Gravitational Forces

The recent twinge in Bec’s left shoulder had her convinced she had MS. One Christmas morning she drank too much French Roast from the new Keurig, and she just knew she had Parkinson’s. “This is it,” she would tell him with each new supposed ailment. She would lean into him on the old plaid couch while watching Game of Thrones, or Breaking Bad, or whatever show they were binge watching that week and weep. He would try to comfort her. “It’ll be ok, Becs. You’re just feeling down, but I’m here for you.” After drying her tears, she then indulged in the overwhelming sense of shame that always accompanied her crying jags. She would brush her teeth, slide to the far side of the bed come 10pm and recognize the ocean of lost hope that separated them. She would ruminate on her childless life and myriad of fears. How could Jerry really love her when she was all dried up? Had they spent too much money on invitro? Meanwhile Jerry pretended to sleep miles away on the other side, wondering how much more of Becky he could take.

It hadn’t always been this way. He remembered running into her at Rose Park nearly a decade ago while she walked her big floppy dog on the edge of tony Georgetown, where the row houses started small and grew larger heading west. He had decided to walk through the park instead of the more efficient sidewalk in a rare moment of satisfying his senses on such a delightful spring evening. Next thing he knew, he spied a large Sheepdog bounding toward him, blue leash trailing. It jumped up enthusiastically, almost knocking him flat on the ground. Jerry did not particularly like dogs, he tolerated them at best. But pretty girls, those he liked.

“Nice dog you got there.” He wiped the paw prints off his shirt, scoffed, and looked up to see dark eyes and blond hair and Becky.

“Thanks. This is Felix. Sorry about that. You ok?”

“Your dog has a cat’s name,” he said. Then he smiled with a flirtatious wink. After that, he made it a point to walk through the park when he thought she might be there in hopes of “accidentally” running into her. She wasn’t like the other girls he had dated. She seemed as if she held a secret, unbreakable joy. Her smile lit up the room, and when she laughed, it filled up his heart.

Now seven years later he wondered what had happened to that beautiful creature who saved missing dogs and waved at other people’s babies in strollers. Who was this crying sack of a woman he was now married to? So what if they couldn’t have kids, Jerry thought. And now, after seven years of trying, he grew more and more numb to Becky’s persistent fears and hypochondria, just because she was sterile. The idea of a lifetime of sharing her half-empty glass tormented him. He had thought about asking for a divorce. But why even bother? He felt sufficiently comfortable with this life, just bored and naggingly dissatisfied. He fantasized about having an affair. He sometimes surfed the dating apps when Becky was out walking Felix, but even that seemed like too much of an effort. With marriage comes baggage and Becky’s baggage included depression, infertility-induced hypochondria, and a 75-pound Old English Sheepdog with a God-damned cat’s name. The dog was near on 12 now, which, he thought, was long enough for any dog to live. Felix didn’t bother him so much, per se, but he was big and often in the way. He had a habit of always stepping in front of Jerry and stifling his progress. The more he thought about it, so did Becky’s depression.

Then last summer, Becky announced, “I have GLD, Jerry. I know it.”

“What do you mean you have GLD, Becky? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“GLD, Gravitational Loss Disorder.”

“Come on, Becs, even you can’t believe that one.” He could no longer hide the contempt in his voice. He felt like she was testing him.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” Becky’s head dropped to her chest for a moment, but then quickly righted itself, her eyes moistening with unspilled tears that accompanied that familiar sense of shame.

Becky had begun to lose her sense of gravity on an oppressively humid Tuesday in August. Like most days, she started off the morning with a cup of strong coffee and a short run with Felix. On this particular day, however, instead of feeling the jolt of the pavement running up through her shoes to her knees, she felt easier, younger. Her pace had a spring, a Tigger-like bounce. She and Felix bound down the path faster than ever.

Later, after showering off the sweat, she looked in the mirror and noticed that the usual bulges didn’t sag quite as much. Her breasts stood a little perkier than the day before. She almost felt happy. By Thursday, her feet barely skimmed the surface of the Earth, and she began to worry. Should anyone feel this light? It’s not natural.

