the smallest in her troupe, Jessica stole the show. Even in the darkness of the cabin, alone with the memory, the feelings of pride and happiness in her accomplishment made me smile. But that was her first recital.

  I never made it to her second or any subsequent performances. My career was in full-blown glory, and taking time out three times a year to watch her perform was too much for me to schedule.

  I made my choice.

  I failed Jessica.

  I thought about a fight I had with Tina when Jessica was about twelve. One night, arriving back home after staying out until after midnight at the hotel bar with several of the attendees of a conference, I was surprised to see most of the lights on in my home. Tina was sitting in the den.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, trying to mask the fact that I had driven home with a blood-alcohol level well above the legal limit.

  “You know what’s wrong,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t,” I said, sitting down in my recliner, pulling my tie off, and tossing it on top of the nearby desk. “I’m not a mind reader. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “You broke your daughter’s heart. Before she went onstage, she asked where you were. I told her you had an emergency, but she knew. She’s not a baby anymore, Jack. She had heard us arguing. She knew you chose your job over her.”

  “And I guess you fed that with some of your own issues,” I said. I knew Tina said some pretty harsh things about me to our daughter. “Did you tell her I didn’t care? I’m sure you did.”

  “No, I didn’t have to say anything. Your actions said it all. You weren’t there. She was so upset. She forgot part of the routine. She hasn’t quit crying.”

  “Listen, I’m tired of being blamed for everything that doesn’t go right in this family! Why is it up to me? She’s good, but she needs to learn from her mistakes. She’s a good dancer, but there’s always someone better. That’s life.”

  “You and your life-is-a-competition crap!” Tina shouted in response. “You’ve never told her she was the best or how proud you were of her. Congratulations, Jack, you’ve turned into your father!”

  “It made me tough!” I said, now turning in the chair to face Tina. “That’s what made me get ahead! She’ll never be a great dancer as long as you’re afraid to tell her she’s not the best.” I had not seen Jessica step inside of the room until I saw Tina’s face. As I turned to follow her gaze, I saw my daughter running away.

  She never danced again.

  How had I become such a horrible father—the type of father I swore I would never be?

  There were other things I knew, but I had failed to accept in my life. I would have to accept them now.

  I had not only failed in planting the wrong seeds—I was a weed, worthless to everyone. I needed to change.

  I hated myself.

  Never think what you do doesn’t have consequences—every action has an effect.

  —BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE

  37. How Can I Go Back?

  “WHAT AM I GOING BACK TO?” I asked myself.

  I was sitting in the cramped seat of the plane returning me to Philly. Even though it had been less than thirty minutes since I had left the ground in Virginia, the place felt as though it was a lifetime away. I looked down to the ground far below. Through the clouds I could see mountains, a view I had failed to afford myself on the edge of a ledge out of fear.

  Despite seeing more than a glimpse of the real me, as we drove to the airport Benny had offered me the job of president and chief administrative officer at Citizens Bank. “You’re the right person to join our team,” he had said. “But you need to be sure this is what you need.”

  My response was habitual. “What can you offer me?” I asked, failing to thank him for the opportunity. The money was excellent—more than my pay at Merchants. I would also have a seat on the bank’s board of directors. It was a better deal than I had imagined and more than I needed. Now that the money was taken care of, I had to deal with the question that was foremost in my thoughts: “Do I want to leave Philly?” But a different question came to mind as I was approaching my hometown: “Could I leave Philly?” I remembered what Benny said about attachments. I had a lot.

  There was so much to consider. First, I considered my children. I would have never put them first before, but this was a new Jack Oliver. I wanted to play a more prominent role in the lives of my children, but how could I do that if I was in Virginia and they were in Philadelphia? How could I ever be a better father and mend the broken relationship from hundreds of miles away?

  Then there was Tina. I had been living apart from her for almost a year. Reconciliation seemed out of the question. Or was it? I missed her more than ever, but I still had another attachment to solve.

  Cassie. She was like a habit I couldn’t quit. I wanted to understand why she held such a strong grip on my thoughts. My last conversation with her had left little doubt she was not interested in joining me in Virginia. But I could not envision us together, even if she had been interested in moving with me. We only shared a couple of things in common. The more time we spent together, the more we got on each other’s nerves, a condition that was not likely to improve. I stared again out of the plane’s window.

  Last but not least was my attachment to Merchants Bank. If I left, I would be leaving a job that I had sworn I would never quit. My recent weak performance and the threat of being fired were realities, but I had never failed before and wasn’t ready to start now. Thinking of Merchants, I felt my anger stirring. Were they setting me up to get rid of me? What would happen if I stayed and tried to conform to their system? They needed me, but did they realize it? Finally, how could I walk away from a quarter-of-a-million-dollar bonus? Cassie was right—it was a lot of money.

