(Wednesday Morning, May 6)
It’s been a couple of weeks since I moved back home. And I’d have to say it’s been going well. It does feel like we’re being pretty careful around one another. All three of us are just finding our way back to each other. We’re trying to do more stuff together, as a family. Last night, I got home around five and we packed a picnic dinner and rode bikes to the beach. We put a blanket on the sand, and the three of us watched the sun go down as we ate chicken. Pretty cool. I missed this.
It’s five forty-five, Friday morning. I’m blindly negotiating my way down the stairs, hoping Lindsey made coffee. I hear an unfamiliar voice coming from the kitchen. As I get closer I realize that Lindsey is listening to our answering machine. I stop on the last step of the stairs.
“Lindsey, I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed our talk yesterday. I’m looking forward to continuing it today.”
I stand in the dark, not sure what I’ve just heard. By the time I walk into the kitchen, my wife is leaning on the counter at the answering machine, replaying the message. She is unaware I am in the room.
“Lindsey, I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed our talk yesterday. I’m looking forward to continuing it today.”
I wait until the message is over. She is staring at the machine.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“What? Oh, just someone.” She’s clearly startled.
“Who?”
She doesn’t look me in the eye. “Just Alan. He’s the counselor I was telling you about before. Remember?”
That sick feeling in my stomach returns, the way it did a few weeks ago when Lindsey mentioned him.
“Lindsey, why is he calling you?”
She heaves that sigh she makes when she thinks I’m getting out of control. I’m not.
“I was looking for some perspective from him a while back, remember? Then he asked me for help with his daughter. That’s all.”
“A married man doesn’t call a married woman to tell her he hopes to see her again.”
“That’s not what he—Steven, please. It’s nothing.”
My voice goes up. “No, Lindsey. It’s not.”
“It is nothing. He’s just a friend. Okay? He’s just someone I talk to, along with half a dozen others at the gym. You talk to people.”
I shake my head. “Why are you getting defensive?”
“Please stop this. You’re doing it again. You’ve got that rigid face again. Please, just stop and listen.”
I’m right on this. She’s trying to spin out of this. I know there’s something more. Just say it.
“I’ll listen,” I bark, “when you start making sense.”
She steadies herself, like she’s resigned to have to fight this one out. I can see she’s as frustrated as I am.
“Well, then try this: Steven, I’m not sure if it’s dawned on you yet, but I’m a social person. I’ve got a whole bunch of things inside me to talk about, almost all the time. You’re usually so preoccupied that I don’t get a chance to say many of them. Ask your daughter. She talks to me all the time. And you wonder why you can’t get her to say boo to you about her day at school. She knows you’re not available and has learned to not bother.”
Lindsey walks over to the kitchen sink. “Women just need to talk more. And some men get that. That’s all this is—just a male friend who doesn’t mind talking. What about that is defensiveness?”
“Lindsey, do you realize that every time I say something you don’t like, you pull the ‘Steven-is-preoccupied’ card? Every time.”
She spins around from the sink. “Do you realize that every time I pull the ‘Steven-is-preoccupied’ card, it’s because you are?”
“That’s so stupidly unfair. It’s not true and it’s unfair.”
“Steven, I’m wanting you to take a deep breath. If you want to have a conversation, we can have a conversation. But this is not a conversation. This is the freaked-out guy about to lose it. Now, you’re going to get angry in a minute and say a bunch of things you’ll wish you hadn’t. And then I’m going to walk out that door and drive somewhere. Then I’m going to call you on my cell phone to tell you that this is not working and that I cannot keep doing this. And you’re going to be very sorry, and it’s going to be very strange for a long time. Or we can stop right now, and I’ll hand you a cup of coffee and you can wake up and remember to stop being a control freak and we can just go on.”
“You know what? You can bag the righteous indignation speech, Lindsey. You’re hiding something!” I say, almost yelling. “You give a lecture and then I’m supposed to just be quiet because I get angry, while you go live your double life.”
“You are so out of control, again.”
“Then go! I’m sick of this.”
“Shut up, Steven. You’re gonna wake her up.”
“You shut up! I’ve done everything right. And you’ve been seeing some shrink guy while I’m living in a hotel.”
“Get out of this house, Steven. I’m not leaving, you are.”
“I’m not doing that again. This is my house. You can go live with your boyfriend!”
She screams as loud as I’ve ever heard anyone scream: “Get out! Get out! Get OUT!”
She runs over to the phone.
I yell, “What are you doing? Who are you calling?”
“The police. I’m calling the police! Get out of this house now!”
She’s screaming and crying at the same time. I hear Jennifer’s door open.
“Mom? What’s going on?”
And I run out of the house.
Within seconds I’m in my car, headed north. I don’t know where to go. I find myself driving up into the hills overlooking the ocean. I park my car in the same area Andy first brought me. A thousand screaming explosions are crashing around my head. I’m still shaking.
I did it again. I lost it. What have I done? Should I call her? What if she was right? What if that was all it was with this guy?
I sit there, limp, knowing I’ve been here so many times before. And every time, I promise I’ll guard myself from allowing it to happen again. The pitiful part is that I actually believe I will. Still breathing hard, staring out across the valley where my whole world is free-falling into chaos, I’m struck with the thought that this all may not get better. That I don’t have the ability to fix myself and that Lindsey and Jennifer will continue to suffer for it. Why does she stay? Maybe this time she won’t.
What do I do?
God, what is wrong with me? My marriage is falling apart. I freaked out again. I keep scaring this woman who used to be all I could think about. Please help me. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m so afraid I’ll always be like this. Help me. My head drops into my hands. Do You hear me? Help me. Please. Help me.
After a few minutes, I lift my head and stare. What comes next? I’ve been through this drill with her so many times.
One of us gets into a car and drives in no particular direction—usually her. Then I feel lousy all day. Then sometime this evening or tomorrow morning, I’ll sit down in front of Lindsey and apologize. It’s like clockwork. I’ll own everything, even though I don’t believe it. I’m just wanting things back to… whatever they were before. I’ll ask her to forgive me. I’ll send flowers. I’ll write notes. What a putz! I’m like an actor in a soap opera trying to schmooze my way back to normalcy.
The saddest part is that Lindsey has also learned to play the game. She’s found her role in this madness. So far, she’s loved me enough to keep forgiving me. She tries to forget and pretend it’ll get better.
So why does it feel different now?
I’m onto myself, that’s why. Have I ever thought that before? I no longer trust my own remorse. All these years, I’ve apologized for my crappy behavior. But I was never sorry, not really. I gave myself so much arrogant license to hurt her and anyone else. Because I was bigger and stronger. And they were weaker.
Oh, God. I’ve been lying to myself. How do I get out of this? I just want to start all over, throw away everything. Please help me. I don’t know if I can do this. Please help me start over.
Eventually, I get up and drive back down the hill, past east Culver City, past Venice, then past Marina del Rey, all the way back to our home in Manhattan Beach. I turn onto our street, but Lindsey’s car is gone. I call her cell phone… then again. No answer.
I don’t leave a message.