Just two weeks after the divorce, Travis was promoted to senior partner in his firm. There was no coincidence that it all played out along that time frame. There was no coincidence that I was sold out...and his insistence to go through mediation was a great strategy all to his advantage.
I know I need to let go of the past for there’s nothing I can do about it now. Maybe I should say that again in a better way, maybe I need a mantra: “leave the past in the past.”
In sitting here now, I really believe this trip was Travis’ way of dealing with the guilt for screwing me over after ten years of always offering him my absolute best. The penthouse suite at the Whispering Falls Island Resort…really? I would’ve much preferred a house…maybe not in Winnetka like his, but still my own place without a mortgage… that would’ve been nice. I still could do it, with the settlement money, but then I wouldn’t have any cash left…then what would I have to tide me over until I find my way forward?
I’m not sure how to move on and accept my new circumstance. Home is really depressing to me right now. It’s much too quiet and much too small.
A few years ago I accompanied Travis to a seminar where we traveled to New York for three days. Upon our return, we came home to his family greeting us with a sign reading “Welcome Back!” It was so thoughtful of them. When I return from this vacation, all I have to look forward to are the dust bunnies under my bed. I know this is sounding like “poor me” and the only way forward towards better is to reinvent myself…but how? I really wish I had a sense of direction…or at least a compass.
How do I find the song in my heart once again? How do I make friends and fill my life with activity? What sort of job am I qualified for? Should I go back to school? Volunteer? Take up a hobby? Take music lessons? It all seems so overwhelming. The thought of adding more to the pile of change that I’m facing…I’m just not sure I’m ready to do that yet. How long will it be like this? How long will I feel so lost? Three weeks? Six months? Five years?
I’m not sure I care to admit my failure and explain to others how my ten year marriage fell apart like it did. When I make new friends, the subject is sure to come up and I do hold some responsibility in how my body betrayed me.
I can’t have children. I’m infertile. Even in writing it here I feel the pain from that truth. I love kids…and I always imagined that tiny hand of my “precious” grasping my index finger as we’d walk to the park. I envisioned that mouse-like voice filled with questions; sponging up everything…trying to make sense out of what often would seem to be illogical. We’d make up goofy songs, we’d count from one to ten in different languages, we’d play games, we’d rhyme…and we’d laugh, oh how we’d laugh!
On one occasion, just after Travis and I had been married a few months I bought a tiny pink dress with lace accents sized 1 for a toddler. With it, I imagined my daughter someday…I desired that life ever so much. I so wanted to be called “mommy.” I wanted, I so wanted…
I even began collecting Matchbox cars for my future son. I kept three hundred and seventy five in a display case in the guest room waiting for him, waiting for a stork that refused to deliver to my address.
I know I need to lick my wounds and move on. I know that sometimes when we’re making plans that it doesn’t always work out. I know about the wrench life often throws into the motor, but still… Travis was “an ass” and a huge disappointment. We could have adopted, I begged him. The life I signed up for in no way resembled what it turned out to be. He morphed into a lousy husband and I realize now he would’ve been a lousy father too.
Good riddance…the controlling, egocentric bastard can rot in hell for all that I care. It is my hope that someday, someone, somewhere screws him over like he did me and then he’ll understand what a creep he is. I’m giving him too much credit though; he is incapable of that sort of epiphany…the man lacks conscience. That must be why he is so good at his job. I AM better off without him!
Is there life after divorce? I suppose I’ll learn the answer to that question very soon first hand.
This trip, this “guilt trip” that Travis provided as part of the settlement admittedly had a rough beginning. What horrible luck to be forced into sharing my accommodations with another tenant. Horrible luck is how I saw it at the time, but it really wasn’t horrible at all, it was the very best of luck.
