Frankly Told: In Life Crisis
The car drifted to a smooth halt before the house in a suburban gated community. Handbrake engaged, gear in park and the engine switched off, the silence was so thick it was suffocating. Each of them avoided eye contact like a threat to fall into vulnerability.
“Say something,” he gave in.
“What do you want me to say?” she asked, her tone tasting like surrender.
There was a beat of silence and their out-of-synch breath was the only company they had to their thoughts.
“I’m tired,” she conceded.
She, for the first time since picking him up, turned to look at him and he collected her eye contact like unsaid blame. In her eyes, he could read the genuine exhaustion blatantly and it stirred guilt in him. Was that bender worth it? He thought to himself as she pulled away and stared forward.
“I don’t even want to look at you,” she said. “I think one of these days, you should really explain to your son why you keep disappearing. I am sick of lying for you. I’m tired of painting this image of a father who is hard at work when all you do is just go bender after bender with those-”
She cut herself short and held her anger close to her chest for fear of blowing things up but she could feel it in her, beating at the cage that was her ribcage, threatening to jump out at him.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he started, keeping his eyes trained on her.
“Don’t ‘my love’ me,” she shut him down.
“Okay,” he softly continued. “You are right. This behaviour is inexcusable and I have let you down by having you lie for me and I am not the father to my son as I should be.”
“You are right,” he repeated, ripping his eyes from her.
“This has to stop,” she said, a sob slipping through.
He nodded and inside his chest, his heart broke in two when his ears caught the sob. It was taking all he had to hold himself back from reaching out and holding her, knowing that was the last thing she would have wanted. He looked down at her arms that wrapped themselves around her wishing he was that comfort to her at the moment.
“It does,” he resolved. “I am sorry. I am sorry for this irresponsible behaviour and the pain I have caused you by doing this, regardless of any reason I would do it for.”
“Mh,” she let out through her wall. “You know what? Let’s start there. Why? Why are you doing this?”
He leaned further into his seat hoping it could open up and swallow him, leaving nothing but his ego there to deal with whatever was going on but his heart felt different.
“If I am being honest,” he let his walls down ever so slightly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s work. Maybe it’s life. Maybe it’s things at home. Maybe it’s a number of things. Maybe it’s feeling like I have been pulled in so many different directions lately I haven’t had time to really enjoy what life has to offer.”
“And drinking yourself silly is enjoyable?” she poked through.
He paused and sighed.
“Is it?” she pushed.
“No it isn’t.” he doubled down.
“You have always been such an introspective man,” she burned into him. “Why don’t you think more and tell me? I need that version of you right now. I would like answers. None of what you have said seems to be it. What is it you gain from this drinking and whatever? Every. Single. Weekend.”
“I gain a chance to feel like I don’t have responsibilities.” He responded bitterly, the words bounding from the deepest parts of him.
“Like you don’t have responsibilities?” she dug in.
“Yes,” he accepted softly. “Lately, it’s been a little haven for me. Is it healthy? No. Does it help? Yes. No. I don’t know. I just know that when I am in it I don’t feel guilty. I feel like I am young again. Like my world is not stuck on this roll into the inevitable grave of old age.”
“And when did it start to feel like this?” she pondered.
“I’ve been feeling like this for a while,” he answered, he let the floodgates open. “If I could have, believe me, I would have used any means to feel like myself. I thought it was only a moment in time and if I could do it once I would not feel like this but once became twice, twice became thrice, over and over.”
“Every time I would come back home and the realization set it that maybe it was just a short pause on this life,” he vomited. “I am not happy. I feel like I didn’t get a chance to experience this part of life and when I am in it, it feels like what happiness kind of feels like. It keeps my head above the surface and I’ll admit I am afraid of turning out like dad in the way he looked so miserable, for what? A few coins to give others a good life. What is left of mine? When do I get to have mine? When do I get to live a little?”
She stared at her husband. For the first time in a long time, she saw him lose his armour and while she was angered that he was choosing now to be open about things, she was partially relieved to see this side of him back with her.
“Ah,” he frustratedly swiped at the tears welling in his eyes. “Now I sound like I’m going through a mid-life crisis. I’m sorry to drag you into this. I didn’t know it was affecting you like this. I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”
“What do you mean?” she reached over and held his hand. “You are finally working through this crisis. Albeit, I am still mad at you, I am glad you can still talk to me. I wish you did this instead of carrying everything in your chest. I don’t need a man of steel. I need a man. Right now, you are showing me again what that looks like.”
“You don’t have to hide again,” she rubbed her thumb on the back of his hand. “I am with you, whatever the ‘in-life crisis’. I am your wife.”
