Duncan's Diary

by Christopher C. Payne

  This exchange seemed to closely define our marriage. Through our 16 years, there were many exchanges that could just as well be used as examples and would be as typical as this. We had a volatile union, and with her relentlessly tense disposition there was never a time to just sit back and relax and enjoy each other. Most people who met her for the first time commented on her intense approach to even saying hi. While she knew this, she preferred to reference herself as passionate.

  She would constantly say how she did not argue – she passionately debated her feelings. I never knew how to respond to this. Passionately debating how I didn’t tell her thank you for making a dinner burned beyond recognition one evening? Leaving me wondering what it was that I was even digesting seemed odd to me. For the most part, I would listen to her as I continued to dig deeper into my hole of solitude and resentment.

  I should have known from the beginning that our compatibility was an issue; but when you are young, your eyes get foggy—you can only focus on specific things. One time, when I jumped into bed, I heard a crunching noise. I lifted the covers and found remnants of popcorn, potato chips, and crackers littered throughout the sheets. I blew up. That was the point in our relationship when eating in bed was banned. She had the ability to place her hand in a bowl of popcorn and remove her hand with the popcorn. Once she made the arching movement to her mouth, though, she lost track of half the contents in her hand. Only later we would find it spread sporadically over her body and throughout her side of the bed.

  Isn’t it sad that after so many years when I recall our time together, these are the types of memories that stand out? I remember the violent examples, the angry moments, my inability to let go of the hurt that was inflicted in my direction during the bulk of our verbal exchanges. It is all my mind can conjure up. Sitting here writing, I can’t remember any time when I genuinely felt close to her. I don’t know what happened to bury those feelings so deeply that they can’t resurface.

  I guess in the end it doesn’t matter. My divorce was final and with it came the relief of closing out this chapter forever. Now being able to move forward with the renewed hope of finding that person who can fill whatever it is that seems to be lacking in my life. As I sit in bed in my little two-bedroom home, listening to the quietness that comes with no kids, I cry.

  It is hard when they are not with me. I think of the life that neither they nor my wife and I will ever know. Having two parents is every child’s right, and to deny this is one of the hardest decisions that I have ever made. I will continue to try and work toward giving them this right to the best of my ability. Sadly, even now it is still so difficult, interacting with somebody who is so filled with hatred and remorse. I told her recently that I worry she is still in the midst of a depression. She denied this and instead explained how great her life is and how her happiness is propelling her forward.

  She expressed all of this while telling me that she was recently fired from her job. The main reason was she lost her focus with the distraction of the divorce and the mental toll it has taken. Isn’t that a pretty big sign that somebody is in need of a little help? It is one thing to be laid off and given a nice package as part of a large group. If your boss shows you the door that you came through that morning because you’re fired – that’s a completely different story.

  That is somebody telling you point blank that they need your services, but you are simply incapable of providing them. They will have to look elsewhere for an employee who is bright enough to give them what they are looking for. In my mind, the ultimate slap in the face is being fired from a job that you were originally qualified for; but for some apparent reason, you just can’t perform.

  Who really knows? I sit and reflect, and it seems my finger is pointing out toward her as much as hers is pointing directly back at me. As always, in the end, it takes two people to argue. I have never seen a single person sitting in a room yelling—and, then, pausing to yell back at himself.

  The focus needs to remain on the fact that my divorce is final. Getting that piece of paper stating that you are free is a welcome relief. Knowing that you are no longer tied to another individual, but you can now yell out to the world, “Yes, I am divorced.” The mistake I made had been cut out of my life. I can now move forward and hopefully find somebody to fill this hole that she helped dig.

  Martin arrived, interrupting my self-reflection, and said he was taking me out for a pre-drink drink. Getting me drunk before I started the real party is an Irish tradition, I believe. Martin originally talked to me about staying with my wife. He feels that once you make the commitment and there are kids involved, you should do anything you possibly can to make the marriage work. Kids are the victims in every divorce. They have no choices; they make no decisions. They simply get dictated to that their lives are going to be torn apart, and they better get ready to adjust.

  His thoughts were leaning toward helping me reconcile, until he had his first exposure to the person that my ex-wife had become behind closed doors. She had apparently been contacting him on several occasions via e-mail and over the phone. She contacted him at home and on his cell and even wrote him a letter at one point, stating the importance that the two of them meet. Martin did not mind meeting with her, but he was a close friend of mine. He did not want to cross any lines or be put into the middle of an awkward situation.

  Finally, he relented and agreed to meet her at a restaurant so they could talk and work through whatever it was that she felt was so dire for him to be involved in. The conversation basically went with her telling him how wrong I was, how much trouble I was in, how unstable I had become, and that she was worried for my mental and even physical health. He repeatedly tried to tell her that I was doing okay and that even with the stress of starting my life completely over with nothing (my wife had kept everything), I was doing rather well.