Dora…well, she’s something. My first impression of her was that she was an angry ball of fire. Such negative energy…and she was throwing that fire at me. By the time I composed myself in the bathroom, she had passed out on the kitchen floor. Oh how I wanted to just leave her there, her head cushioned by an empty wine bottle, a line of drool collecting in a puddle on the floor. It would have served her right considering…
I don’t know. I stood there for a few minutes trying to decide what to do. I couldn’t help but think that there must’ve been a reason for her to behave like that and I considered the possibility that she was suffering from her own “hark knock” experience as well. As it turned out my instincts were right.
Guiding her to the sofa was no easy feat. I found an extra blanket in the linen closet and tucked her in. As I walked away, she was smiling…as out of it as she was, she managed that crooked smile that I have since grown to adore.
I couldn’t help but think, “Yeah smile now, when you wake up with a hang over, YOU won’t be smiling then.”
I’m glad I’ve come to realize that Dora Alavaro is a wonderful person. I’m ever so grateful that she’s here. I’ve grown quite attached and this week wouldn’t have been the same without her. She has been a joy and a pleasure!
She makes me laugh and is one of the most considerate souls that I’ve ever met. I’m so glad it worked out the way that it did. Even though she is going through a rough time, she has managed to lift my spirits. I’d like to think that I have reciprocated that favor as well.
Is it okay to admit that she’s beautiful? Is that strange for me to have noticed? She has amazing bone structure and those dark brown eyes…oh my god! Just the site of her makes me happy.
The other day while we were waiting to be served at the hotel café, Dora smiled at something I had said. I swear my heart leaped out of my chest. I remember thinking, “what the heck is that about?” My heart pitter-pattering in such a way…that reaction was puzzling to me…a great looking man with an amazing chest, maybe…but a woman? It’s almost seems as if I have a crush on her or something.
I know in that regard, I’m starving. I had existed on a diet of ice cubes and celery for so long with Travis that it stands to reason how the person who would toss me a slice of steak would gain positive favor. Truthfully, what am I saying here? It’s more than “positive favor,” much more…I must consider the possibility that I’m falling for Dora Alavaro.
That’s not me. I don’t sing that sort of song, do I? I never have in the past, I never even considered that sort of music, with that sort of accompaniment…and yet all of a sudden there’s a distinctive tune stuck in my head. It’s playing in repeat and it’s catchy.
I’m blushing. I’m writing here only to myself and I’m blushing…this is all so peculiar.
Could I imagine myself with a woman? Oh my… What would that mean exactly? What on earth do women do together other than shop, gossip and complain about the unfairness of men? What would a relationship be like with respect and consideration shared in equal portions? I’m guessing it would be remarkably good…nurturing, warm, honest and fulfilling.
I’ve got to stop this sort of nonsense; Dora is not that way, is she? There are glances exchanged, intense glances…and how about when her hand brushes my arm and it lingers there…her fingertips on the smooth of my skin…then of course, she’ll smile at me with that crooked grin and there is an expression that only seems to be reserved for me…at least I haven’t seen her extend it otherwise. Am I crazy here? I must be. This all seems so improbable. Dora could have anyone she wanted, anyone…
I’m just imagining things now. I�
��m inventing a great romance for this “guilt trip.” What if though? What if my instincts are spot on regarding this? What would I do if she kissed me? What would her lips feel like? All of that anger she threw at me when I first met her, I’m betting she is very passionate…Do I dare to imagine Dora in the heat of passion? What would “us together” in such a way even look like? I’m blushing again. Journaling is not supposed to cause a person to blush is it?
Maybe I should kiss her! That would be something, SO out of character, so unlike me. It would be liberating to take the initiative for a change. Would I have the nerve?
I’m just being silly now. Dora’s not gay…but more importantly, I’m not gay…but still…she’s a whole lot of wonderful and I could see myself with her. Did I just admit that on paper? The day I shared her pillow and she brushed my face with such gentle intent. That intimacy warmed my heart. I could get used to it too, the awakening with her in my arms, Spain, the very beautiful, remarkable Spain.