“I went to see Dr. Hartness,” she said. Jerry could see how she hesitated to make this confession as they stood in the kitchen waiting for the microwave to sound the dinner bell. “He said I look great, maybe even a little better than usual,” she said. “But Jerry, I tell you, I’m losing my gravity.”

“Ok Becs, so you’re losing your gravity.” He decided to play along. No use arguing with crazy, he thought. “Tell you what, let’s go shoe shopping. We can pick you up a pair of heavy-soled Doc Marten’s, they’ll keep your feet firmly planted on the ground.” Jerry fought hard to repress the disdain he felt creeping up. He slipped her a half-hearted smile while thinking that marriage was a lot like heartburn. “Yeah, sure. New shoes can’t hurt anything, right?”

Becky sighed with relief. Maybe he did believe her. Maybe he had noticed that her feet hovered a slight millimeter off the floor. At first it made walking difficult. Becky needed to consciously push down on the ground to make her foot catch the surface. She now preferred walking on unmown grass or thick carpets, especially when barefoot, because the floating felt less intense. The shaggy pile of the Heriz rug in the living room was her favorite. The wool tickled the soles of her feet and gave her the illusion of being connected to the Earth.

As the weeks passed and the days cooled, Becky began to dress more stylishly, finding outfits to complement the heavy shoes that she always wore now when she left the house. She had taken to wearing skinny jeans and flowing sweaters with big full pockets. For the first time in years Jerry began to perceive little things about Becky. He liked how she hummed quietly to herself while putting on her makeup. He noticed her quirky habit of lining up the pencils on the desk and pocketing pretty rocks. Her many idiosyncrasies started to irritate him less. In fact, he had begun to find them downright endearing once again.

“You know Becs, something has changed.”

“Of course something has changed, Silly, I’m losing my gravity,” she said. Becky stretched her arms in the air and smiled and twirled with a flourish, feeling at one with the atmosphere itself.

Jerry continued to play. He actually began to enjoy it. She seemed happy. She even started cooking homemade meals again. What once was a Maria Callendar’s frozen lasagna plopped on the coffee table while watching TV now became cheese souffles and airy angel food cakes. At dinnertime, they sat at the dining table with the TV turned off and discussed their days with fondness and joking. Jerry found himself gaining a few pounds, but not Becky. When she stepped on the scale, it showed she had lost a good 15 pounds. She must be working out more, he thought. That also would explain her improved mood.

They had stopped sleeping on the far ends of their king-sized bed. At night, they made love and she would laugh while he held her down in his arms kissing her. They slept coiled together, she hanging onto him under the weight of the blankets as they fell into a deep, satiating sleep.

As fall passed into winter Becky found it harder and harder to stay grounded. The rocks she had taken to carrying in her coat pockets bounced and bruised her thighs with each step. Finally, one day while out walking the dog with Jerry, snow lightly falling from above, she looked up at him joyfully and blurted out unexpectedly, “Oh Jerry, I do so love you.” She fumbled nervously with the handful of rocks in her coat pockets. “But I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

“What do you mean?” A puzzled, worried look crossed Jerry’s face.

She sat down on the grass and carefully unlaced her shoes, one after the other.

“Becky, put your shoes back on. It’s too cold to go barefoot,” Jerry said.

Then she stood up and reached into the deep folds of her pockets. A hand in each one, she carefully pulled out two fist-sized rocks. She let them slide out from her closed hands and Jerry watched as they hit the ground with a simultaneous thud. Jerry’s brow contorted with concern now. Becky tossed the rocks out with a new urgency. As each one fell, she began to feel the weight of her life lifting away.

“You will watch after Felix, won’t you?” she asked. She pulled out two more rocks and Jerry heard two more thuds. Rock after rock hit the ground and Jerry watched as his great love floated up and up.

“Becky!” He couldn’t believe his eyes. “But Becky, I love you!”

“I love you, too Jerry. But I told you, I have GLD. It’s just my time.”

Becky looked down, watching the light fluff of snow gather on Jerry’s wool cap. She watched as he reached down to hold Felix for comfort. Smiling, she shouted, “Goodbye, my love.”