I'm sitting here contemplating the events of this morning, trying to ignore some crappy romance chick-flick about old people (mid-40's I'd figure) falling in love because I can't be arsed to change the channel to cartoons, and attempting to tie one on yet lacking the funds to do so with adequate satisfaction. So, in lieu of drinking a series of fine Scotches, champagne, a nice bottle of Brunello di Montalcino, and a variety of cordials and aperitifs I am instead opting for a lovely mixture of cranberry juice, crappy white wine, vodka, and Chambord. Meh, one out of four ain't bad, right? A toast to all married men, you've succeeded where I've failed. Chin-chin!
Wednesday:
I awake to this obnoxious noise that I can only guess is a large truck backing up just feet away from my window. I stumble out of bed and flick open the blinds to find . . . a truck that is large, backing up, and only feet away from my window. Not too shabby for a pie-eyed, still partially drunk, half-sleeping man. Fucking cocksuckers have been tearing up my road for the past two months, but to be honest it really does make a very effective alarm clock. A quick glance at my cell phone lets me know that I have a solid two hours before I'm due in court. Score!
Shit, shower, and shave, toss on my suit and I'm looking pretty and dressed to kill. I make my way to the Superior Court in Willimantic and float around the lobby until the wife showed up. She walks in and you'd swear she was a school marm, except for the slutty boots of course. She's wearing a new pair of glasses, and it pisses me off slightly that I notice this. I imagine it's only natural to notice small changes in the way someone looks when you see them virtually every day for ten years, yet that is still no consolation to the fact that I still care enough to pay attention. We stand around in the lobby waiting for her lawyer to arrive, her trying not to look at me and me picking lint and wiping spit up from my baby boy off her hideous shirt (I told you she has fuck all for fashion sense).
Eventually her lawyer shows up and we head off into a side room to go over the last few details of his poorly prepared routine. After our little meeting of the minds, my wife and I sat next to each other in the booths waiting for our case to be called. We whispered to each other throughout everyone else's court proceedings, laughed at inside jokes that we shared, and pretended not to enjoy touching each other while we waited for our case to be called. When the time came for us to finally face the music, I promptly turned from jovial ex-husband to solemn, distant stranger. As she testified before the judge I couldn't look at her. I saw her lawyer, the judge, the bailiffs and everyone else in the room, but I could not look at her. I couldn't block out the sound of her voice while her lawyer stumbled about the proceedings.
It was done in an instant. A few brief statements by the lawyer, a quick synopsis of the case by the judge and all of a sudden the lifetime commitment I had made to this woman was no longer valid. You sir, are officially, legally, irrevocably . . . divorced.
We shuffled our way out of the courtroom and left her lawyer inside to deal with his other cases. I was walking her to her car in the parking lot and she extends her arm and points her hand at me, palm open. It dawns on me that she is expecting a handshake. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the Superior Court, we clasp hands and she says "Congratulations". Puzzled, I query her meaning by such an odd sentiment. She goes on to explain that at one point long ago I informed her that all of my former girlfriends would invariably attempt to change me to suit their needs and that every one failed miserably. She was admitting defeat in the same endeavor almost as if she was resigned to the fact that she had just been added to the list of all the women who've tried to tame this man. Smirking roguishly, I coyly respond "Well, I must admit that you gave me a hell of a run for my money". I'm not sure if she's too obtuse or too modest to grasp the impact she's had on my life.
We continue to walk to her car, both of us strolling along at a more leisurely pace than normal. It's time for her to leave and she wraps her arms around me to hug me goodbye. What starts out as a friendly parting display of affection quickly morphs into a meaningful embrace where each of us is squeezing harder than necessary and neither wants to let go. It's not unusual for us to hug each other; we do it quite often actually, but now feels different for some reason. Like this is really the end, like we won't ever see each other again, like everything we had been striving for during the last decade instantly stops the second we break contact.
I thought I had been prepared for this, that I had emotionally removed myself enough from this woman that today wouldn't hurt. The salty discharge building up around my eye would belie the calm, collected faade I have so expertly honed over the years. A look of pleasant surprise crosses her face; "Why are you crying?" she asks. "Because I'll miss you." Another round of exaggerated hugs and I pull back slightly, put my hand behind her head, brush her cheek and meet her lips with mine. It's a lustless kiss but one filled with love, regret, and raw, unbridled emotion.