If only there was some way to look into the future to determine if something is a sure thing or not. I wish there was some way to know if the person I accidentally bump into on the subway or in the coffee house is meant to be my forever person…or who I’m forced to share penthouse accommodations with while on vacation. There is NO way to know exactly, no way to know and that uncertainty is something I now fear. I admit it, I’m afraid and with good reason. I can thank Travis for such fear; I can thank Travis for leaving me broken, “Travis the ass.”
How on earth do I rebuild once again after experiencing such a monumental loss? How does one ever fully trust again?
I wish I could think in terms of next week, next month, next year or two years from now. It seems all I have is life is in the moment; all I have is beach, sand and Whispering Falls with Dora Alavaro.
I’d be very happy if I could figure this all out. I’d love to feel something other than the heartbreak that I’ve been carrying...I long to feel something other than an emotional numbness. I want to be able to open my heart to the wonders of love…to give love, to be loved.
Maybe I need to just let the divorce and what happened with Travis all go somehow…to not worry about the past, the hurt, the disappointment, the pain…not to worry about placing meaning on more than what I am experiencing in the “now.” Maybe the answers I seek are in allowing such troubles to ride off on the next wave. I like that thought…my troubles to ride off on the next wave…Maybe, just maybe….
I have a bottle. I retrieved it from the garbage with an interesting plan. I wanted a container to take home the pure sands of the island. That way any time I felt like giving up, I could remember a place existed that closely resembled paradise. If things became really bad, I thought I might pour the beach onto a tray and run my fingers through…caressing this week and the hopes I carried for a new beginning.
It would’ve been my way of packing everything good from this trip to carry along with me as a reminder, but perhaps there is a better use for that empty bottle after all…
Chapter 13: The Whine Bottle
The American was a curious sort and at times I was uncertain exactly what to think. I found her somewhat eccentric. For example, on the very first day when Carmen thought I had gone to change my clothes for our excursion together, I doubled back, catching sight of her scavenging through the rubbish in the kitchen. There was an odd look of determination on her face. I remember thinking that surely if someone could afford the most expensive suite at an exclusive resort such as Whispering Falls; then there would be no reason for this…surely. I stood there perplexed, believing that she was set to recover the half case of expensive Merlot that I had sacrificed on behalf of better manners.
The odd thing was, Carmen did not recover the full bottles of wine at all, but instead an empty. “How strange,” I whispered.
With great consideration, Carmen leaned forward into the sink and rinsed the residue from the bottle. She then lifted the bin and carefully recovered the cork. She gazed about seemingly nervous, and I figured maybe she collected empty wine bottles as souvenirs for display. The wine was expensive, aged and was sought out as precious. Why not salvage a full bottle though? Why an empty?
Adding to my belief that I did not quite understand the mindset of America, was in the fact that when we boarded the boat for the reef, Carmen was carrying her satchel and tucked in loosely was the very same cast-off bottle re-corked.
Did she use it to carry some fresh drinking water as a precaution? In a way that would be a sensible thing to do, except I know I mentioned to her how the resort had stocked a small cooler on the boat with such provisions.
Did she use it for some sort of skin moisturizer? I remembered how Maya threw together her own concoction of baby oil, exotic herbs and musky spices to keep her skin protected while we shared the beaches of Lake Eerie many, many years ago. The island sun was relentless and if one did not compensate with moisturizers skin would turn leathery. Maybe that was it.
When Carmen leaned forward to help me untie the boat, as nonchalant as possible, I reached into her bag and lifted the bottle in slight. The strange fact was, it did not appear as if anything was inside.
Empty. “Oh the mystery!” I said under my breath.
As we drove off, I watched the American. She was smug, masking all expression behind those sunglasses, presenting herself all neat and nice. I kept hoping that she would explain the empty wine bottle but instead she acted as if it were not even there. Curious.