  This went back and forth for several hours until he finally had to end the discussion. He explained to her that he needed to leave for an appointment. Martin had promised my ex-wife that he would never mention this conversation, and she had given her word, as well. This would remain between the two of them, and they would agree to leave the topic here at the restaurant— nobody would know any different.

  Unfortunately, Martin did not know my ex-wife that well. It was less than a week later in the midst of an argument with me when she stated that not only had she met with Martin, but she suggested to me that he was not really even a friend of mine. He knew me and we were acquaintances, but he would never consider me a friend. She, of course, was only telling me this because she was concerned for me. She didn’t want to see me get hurt, thinking that I had a friend when I apparently did not.

  I spoke to Martin about the conversation. For the first time I saw the enlightened look in his eye as he finally became aware of how manipulative my ex-wife could actually be. He was furious at first, but then after he calmed down actually stated that he now agreed I most likely was better off without her. How could she blatantly lie to him? She had betrayed his trust and then manipulated his words to hurt me and push me into isolation purposely.

  Having him acknowledge this was helpful for me. Knowing that somebody else saw the real person that I had been dealing with for so many years was a relief. At times you question yourself and your judgment. It felt good to have it substantiated to such a degree. My next step was to just let go of the hatred and disgust that I felt for her in order to move forward with my own life, leaving her behind.

  Happiness cannot be found down the path of hatred. Being pissed off can only lead to discontent. I still had no idea how to release the bitterness completely that had taken years to grow. She had done such a good job fertilizing the seed and ensuring that the root structure was firmly in place.

  Anyway, that seemed like enough reflection, tonight was not about the past but about toasting to the future. I had cried on Martin’s shoulder way too many times, and now I needed to relax, get drunk, and have a good time. My future was wide open,
and I had closed a chapter to my past.

  Is Life Really That Bad?

  It had now been 12 years that Jason had been a part of the FBI. It had taken 12 years for his career to supplant his wife, and one could argue his kids, as well. The most important thing in his life should be his family, but for some reason his job always came first. Twelve years doesn’t sound like a lot of time in the realm of the world as a whole or even in comparison to how long the United States had been a country. Was 12 years long enough for the justification of losing the things that he now understood he valued the most?

  He could never leave his job. This was something he knew, and in the end it had also been the deciding factor in his marriage dissolving. He understood that he could not live with himself if he allowed certain deviants to roam free in the country, butchering and killing people needlessly. He also knew that his job was probably the only thing he would ever be great at. How many people enjoy their job? How many people enjoy going to work each day? Sitting down behind their desk as their middle-aged boss, with a round belly who focuses on meaningless tasks, hovers over them, demanding more final product than anyone could ever deliver?

  Jason loved his job. He lived and breathed his job. His job was the mental focus of his very being 23 hours out of every day. He slept five to six hours on average, and out of those five to six hours he guessed he dreamt of his job four to five of those hours. It meant everything to him to close a case, knowing that he had saved the lives of people he would never meet and never hear of. It didn’t matter that those people didn’t know he had helped them. He received no pat on the back from the families who never knew that they were the next ones on the list of some sadistic, murdering psychopath.

  Jason did appreciate the distraction that his kids provided. They took him away from the everyday life of killers and death—to pull him in the direction of softball and baseball and his daughter’s social life. Jason was the assistant coach now of his son’s baseball team. It was a pleasure seeing the look on a 12-year-old boy’s face as he turned a flawless double play or hit a ball so hard that it made an arching swoop over an outfielder’s head.

  He was not a religious man, but he did attend church on occasion. Since he had been diagnosed with leukemia, he had become a touch more acquainted with the priest at his local Catholic church. He was luckier than some, he realized, with the medication effectively fighting back the disease for several years now. His blood work every six months was receiving praise from his doctor.

  He never considered himself a handsome man, but his wavy hair leaned toward a natural blonde. He had been lucky enough to have several beautiful ladies in and out of his life. His wife Sherene would always be the best in his book. She wasn’t perfect, but she was as close to perfect as any woman he had ever met. He still spent many nights dreaming of her, and she was the frequent object of his affection as he lay alone in the dark, relieving himself of wasted sexual pleasure.

  He found it interesting how most of the middle-aged women that frequented the kids’ sports circuit always found the time to sit and talk with him or offer their help if he needed an ear to listen. This was not only the single or divorced women, but many of the married women were readily available to help him navigate the waters of the shark-infested single’s ocean if he were interested. He realized that being in decent shape and still having a full head of hair left him far ahead of his competition in the middle-aged men category. It didn’t take much nowadays to be in the lead pack.

  He just couldn’t find the interest, yet. He knew that at some point Sherene would move on (she was far too beautiful to remain single long). He would, as well, but he needed a push from somebody or a sign or something that would pique his interest. He had never been a serious aggressor, but he had never had to either. The women for the most part had come to him throughout his life. Sherene had been different, and he pursued her back in college. But even she was not somebody that he had to work hard at swooning.

