Monkey Bars

Monkey Bars

Electric stillness filled the silence. Sam felt the pushing and straining against her chest, the pumping the palpations the everything inside her wanting to shred her skin into pieces. She didn’t want to move because she knew she’d set off that bomb, so she remained still, rigid.  “Don’t move,” she directed herself.

She couldn’t stop the vibrations, the volcanic shaking inside.  “I’ve been thinking and have decided that I want a divorce,” he said. And that was it. It was finished. He was moving out and on. Twelve years of living together, every corner of their house testament to their time. But now it was over, just like that. In a second. In a second! Despair came in hard waves, one after the other with no time to catch her breath no time to catch her anything, she was falling she was drowning she was dying.

“I won’t let you go!” Sam screamed. “You are my life, you are MY LIFE!” Begging and pleading and sobbing, wet hot tears streaking down this morning’s makeup, she was possessed. Bill pulled away from her claws, desperately grabbing at him, his shirt, everything within reach. She was out of it and he was out of there, leaving his not-yet-packed suitcase by the front door. He’d come back tomorrow.

She used to think she’d never be this woman. When Sam was 12, she’d marry a prince. When she was 18, she’d marry her best friend. When she was 25 and life had roughed her up a little bit, well, she’d just marry. And she did. He wasn’t the love of her life, and she knew it, but he wasn’t a bad choice either. At least if they had kids, he’d be a good dad. She could get her mental stimulation from her girlfriends, Sam told herself, worrying about his simplicity as she walked down the aisle. And anyway, it had happened so fast, one night at dinner, a ring, a “marry me,” an acceptance.

Time came and went, and every day brought her more desperately attached to her Bill. Her life was empty, as empty as it could be, and the void that was hers to fill slowly became his. She was his vessel, he was her water. He had to know how lucky he was, right? She was pretty and smart and a good cook. She ironed for God’s sake. Yeah, she’d lost herself a little while back, well right after their daughter was born. But that was okay. Bill was one lucky man, and she wouldn’t let him forget her or want to replace her. He’d be a fool and she’d be married to one.

Pulling off the hot covers, Sam reached out. Into the air, arms reaching into nothing. She couldn’t find him, couldn’t grab him, couldn’t see him. Had she been dreaming? The course of your life can change on a dime, she thought as she sat up, on a dime. She looked over to her right, and there Bill was, still there he was! What had happened? Nothing? Staring at her husband, she felt curiously drugged from her rugged, raw sleep. What are those fears? She went down that rabbit hole once again, groggy from the emotional rollercoaster ride she didn’t remember getting on during the night. Why was she so afraid? Her husband, a saint she’d say, never gave her any reason. Steadfast, adoring, consistent and reassuring, the thought of him leaving shelled her, exposed her, haunted her.

Sara lay there in the morning light, thinking. She had to admit that she could feel her marriage falling short. Deeper and deeper in this abyss it fell, and no rope was long enough for the rescue. The lifeboat she sent to him was too small, and she watched as he sputtered and coughed and turned purple and cold. Waves too big, they were just too big and angry and relentless, pounding him in mean ugly punches.

“Good morning,” Bill mumbled, the first words of the day coming out thick and garbled. He reassured her with a playful toss of her hair and asked what she wanted for breakfast. Today he was getting his lab results back, and although there was nothing to worry about, he had taken the entire day off and intended to make the most of it. Sam was pretty excited, knowing that these days off together didn’t happen often. Her husband was a hardworking man, sometimes not getting home until well after dark - to a hot delicious meal, of course. “Pancakes!” Sam yelled like a little child. Bill laughed.

She could never bring back the rest of that day. Memories come in slow motion, hazy and blurred and flitting in and out like ghosts tied to a tree. One second there was life, laughter, joking, smiling, happiness and relief at the good news that Bill was healthy. Dinner tonight, a romantic celebration. A crunching sound, a horrendous wreck. Thrown into the air and let down beside a bridge, his mangled body covered in dark red. Mud and blood. The most nauseating of all screams, the silent one.

Months passed; Sam didn’t know how many. Going through the motions that barely kept her alive, she passed off her daughter to anyone who would take her. She wanted to die too, and she didn't want an audience.

One day, she woke up and looked through the now familiar labyrinth of light to see her little girl looking down at her. “Get up, mommy, please get up,” Sara cried. Sucking on her thumb and staring with eyes the electric color of blue popsicles, she waited. “Mommy?” For the first time in a long time, Sam took her child’s hand and stood. Sara’s eyes widened both with confusion and happiness. That little girl didn’t know the depth of that connection in the hand that held her mother’s. She did not understand the energy running from fingertip to fingertip, from soul to soul. There was no recognition in the recovery she offered, not from mom or daughter. Something changed then, in that second, something that lightened and enlightened and reminded. “Let’s go to the park,” Sam said. Sara ran to get changed, not wanting her mom to sink back into her Magic Eraser pillow.  

Sam sat on the little undersized bench and watched her girl play on the monkey bars.  She looked around at the other families, so normal, so alive. She missed that. She missed herself. So many years, she forgot who she was. She didn't remember that being important. She carried herself back to when she was Sara’s age, not understanding then. So much that she could have given to this world by now, yet what did she have to show? No husband, he was dead. A daughter who longed for a proper mom. Too much sleep. Too much sadness. Too much nothing in her soul left to figure out if there was even something to start with.

And then on a dime, that same damned dime, she saw and she knew and she understood. All she had was this time, right here and now. She just needed to start. She needed to stand up, breathe the air, and walk into herself.  She had no other choice. What was once inside her never went away, it just got buried. Rusty and weathered, forgotten and ignored, tarnished. Marriage and motherhood had consumed her and she was left with smoke and ashes, but somewhere underneath that pile she saw an ember. She rose and took her daughter’s hand, and they headed toward home.