by Alona Jarden
I opened my phone chat with Michelle and wondered how to let her know I wasn’t going to show up for our daily workout session. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. I wanted to stick to my normal, easygoing behavior, the one that got me a place back in her life and made her smile addictively over and over again, but I couldn’t find a trace of energy to phrase something casual and uplifting.
"I won't be coming in today, but don't overdo it, okay? We'll meet up tomorrow."
I ended up typing a group of dry and to-the-point words and sent them to her, then I muted the device of all its ringtones and alerts and placed it far away from me.
When the doorbell rang, it was already noon.
"I'm coming! Just a minute," I called out reluctantly from the living room couch, and made my way to open the door for who I assumed was my mother.
"Good Morning!" Michelle stood there, smiling brighter than ever, and I didn’t know if I could bear looking in her long-forgotten eyes on that particular day of the year.
"Umm… Reasonable morning to you too. What... What are you doing here?"
"It's so strange to hear you ask that. It's usually my line." She swung a picnic basket at her side. "I brought an indoor picnic for you."
"Ummm... It's... Now is not a good time."
"Why? Are you in the middle of an indoor picnic with someone else?"
"No, it's not that." I struggled not to smile. "I'm just not feeling so good."
"Excellent!" She was full of energy, and if it had been any other day, I would have hugged her for it, but on the third anniversary of Sarah's death, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
"Michelle, it's not a good time."
"Yeah, you said that. I figured something was wrong from your text. That's why I came here. I wanted to turn your frown upside down."
"I actually prefer to—"
"Aren’t you going to invite me in? I’ve never seen the inside of your house."
"It's not that I don't want you to come in. It's just that I would rather you didn’t—"
"Wait!" She raised her hand in the air and wore a huge smile on her beautiful face. "Before you say anything else, I want to mention that I'm in a very emotional place in my life right now. I had a terrible morning, I didn’t lose the weight I thought I would, I skipped training, and to be honest, I ate three pieces of a chocolate bar last night."
"Nevertheless, Michelle, it's not a good time." I tried unsuccessfully to make her leave me alone.
"By the way, I have cream cheese in this basket that has nothing to do with cream, if you're wondering. In short, I don’t want to add any conscience to this strange mood you're in, but you should know that if you send me away so shamelessly, chances are that our relationship will hit a new low."
"Are you done?" She managed to draw a hint of a smile out of me.
"I am. Now, you're welcome to tell me if I'm welcome to come in or..."
"Please, come in." I gestured toward the inside of my home, without any desire for her to enter it.
I closed the door behind her, and all that came to mind were Sarah's eyes. I truly wanted to be left alone, but it felt like Sarah's eyes were asking me to invite her back into our house. I know it's crazy, but I saw her looking at me from inside Michelle. She smiled and told me that she wanted to come in and sit with me on our couch in our house on the third anniversary of her death, and I couldn’t deny such a request.
"What the hell, Don!" Michelle shouted, after seeing the binging celebration I’d found comfort in just before she came in.
"Ahhh... This is... I was..."
"Ahhh? This is? You were?" It was funny how her angry look also resembled Sarah's. "What is this, Don? What is this supposed to mean?"
"It's been a hard day for me, so I gave myself some slack."
"Some slack?!" Her voice broke in a high octave as she looked around. "I gave myself some slack last night with a few bites of a chocolate bar. That's called 'some slack', but this? I don’t know what this is." She looked around again. "One, two, three bottles of peach-flavored soda." She shifted her gaze in the other direction. "Three, four, five, six, seven large empty Cheetos packs, and what in God's name is that?" She pointed on the coffee table.
"What does it look like?" I didn't even find the energy to get defensive.
"It looks like leftovers from a supersize McDonald's meal."
"You should really do something with your developed mathematical sense, Michelle. Your ability to enumerate things in an unfamiliar space is inspiring."
"Oh, are we making jokes now? Is this funny to you? Did you stop for a second to look around? Look around, Don! What's up with you?"
"I'm having a hard day, that’s it."
"Oh, give me a break. I'm having a shitty day, too." She abruptly dismissed my claim, and I felt the anger accelerating in me, but not at her. At the universe and at the circumstances of my miserable life.
"Michelle, I'm not talking about gaining or not losing weight, okay? I'm telling you I'm having a bad day, and I'm begging you not to make it worse by making a big deal out of this."
"I'm not the one making a big deal out of this bad day, you are." She looked again at the evidence indicating that I had deviated from the healthy lifestyle I swore allegiance to. "I'm the queen of having bad days, but look around. Do you think I don’t have the urge to binge? Do you really think I have no bad days? Don’t you think that my body's reaction to the new lifestyle doesn’t depress me? Hell, I was only able to overcome the nausea attacks two days ago, and at the last weigh-in, I hadn’t gone down at all. I'm constantly hungry and tired. Constantly! But I go the distance!"
I buried my face in my hands and tried to count to ten before reacting, but her insistence on not understanding that there were things worse than a few extra pounds in my life didn’t allow me to do so successfully.
"What I'm going through today has nothing to do with you, Michelle. It also has nothing to do with our new way of life, okay?"