  He had once heard a girl say that she had been in four relationships in her life, and she had not picked any of the men. They had all picked her, and they had navigated their way into her life until she relented and took a chance. Could it be possible that life always found a way of working out? The balance of good versus evil, pursuers versus pursued, and so on and so on. It seemed too easy to think that in the end when the score cards would be tallied for the existence of man that everything would be equal.

  Jason had always enjoyed a good Seinfeld episode, and it brought to mind the show on balance where everything Jerry did evened out for him, including his friends. Elaine lost her job and became a loser at the same time that George got a job for the Yankees and started dating a gorgeous woman. Jerry had lost a $100 bill only to find a $100 bill a few hours later in the pockets of his pants that he had retrieved from the cleaner. If this were the case in reality, then did it mean that if Jason quit his job that an appropriate amount of killers would simply never materialize because there would be no Jason to pursue them?

  If that were true, then he was doing nothing more in life than perpetuating the very thing that he worked his life to destroy. The paradox stumps us all at times with its emotional implications. Jason was wrapping up his work, and there were a few people from the office that were going out for drinks tonight. After several situations of getting himself worried about his drinking, Jason had not been ingesting alcohol for a couple of months now. He had, instead, decided to focus on himself and work on getting his life back on track.

  He wished he could say the same for his friend Sudhir. He was worrying Jason with his self-destructive nature as of late. At some point, Sudhir’s wife was going to break him into several pieces of kindling and throw some gas in that direction and light a match. She was becoming more vicious, and Sudhir was becoming more submissive every time Jason saw the two of them. Even without heavy alcohol consumption, tonight would be nice because Helen was going with the gang, and Jason had felt some attraction for her when she first transferred in.

  He had chosen not to inquire about her or instigate anything, but she was extremely attractive and very athletic. Apparently, she had just turned 30, and having moved from Oregon to the Bay Area, did not know many people just yet. With her looks it wouldn’t take long, but she didn’t appear to be interested in men at this point. Jason seemed to remember hearing about her moving because of a bad break up, and she had wanted a clean fresh start.

  They had exchanged the normal water cooler banter, since Jason had been in the office more than normal lately without a case of his own to monopolize his time. In that period, he had actually gone as far to request she be placed on his team. Who knows if it would happen, but Jason usually got what he desired from his supervisors. With his reputation now growing and his casual demeanor, he was listened to at an unusually high rank.

  Helen was athletic in stature, about 5’5”, and had brown shoulder-length hair that was naturally wavy--not curly, with tight kinky folds, but full and rolling like the waves of the ocean on a calm, slightly breezy day. She worked out frequently, and he was sure that she could hold her own against all of the women in the office and a very large percentage of the men. Jason was normally attracted to softer, more subtle women like his ex-wife who was athletic but not as muscularly toned with definition as Helen.

  He felt happy that, unlike most of the men who were now becoming acquainted with Helen, he did not feel intimidated by her in the least. He had dealt with all kinds of people in his life, and he was unsure if he would ever meet anyone again that might make him feel uncomfortable. It was not a cocky attitude, as he was always pleasant, but it was the self-assurance that came with his association to the dredges of the cesspool that he dealt with in his career.

  They were heading out from their office to a local bar called O”Reily’s down the street. It was an Irish bar, and it held the appeal of several law enforcement officers from the FBI, so most of the group was well known. Jason, who was gone from the city as much as he lived
there, was not a local; but going out with the large group, he would be accepted easily enough. It was a great bar to relax in after the interesting days they all put in at the office.

  The walk was a few short blocks, but Jason could not help notice Helen was sticking close to him and initiating a conversation. She was asking the basics of where he was born, where he grew up, and asking about his brothers and sisters. The kind of small talk that two people begin a life with. I wonder how many people really care about who you were when you grew up? Did the effects your childhood had on you in that process, the environmental influences, and how they helped shape you into the person you are today really matter?

  My guess is that in our self-analyzed society of today that is so preoccupied with the warped beliefs that therapy should be engaged every time you break a nail would answer “absolutely” to all of these questions. Jason was a more practical guy, who approached the here and now. He, of course, answered all the questions politely and followed up with the same generic garble in response so he didn’t leave a bad impression. The entire time he spent wondering who originally established the list of top 10 questions to ask when you initially meet somebody.

  He was interested in Helen, so he did inquire about her stay in Oregon, where she had decided to live in San Francisco, her transfer to this office,what she liked to eat, and what activities she navigated to, or what hobbies she enjoyed? He took his time admiring her, as she walked in sync with him, and her athletic self-assured stroll that exuded confidence and intelligence. He wondered who the man was that could have let her escape his grasp once he had her close enough to embrace. He was probably somebody not confident enough to feel secure around a woman of that caliber--somebody who might have been successful, but needed to feel dominant in his personal life; and with Helen that would never be an option. She was an equal and would not let herself be controlled. But, in this brief conversation, she seemed to want a connection with somebody, as well.