I say one last thing and I turn away for what feels like eternity.
"Goodbye, B"
Wednesday:
I awake to this obnoxious noise that I can only guess is a large truck backing up just feet away from my window. I stumble out of bed and flick open the blinds to find . . . a truck that is large, backing up, and only feet away from my window. Not too shabby for a pie-eyed, still partially drunk, half-sleeping man. Fucking cocksuckers have been tearing up my road for the past two months, but to be honest it really does make a very effective alarm clock. A quick glance at my cell phone lets me know that I have a solid two hours before I'm due in court. Score!
Shit, shower, and shave, toss on my suit and I'm looking pretty and dressed to kill. I make my way to the Superior Court in Willimantic and float around the lobby until the wife showed up. She walks in and you'd swear she was a school marm, except for the slutty boots of course. She's wearing a new pair of glasses, and it pisses me off slightly that I notice this. I imagine it's only natural to notice small changes in the way someone looks when you see them virtually every day for ten years, yet that is still no consolation to the fact that I still care enough to pay attention. We stand around in the lobby waiting for her lawyer to arrive, her trying not to look at me and me picking lint and wiping spit up from my baby boy off her hideous shirt (I told you she has fuck all for fashion sense).
Eventually her lawyer shows up and we head off into a side room to go over the last few details of his poorly prepared routine. After our little meeting of the minds, my wife and I sat next to each other in the booths waiting for our case to be called. We whispered to each other throughout everyone else's court proceedings, laughed at inside jokes that we shared, and pretended not to enjoy touching each other while we waited for our case to be called. When the time came for us to finally face the music, I promptly turned from jovial ex-husband to solemn, distant stranger. As she testified before the judge I couldn't look at her. I saw her lawyer, the judge, the bailiffs and everyone else in the room, but I could not look at her. I couldn't block out the sound of her voice while her lawyer stumbled about the proceedings.
It was done in an instant. A few brief statements by the lawyer, a quick synopsis of the case by the judge and all of a sudden the lifetime commitment I had made to this woman was no longer valid. You sir, are officially, legally, irrevocably . . . divorced.
We shuffled our way out of the courtroom and left her lawyer inside to deal with his other cases. I was walking her to her car in the parking lot and she extends her arm and points her hand at me, palm open. It dawns on me that she is expecting a handshake. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the Superior Court, we clasp hands and she says "Congratulations". Puzzled, I query her meaning by such an odd sentiment. She goes on to explain that at one point long ago I informed her that all of my former girlfriends would invariably attempt to change me to suit their needs and that every one failed miserably. She was admitting defeat in the same endeavor almost as if she was resigned to the fact that she had just been added to the list of all the women who've tried to tame this man. Smirking roguishly, I coyly respond "Well, I must admit that you gave me a hell of a run for my money". I'm not sure if she's too obtuse or too modest to grasp the impact she's had on my life.
We continue to walk to her car, both of us strolling along at a more leisurely pace than normal. It's time for her to leave and she wraps her arms around me to hug me goodbye. What starts out as a friendly parting display of affection quickly morphs into a meaningful embrace where each of us is squeezing harder than necessary and neither wants to let go. It's not unusual for us to hug each other; we do it quite often actually, but now feels different for some reason. Like this is really the end, like we won't ever see each other again, like everything we had been striving for during the last decade instantly stops the second we break contact.
I thought I had been prepared for this, that I had emotionally removed myself enough from this woman that today wouldn't hurt. The salty discharge building up around my eye would belie the calm, collected faade I have so expertly honed over the years. A look of pleasant surprise crosses her face; "Why are you crying?" she asks. "Because I'll miss you." Another round of exaggerated hugs and I pull back slightly, put my hand behind her head, brush her cheek and meet her lips with mine. It's a lustless kiss but one filled with love, regret, and raw, unbridled emotion.
I say one last thing and I turn away for what feels like eternity.
"Goodbye, B"