Loneliness is the acute sensation of realizing that you are on nobody’s mind.
Of being the unneeded X factored out of all equations.
Laura stared out the windshield. The road ran off out of sight, disappearing into the horizon, mesmerizing in its seemingly magical disappearance.
Alone.
She thumbed her wedding ring in absentminded play, the sweat beginning to seep out of her skin, causing the band to roll freely around her finger. She looked at it, its jewel sparkling, shining in the rays streaming through the glass.
At different times through the years she thought of it as her disengagement ring. A symbol that marked the last day Jack pursued her. Focused his attention on her. Prioritized her.
This trip was another vain attempt to rekindle something, anything.
Her eyes scanned the vast expanse of sky surrounding her. There it was: her loneliness personified in earthly form.
Inside she found a little happiness in seeing Jack squirm about the car breaking down. He always portrayed confidence, maybe a little arrogance. He seemed to act like he always had the answers for everything, even when she knew he had no clue what he was talking about. Seeing him in situations that ruffled his feathers brought her a little joy. Sick joy, but joy nonetheless.
Laura picked up her cell phone again and tapped some buttons. Nothing.
She threw it back in her purse on the floor. She took some ChapStick from one of the pockets and casually put some on, the wax soothing her drying lips. She dug through the bottom of her bag for anything—a stick of gum, a mint, something to soothe her restlessness. But for all the collection of knickknacks it contained, she couldn’t find anything.
It was getting hotter in the car, even with the door open.
Her legs, above the knee and below her shorts, were getting hot, exposed to the sun coming through the windshield. She turned sideways in the seat, gazing back down the highway, the way Jack had wandered off. She could see a faint silhouette in the distance, distorted by the heat waves coming off the asphalt. Jack. His shape appearing as a small speck in a funhouse mirror.
Life had been in a perpetual holding pattern for her for years now, so she accepted this current state of boredom with veteran experience. They had been married for five long, slow years. Laura thought that she would have a child or two by now, living the suburban dream of playdates and minivans. But as with all things involving her life with Jack, the family timeline fell on his schedule. He had pushed off having kids until he was more established in his career. She had consented. But then that establishment was always moved further down the line. One more raise, one more promotion . . . yes, someday everything would be fine. And so she waited.
But why? When had she become the clichéd silent wife, the person whom she and her girlfriends raged against in their youth? Had she been born submissive, or just deteriorated into the role, finding the spot of least resistance more comfortable, easy?
Laura felt the dreams of her life slowly decay as time went on, apathy growing as the rust set in. Numbness. The inability to be sparked to action by desires. The loneliness.
Suddenly she wanted him back, back in the car with her, as if she became acutely aware of the magnitude of the situation. Seeing him down the road, a tiny shade in an infinite space of rock and shrub, made her feel exposed. Unsettled. Made her realize her own sense of frailty.
The shadow increased in size, and she could tell he was walking back to the car. As he got closer she could see his shoulders hanging low. Dejected. Worried. A countenance she had not seen very much, and which fit him like an oversized suit. Laura wasn’t sure what to make of it; she was just glad he was coming back.