  My attention moved from Philly to Virginia. Moving to Virginia carried a lot of questions. Would I be happy at the new job? Could I adapt? Would the bank’s staff accept me? Would the emotions I felt over the weekend still be there when I was working at the bank every day? Was Benny for real? Was this what I really wanted? Then I remembered the question he had asked after offering me the position. Was this what I needed?

  As the plane circled the airport and began its final descent into Philadelphia, I could see through cracks in the cloud cover. The view was distorted, but it was recognizable. It was the place where I had spent my entire life. I felt at home seeing the skyline. But something was different, and I knew what it was. I was different. The harsh thud of the plane’s tires hitting the runway shook me. I knew my life was out of balance. I knew I needed to change. I no longer liked the dishonest person I had become. I felt the rapid braking of the plane. I was home. It was time to choose.

  “How can I choose to turn away from reality?” I asked myself as I watched the airport workers remove the baggage as I waited to leave the plane.

  Driving my car out of the airport parking lot, I felt something I hadn’t miss
ed during my four days in Virginia: stress. Being back in the congested, slow-moving traffic and knowing it would take me forty-five minutes to drive five miles filled me with frustration. By habit, I pulled my cell phone from the side pocket of my briefcase to call Cassie—she was on my mind. I had not spoken to her since she had hung up on me almost two weeks earlier. It was the longest stretch of time we’d not talked in over a year. I lifted it from the leather bag, where it had remained buried for the entire trip, and changed my mind. “No, not yet,” I said to myself, dropping it on the passenger seat.

  The idea of going back to the cramped apartment gave me claustrophobia. I started to breathe deep breaths as José had taught me at the hospital. “Now isn’t the time for an anxiety attack,” I said to myself. I was amazed it had taken so little time for my body to respond to the stress. I decided to call Tina. No one answered the phone, but I decided to not leave a message. Instead, I decided to drop in since it was not far off of the route to my apartment. Going home felt like a stop I needed to make. We would have at least two hours to talk before the kids returned home from school, enough time to talk about my dilemma. Maybe I could take them out to dinner? I started to feel better with a plan in place.

  I was feeling a different me, at least a different opportunity for a new me. I decided I would end my relationship with Cassie. I felt at ease with the decision. She brought out the greedier manifestations of Jack Oliver. I didn’t need any help being greedy. But I was tired of being alone. Still stuck in traffic, I rolled down the window hoping to get some air. Instead of making me less claustrophobic, the odor of the exhaust reminded me that I’d left the mountains of Virginia behind. The idea of being with Tina continued to surface—I could not put away the thought. I would tell Tina how wrong I had been in the past. I wanted to show her there was a better me. I had finally found a way to climb out of the ditch I had lived in for years. I wanted her to see the real Jack. Most of all I wanted to say I was sorry, something I had always failed to do.

  Driving into the narrow streets of our neighborhood, I grew more determined. If Tina would forgive me and insisted that I stay in Philadelphia I would stay. Everything Benny had shared with me made me different, but I could not leave my family behind in Philly. This was the destiny he had talked about. I could find another job after my stint with Merchants was over. The world was looking brighter. “I can tough it out here,” I said, turning onto Oak Street and taking a deep breath.

  Pulling into the driveway I saw Tina’s black Lexus parked under the canopy by the kitchen entrance. There was another car in the driveway, a light gray BMW. The kids had told me she had found a workout partner at the gym who she hung out with regularly. They had never said anything about her. It might be awkward to introduce me. “This is my ex” I imagined her saying. I wondered what she had told the woman as I got out of the car and stepped up on the small back porch.

  After knocking on the door I turned the door knob. It was unlocked. I stepped into the kitchen. “Hello, is anyone home?” I asked in a moderate tone. It felt like home. No one responded. I picked up the stack of mail: bills. Usually this would set my stomach churning and shoot up my heart rate. Along with the bills we usually shared an argument over money. But this was a new Jack, I told myself as I dropped the stack of mail and walked into the living room. I heard movement upstairs. I stepped through the living room into the entryway and looked up the stairs. I could see part of the second floor hallway from my angle. I called out, “Hello!”

  A sudden rustle of activity followed. Something dropped on the floor upstairs. I started to walk up the stairs but stopped halfway up the wide flight and looked back toward the opposite end of the open hallway. Tina stepped out of our bedroom in only a shirt; a light blue dress shirt, much too large for her. Her hair looked mussed, as though she had been lying down. It must be one of my old shirts, I thought.

  “Jack, what are you doing here?” she said with a hiss.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, now feeling waves of discomfort bearing down on me. “How come you’ve got one of my shirts on?” Where was her friend? Another wave hit. It wasn’t my shirt. Her friend wasn’t a woman.