"No. It's not okay. Tell me. If it's not related to that, then tell me what happened? What made you crack like that?"
"I can't handle a heart to heart conversation right now," I warned her, but she wouldn’t back off.
"If it's not about your weight, then what? Did you have a fight with your mother? An argument with a good friend? What?"
"Michelle, you're not listening to me. I'm actually answering you, but you're not hearing me."
"You're not saying anything, Don."
"I'm trying to explain that it has nothing to do with anything. It's a momentary breakdown, okay? Just leave me alone, and tomorrow I'll be good as new. I promise."
"And what will happen in a month’s time? What will happen when you have another breakdown and stuff your face instead of calling me for help?"
"Nothing like this is going to happen in a month. It's a very specific momentary breakdown. Like local rain." I smiled in a tremendous effort to change the topic of conversation to another.
"You're the one who said I had to stick to a routine, Don." She refused to let it go, and I felt that she was more than I could tolerate on that day or at that moment in particular. "I know what I'm saying. All my life I was—"
"Fat!" I jumped in the middle of her sentence and continued insensitively as she widened her beautiful eyes at me in amazement. "I know Michelle, you told me. You told me all about how you and I come from different places to our common overweight path. I heard you mention time and again how you grew up fat, and I'm here as a visitor, not entitled to the description because I'm only a recent fatso."
"Easy, Don."
"I won't take it easy, Michelle." I wish I’d had the ability to stop my words from flowing, but I felt that all the frustration that had accumulated in me was looking for a way out. "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry I don’t share the feeling that makes you look so sad."
"What feeling?"
"The ones that still bother you. The memory of the other kids calling you 'fat,' maybe? I'm really sorry I wasn't fat in eleme
ntary school."
"Stop that." Her smile disappeared, and I still couldn't get myself to take a pause.
"I won't stop, just as you haven’t stop since you came in here. I asked you to understand that all this," I gestured at the empty Cheetos bags scattered on the sofa and returned to look at her, "has to do with me, Michelle. This day has nothing to do with you."
"I just wanted to be here for you. I'm sorry if that was…" she murmured, then got quiet and moved uncomfortably.
"No, no. I'm the one who needs to be sorry, right? I always have to apologize when I'm around you." I completely lost my self-control and raised my voice to her. "I'm sorry I was popular in elementary school. I'm sorry I was one of the guys in high school, I'm sorry I slept around in university, and I'm sorry that I'm only fat since the day my wife passed away. Ahhhh, I forgot!" I spread my hands and continued. "I'm sorry that she died just moments after our son died in her womb, and I'm sorry that it happened three years ago today, Michelle. I'm sorry. I'm just so fucking sorry!"
Her eyes started tearing.
I looked at her, shocked at myself, and the words I said echoed through the walls of my head. I wondered if she was crying because she was offended or because she finally realized that my momentary breakdown actually was unrelated to her and got full of scruples.
"I... Don, I…" I kept quiet as she finally opened her mouth to say something. "I don't really know what to say to you right now." She stammered, looking down from me.
"Maybe there's nothing to say?"
"There's always something to say. I believe that after I leave, I'll know what I wanted to say, but right now… Nothing comes to mind."
"That's okay."
"What about you? Are you done? Have you apologized for everything you intended to apologize to me about?"
"No." I was ashamed of the way I handled myself. "I also want to apologize for shouting, Michelle. Today, more than any other day, I'm truly sorry. For everything. It's like one big atonement day for me."
"Why didn't you tell me that was today?"
"I... I forgot about it." I burst into tears. "Because of you, I forgot it was today. Three years ago I came home from the hospital empty-handed, and because of you, I woke up not thinking about it."
"Because of me?"
"I can't be bothered explaining it to you right now, Michelle. I guess I'm just begging you to leave me alone. I want to be alone on this day. I want to comfort myself with junk food, I want to harm and break my spirits, and I want to suffer."
"But why?"
"That's a great question. I'm not sure I have an answer for it."
"Do you believe that's what she would like you to do every year on this day?"
"I don't care what she would or wouldn’t want of me anymore," I said, surprising myself. "She was the perfect woman, but she died. Everyone keeps asking me what I think she would have wanted to happen, but what does it matter? She has no more desires, no more criticism, and no more voice or influence on the way I live my life. She's gone, and I'm still here."
"I didn’t know, Don." She stared at me with her big wonderful eyes.
"Don't feel bad about it, Michelle. The most distinct memory I have of her is her unique gaze, and the fact that I see it from your eyes every time you look at me is scratching my soul."
As soon as I said those words, she cut off our eye contact and began to wander in a tense and curious way around the house Sarah designed.
She looked at every corner, picture, and statue placed around us, and the silence that took over our conversation began to give me the chills.
"You have to understand that I didn't think I'd feel this way again, Michelle."
"How are you feeling?" She asked with her back to me, investigating a picture of Sarah and me that hung on the wall.
"I know it seems like everything comes easy to me, but the truth is the exact opposite. I find great difficulty in almost everything."
"Everything?" She moved on to another picture.
