Wanderlust

I fell in love with my wife because she was different. Because her mind didn’t exist on the same wavelength as the rest of us. We poor mortals on this earth cannot comprehend the depth of Brenda. But “depth” sometimes can be confused for a fickle mind.

After we built our dream house in the country, I soon regretted including windows. For every night when my wife would look out one of those wretched portholes, she would always get this look and start dreaming. A look of longing. A desire to travel to some unknown place.

“I want to travel,” she’d blurt out as if the starry night had taken possession of her soul and spoken on her behalf.

Knowing how this would end, I would always ask, “And where do you want to go, honey?”

Then she would stand there -- my ingenious wife -- dumbfounded. Paris? Sydney? Dubai? Bora Bora? None could satisfy her, and she would stare out that stupid window a little bit longer. 

So, yes, when we got into this conversation for the one-hundredth time maybe my patience was running thin. This longing, this desire, after all, was nothing more than discontent with what we had built. A discontent with ME.

“Are you looking out that stupid window again,” I snapped. “Goodness, Brenda. You’ll never be satisfied. This home was our dream. And now that we have it, you dream of something else? You’re always looking to the next thing!”

Such was the pitfall of an overactive mind. It always sought new information. But Brenda had a different explanation.

“You know what Nathaniel. Now that I think about it. I don’t think this was ever my dream. It was always yours. I mean look at it. Every inch. Every nook. Every cranny. Built to your specifications. I basically didn’t have any input.”

This was news to me and made me even angrier that she was hurling this accusation into my face so last minute. I tried to maintain patience as I explained.

“I said ‘Wouldn’t it be great if we moved out to the country away from traffic, crime, jackasses on their cell phones drinking their fifth pound of coffee. I said ‘Wouldn’t that be great?’ and you said what Brenda?”

She sighed as if entertaining a child.

“I said it would be great. But I didn’t say I wanted to do it.”

“Oh, silly me. Here I am thinking people want to do great things. I’ll make a mental note of that. Next time you say you want to do something great I’ll assume you want to take a nail gun to your head one hundred consecutive times.”

The grandfather clock tolled as if signaling the end of a heavyweight match.

“Let’s just stop this nonsense and go to sleep.”

She gave me that smile once reserved for catty neighbors, “That’d be great.”

As we lay in bed, I wanted to say honey it’s ok. I wanted to express to her the appreciation I felt for her being by my side all these years even though her insatiable dream had not been met. I wanted to. But instead, I just closed my eyes and when I opened them it was the morning. 

Sleep seemed like a blink and I opened my eyes with the worst headache. Of course, Brenda was gone. She probably went to town to buy some worthless trinkets. That’s what I called them. Shoes, bags, purses she’ll never wear anywhere. It was a fucking two-hour drive. Foolish woman.

I figured I’d get started with the business of the day. I took a shower for no good reason as I was about to get sweaty out in the sun, but the cold water would do me good. I vaguely remember reading or hearing somewhere that a married couple should never go to bed angry (scratch that. I just heard it. I never read). There’s something about showers, sometimes you get the most ingenious ideas in them. Other times a sudden apparition from the past pops into your mind, making cringe in physical pain. That was how the previous night felt.

As I stepped out onto the porch and witnessed the sun over the horizon, something felt odd. Was the sun rising in the west? Brenda’s departure had shaken me more than I imagined. I began to curse at the sun and Brenda and her witch-like ways. No wonder men believed in witches. Women have their natural ways of casting spells. Brenda had flustered me so much I didn’t know my east from my west.

Now, the jezebel had me formulating a damned a proper apology. I even thought about sitting down and writing it out. What a load of bull. She had won the guilt game.

To get my mind off my marital defeat, I went about the farm doing work. Tending to my tomatoes. That didn’t go too well because. If someone had chosen this simple day to visit me, they would have thought I was cussing out a ghost as all of my tomatoes seemed to be spoiled. My departed maiden had somehow put a curse on the land. I then decided to turn to the simple task of chopping wood. Couldn’t ruin that, could she?

 But with each stroke of my axe, the rising sun taunted me with double-edged laughter. One for the insanity that was befalling me -- seeing the sun appear to creep from west to east. Two for the passage of time. Usually, her belligerent spending sprees were less than.

I always wondered why she would drape herself in all that jewelry and extravagant finery with nowhere to go. She never showed an interest for fancy parties or people. She considered them fake as I did. That was the special secret between us. The hidden bond that keeps couples going: our utter disdain for the average. 

No, as time progressed, I realized that she loved the mere extravagance. Could a farm do that for her? Maybe that’s why she was gone so long: to relieve her wanderlust by browsing through the city. She’d be back soon enough.

I continued doing work. But as the sun climbed some more I swore I saw a face that was mocking me as it continued on its rebellious path across the sky. I could not take the taunting anymore. I threw down my axe and cursed the blasted thing. And coursed it more for good measure. I used D’s and C’s and F’s and S’s, weaving my profanity together as if I were doing an incantation. Finally, I was fed up. I had to find out. Was the sun rising in the west? I went into my home to look for my trusty compass. 

But as I looked through the closets, something was amiss. Brenda’s clothes. Her jewelry. Her fine dresses. Her extravagantly high heels… They were gone…. They were gone.

Common sense should naturally lead a man to the next logical conclusion. One fact should flow into the other. But I sat on the floor fighting with the realization. My mind wrestled with all rationality. To be honest, I must say he put up an admirable fight. But when it was through, the truth rushed in like a dagger.

She was gone.

I didn’t work for the rest of the day. I just sat on the porch watching that fucking sun creep smugly across my blue sky. Then when the sun finally set, I went inside. To my surprise, the phone was ringing. I never got any calls. No one liked me. Nonetheless, I answered.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was frantic.

“Oh! Thank god you’re ok!”

“Who is this?”

“This is Dawson with C3-City Caregivers, sir. We’re calling to check on you because your caregiver left you without giving us notice. She had an emergency but --”

“Caregiver? I don’t have a caregiver! You have the wrong number!”

“Sir,” he proceeded slowly. “We go through this each time. You have Alzheimer’s. Ten years ago you moved out there with your wife to fulfill her dream.”

“Moved out here? Where’s here?”

“You’re on the planet COROT-7b. It’s similar to earth with the exception of a few features.”

Such as a sun that rises in the east.

“You might be confused, but your wife was so touched by your willingness to travel with her, she surprised you by making an exact replica of your home back on earth.”

“So where’s my wife at, right now?”

I held my breath, but it didn’t change the answer.

“She’s dead.”

Maybe some Wanderlust is not of this world. Maybe some people’s soul’s stir and we call them fickle. I tell you, the pain of not knowing those last years -- of not knowing her final moments -- bore a hole through me so deep, it’d offend me if you ever tried to imagine it. However, there was another question I needed answered, that would make things a little better. 

I asked slowly, “Do you... know how she was once she moved here?”

I felt a smile through the receiver. A tone so genuine as to remove any doubt. I glowed with pride and joy as he said that single word.

“Happy.”