  “You need to leave, Jack, now!” Tina said. “This isn’t your home anymore. You can’t just come barging in.”

  “What’s going on? Who’s here?” My thoughts were scattered.

  “Jack, leave now, I don’t want to have a scene,” she said. She glanced quickly back toward the bedroom.

  My blood began to boil. Tina had another man in our bedroom. I was stunned, angry, mortified, and furious, all at once. I felt deceived and hurt, and I wanted to break down and cry. But most of all I was mad. I leaned forward ready to march up the steps and confront the man in my bedroom. But I stopped. I dropped my head and paused as I stood awkwardly on the steps. This wasn’t my home anymore, I realized. Tina had let go.

  I turned and walked back down the steps without speaking. As I walked through the living room, I heard Tina running down the hallway barefoot and coming down the steps. I did not want to talk to her. I picked up my pace and was opening the kitchen door to exit when she caught up with me.

  “Jack, stop!” she demanded. “Stop, I want to talk.”

  I turned with one foot out of what used to be my home on the small porch. “This isn’t a good time to talk,” I said looking into her eyes. I had to look away, afraid she would see the pain of my broken heart.

  “Jack, I’m sorry. I really didn’t want you to see something like this.”

  “Tina, you’re right,” I said, looking down at the “Welcome” mat. “This is your home, and I won’t come over again unless I’m invited or expected.” I turned and continued walking away.

  “Jack, I’m sorry,” Tina said, sobbing tears of both anger and guilt. “I’ve been so lonely.”

  Gripping the wooden handrail for support, I stopped on the last step and turned to face Tina. She looked so different. She looked like she did when we first met, with just a little wear and tear of the years I had imposed on her. She was beautiful. I felt sick to my stomach.

  “Tina,” I said, “I’m the one who is sorry. This is my fault—not yours. Don’t apologize. Forgive me.”

  “Jack, please—stop—you aren’t—you don’t sound like yourself,” Tina asked.

  “I’m not,” I said as I walked away, my mind already moving away. Reality had struck me solidly, awakening me to what I needed to do. Backing out of the driveway I decided I was going to call Benny and tell him I accepted his offer. I battled the impulse to look back at the home we had bought with hopes of living our life together. I turned the corner without looking back—it was history.

  “It’s time to leave,” I said, driving away.

  Expecting a different result without trying something different is pointless.

  —BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE

  38. What Now?

  “WHAT NOW?” I asked myself as I drove back to my apartment. The inspired plan I had pieced together for a family reunion had been laid to waste. The idea of being with Tina had seemed so real and perfect, but was now shattered. I had to face my new reality.

  I waited for the sweat to form on my brow along with the shortened breathing and tightness in my chest. At least I now recognized I was a time bomb, I thought, as I stayed in the right lane driving at a snail’s pace, ready to pull off the road when the anxiety attack struck me. I waited.

  Nothing happened.

  Remaining cautious, I thought about what had just happened. For once in my life, I realized, I had dealt with pain in a much different and clear manner. I experienced the pain, but it was more akin to waking up from a bad dream, understanding it was a nightmare and nothing more. This was a different Jack Oliver.

  While I was more alone in the world than I had ever imagined, I somehow felt at peace. I sensed a new empowerment. The world felt lighter. Tina had let go. I needed to do the same. The strings that had been holding me back were gone. My soul was no longer owned by a company name
d Merchants. I was no longer a bus carrying the guilt of a selfish life. I was free.

  Now I had a real option. My time with Benny had changed me. As soon as I walked into the apartment I called Benny and told him I accepted the job offer. He was surprised to hear from me so soon.

  “Jack, I’m glad you accept, but I thought you were going to talk it over with your family.”

  “I did.”

  “Okay, Jack, whatever I can do to make your transition work for you, let me know,” he said. “Ann and I enjoyed having you with us and look forward to you being part of our family here in Virginia.”

  I thanked Benny and told him I would call him after I spoke with the Merchants people the next day. The circle had been broken, but there was something I needed to do. I opened up the cabinet holding my liquor. Facing me were almost a dozen bottles—some opened, awaiting my thirst. As I took one bottle at a time and poured all of the contents into the sink I knew there was no going back.

  I was on a new path.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Rex asked. In answer to his question, I handed him the brief resignation letter I had written the night before.

  I had struggled with what to write, but began to think about what Benny had said about letting go.

  “Anger is an attachment. Why give anger any roots? Why cultivate something that can harm you? Let it go,” he had said in my visit to the mountains of Virginia. At the time, I couldn’t imagine letting go of an emotion that had fueled much of my success. But I was now heeding excellent advice.

  My resignation letter thanked Merchants for trusting me and allowing me to work for them. “I have decided to accept another opportunity,” was the only reason I noted for leaving. The truth without anger, I thought to myself as Rex continued his verbal onslaught.