Maybe I should have demanded an explanation as to why she carried around an empty. A full bottle would make perfect sense, a means for celebrating, a means to make a special occasion even more memorable. Of course there was the robust flavor of France’s aged grapes, the zing that ignited the senses at the most opportune moment…the rush…but an empty bottle? There was no apparent reason for it.
I grinned at the American, as she in turn smiled demure. What did it matter? I’m sure she had her reasons and besides, I was smitten with her. Everything about her was perfection. Her looks, her style, her personality…and yet she carried an empty bottle along as if it were of value. Surely there had to be some logical reason other than it being a glass mascot.
Was she looking to change water into wine? Absurd.
Did she use it as a whistle in the event she wanted to call for help? Equally absurd.
After we tied off the boat and spent most of the afternoon exploring the reef, I put the strangeness of her empty bottle out of my mind. Carmen was intoxicating without the help of alcohol in the carefree manner that she enjoyed the day, so who was I to cast judgment? She was truly enthralled with the reef and everything there was to see in and around it, including me.
Upon boarding the boat, Carmen asked to drive. I of course was curious to observe her style behind the wheel. If she drove the vessel anything like she did the jet ski’s, we were in for a bit of a treat. America did not seem intimidated by speed; in fact, she seemed to thrive on it. She excited me in that regard…the manner for which she appeared all neatly wrapped and then with a simple untying of a bow, she became someone quite unexpected in her daring. A surprise gift was what she was to me and I couldn’t imagine a more perfect gift.
As we rounded the corner at the mouth of the lagoon, Carmen with the boat idling rather slowly, reached into her bag and retrieved the bottle. I held my breath hoping I would finally understand what the appeal was, maybe or maybe not?
She hurried to the back of the boat and gazed towards the great expanse of ocean before her. Under her breath she mumbled a few words as she shifted her feet and hurled that bottle with all of her might. It was a powerful throw. The glass went soaring, gaining height, flipping in circles, over and over until it landed with a splash onto a distant wave. Carmen stood for a moment, her hand cupped over the bridge of her nose as she watched the bottle bobbing up and down. A slight smile pursed her lips.
Turning towards me, she grinned with a girl next door innocence, as if everyone tossed their rubbish in
to the ocean in such a way.
“Can I ask what that was all about?”
“No,” she said in response.
“So you had the desire to pollute the waters with such clutter? How very considerate of you, America. Not a shock considering your people,” I said conveying perfect sarcasm.
Carmen began to laugh at me as if what I said was stupid.
“If you must know, there was a message in it.”
“A message?”
“Yes. A message.”
“Like help me, I’m tied up and bleeding, send an ambulance?” I teased.
“Well a message but not quite with that in mind.”
“Ah.” I said grinning from ear to ear.
“It was private. I wrote some very personal things and wedged those thoughts within. It was a way for me to purge myself…to step away from and maybe come to grips with how I’ve been feeling.”
I allowed her explanation to simmer a moment. “And how have you been feeling?” I wondered aloud.
Carmen smiled sheepishly. With grace, she slid behind the wheel and pushed the throttle enabling the boat to lunge forward and the motor to snuff out any hope of an explanation. My question would remain unanswered.
I gazed at the bottle as we sped off. It became a tiny spec riding the waves in the great pool of life. I wondered about the American and her wisdom to do such a curious thing. Was it closure from her relationship with her “ass” as she described him, of an ex-husband?
Maybe she was onto something. I thought about writing Laura, about vomiting the guilt that I carried for not being more open about who I was. I thought of throwing those feelings into the air in similar fashion and watching them crash into the water like that. I imagined those thoughts and feelings riding waves for all eternity. It had to be a liberating experience…it had to be a great lifting. It made perfect sense and I could envision doing this. With my luck however, someone would find the bottle and then my personal life would become public knowledge. I could picture the tabloids having a field day with my truths.
Falling Whispers, Love & Curses Page 9