"Yes, everything. The days, the nights, my life. After she died, I abandoned the desire to live on. I abandoned my hopes and all the plans I had for the future and gave up on myself. Everything was hard for me since she died, apart from you." She turned to me at once, and I went on as I saw I finally won her full attention. "My relationship with you is the only thing that has been easy and straightforward for me these past three years, but when you insist on sticking to a healthy lifestyle, meticulous training, daily calorie counts and adherence to the nutritious values of each and every ingredient, I suddenly find it hard to be around you too. It's just too much for me today. Today I have to be okay with being fat. I need to be myself freely today."
"I mentioned beforehand that I was going to take my life in my hands. I won't feel bad about it since I didn't lie or mislead you in any way."
"I don't need you to say that you're—"
"But I need to, Don," she interrupted me and straightened. "I need to be complete with myself. I won't be able to live my life as just a beautiful head or face, and right now, that's about all I can see when I look at myself in the mirror. I want to see the full picture so bad. I want to be able to look at all of me and be proud."
"You know what? I apologized for a lot of things today, so let me add one more item to the list. I'm sorry I'm not disgusted with myself. I'm sorry that I don’t care what I look like."
"Well, I don't accept your apology, Don. We both know that's not true."
"You think you know me so well, but you don't!" I raised my voice at her again, probably because she was actually painfully accurate. "You're not the only one with problems, do you get that?"
"I never claimed I was." She narrowed her eyes at me, and it was as if she was shooting small arrows that hit too deep inside me on the third anniversary of Sarah's death. "But now I get that my weight problems go way deeper than yours."
"How on Earth did you get that from what I said?"
"You have to allow yourself to say goodbye to your wife while I have to accept myself. The change you have to go through can happen overnight, but my problems can't go away so quickly, even if I wanted them to. And believe me, I do."
"I won't disappear overnight from your life either, Michelle."
"If you keep talking to me like that, that's exactly what'll happen, Don."
"Perhaps that's what's bound to happen. Maybe today is the exact day I'm supposed to look into your eyes and tell you once and for all to get out of my life."
"Perhaps…" Her chin shivered, and I didn't want to keep fighting with her, but the words just poured out.
"If so, Michelle," I walked away from her with a sore heart and opened the door, "goodbye and have a great life."
I leaned my back against the closed door and looked again at a picture that hung in front of the entrance. I would have given anything to be fighting with Sarah once more. I was willing to be the bad guy, and make her cry, beg her to forgive me, help her clean up, tidy or rearrange all the kitchen cabinets... I was willing to do anything she would ask of me just to win a few extra seconds with her, but she left me without saying goodbye.
I wished I said things differently to Michelle, but I was sure that all I said was the truth, apart from one single thing. I actually did care what Sarah would or wouldn’t want happening in my life.
I slid against the door and dropped to the floor. I then loosened my neck muscles, threw my head back against the door, and listened to Michelle's sobbing on its other side.
Not so deep inside me, I knew that if Sarah were alive, she would expect me to go out and comfort her. To tell the truth, with or without Sarah, I actually expected that of me.
Chapter 21
Michelle
I wanted to hate him for the way he spoke to me, but I couldn't.
My heart collapsed into itself as I realized that I just forcibly and uninvitedly pushed myself into his personal day of mourning. If that wasn't enough, I arrived there with a picnic basket, in an amused and playful state
of mind, and in a judicial tone of voice for the way he chose to deal with the great loss he had suffered.
My first instinct was to get away, but my pulse was rapid, and I needed to calm down so that I wouldn’t lose consciousness again. Having no other choice, I sat down on the front steps leading to his house and tried to catch my breath.
I kept reminding myself of Noel's words. Nobody is perfect. Hell, isn't that the truth!
I thought, or rather, I hoped, that Don's only downfall was him being an idiot, yet during this past month, it felt more and more like he was my idiot and I didn’t seem to mind it so much. I guess I hoped that his compulsive foolishness would help me ease the heaviness with which I lived my life, but as soon as he opened the door to his house for me, it was evident that he still remained Sarah's idiot.
Their wedding day photo welcomed everyone who came in, and even though I saw it the second I greeted him, I gathered all my strength to pretend I didn’t.
For several minutes, I remained sitting on those steps. I sat at the entrance to their shared home, trying to remember all the disturbing sights I saw inside. I didn’t know if the fact that Don once looked as he did in those pictures was more shocking than the fact that all this was only a few years ago. Come to think of it, the fact that his late wife looked like a supermodel might have actually been the reason I got so nauseated and paralyzed on those steps.
Following long minutes of crying, I realized that what was most shocking to me was the fact that I had nothing in common with her.
Don claimed that my look reminded him of hers, but he must have been delusional. In the many pictures that hung on the walls of their home, I saw that her eyes were blue while mine are brown, her hair was smooth and blonde while mine is brown and curly. Generally speaking, she and I had absolutely nothing in common, other than that idiot.
I decided not to keep counting the ways in which Sarah and I were different and conclude to myself that there was no chance in hell for someone like him to find her and me equally attractive.
