Failure to Launch

“I’m sorry, but… I… I just don’t… I can’t, Jamie.” My broken rejection reverberated into the humid September night. My voice was only a whisper, however, the soundwaves of a relationship reaching its untimely end, thundered through the park. That night, even the breeze refused to blow, suspending the moist air amid the tall woody oaks surrounding us. The day began to cool after the sun set, however, the forest still buzzed as it had in the heat of the day. 

Time encased the two of us, standing alone together, under the generous oak in the park we walked through a hundred times on a hundred different nights. I imagine he thought this would be the perfect start to the story of the new life he spent the past months picturing. Suddenly, the conversations about our faiths, careers, and children, formed pieces to a puzzle whose picture culminated in this very moment. 

I retreated into my mind, trying to superimpose my head on the bodies of wives or mothers I had seen in magazines, commercials, and movies. With each attempt, I could never quite make the vision fit. Every conception was met with obstacles of all kinds: future degrees, potential careers, travel. I resisted the domestic fantasy, clinging instead to these things I imagined for my life. The instructions I was given before leaving for college clear and it now echoed off of the walls of my psyche, “marriage is a prison.” 

Both my grandmother and mother struggled to conceive, I always figured I would have the same problems. So, I never let myself fathom the kind of existence Jamie was offering me. Not to mention, I feared I couldn’t give Jamie the life he wanted: parents running around chasing their obstinate toddler before bedtime, cradling a cooing baby after it's been fed, teaching a child to ride a bike. When I was growing up, I remember having play dates with my friends and their siblings. One day, when my Mom and I were driving home, I asked her why I never had a brother or sister. I can still hear the heartache filling her words as she tried to enunciate infertility in terms a child could understand. To protect myself from the same pain she and my grandmother suffered, I pushed ideations of motherhood into the deep recesses of my mind. 

I looked down into the faintly glimmering ring lit from the distant glow of the street lamps below us. The ring contended to shine against the blue depths of the night like a dying star desperately flickering in its attempts to light the night sky.

“I mean, do you think this is the right time?” I asked somewhat incredulously. He failed to articulate an answer, instead choosing to close the lid of the tiny box cradled in the palm of his hand. The gesture was answer enough. I stood in silence; knees nervously buckled. 

Pain radiated across his face changing his demeanor. He raised his arms to fold them across his chest. Folding your arms is an instinct to confrontation—to danger. I didn’t want to pose a danger to Jamie. I wanted to repeat the past few minutes, and instead sing the words he longed to hear, freeing us from the stifling discomfort of the moment. I never wanted to hurt him. I loved Jamie. 

“I guess I’m glad you told me now rather than a year from now,” He said seeking composure. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but instead, he stopped me saying,

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s crazy, I shouldn’t have…” 

“I just turned 20, how would it even work?” I responded breathily. 

“Yeah, you’re younger than me, so I guess it's different.” He said choking on his words as he reached up to pull the hair at the base of his neck. His eyes refused to meet mine, rapidly welling with tears, as he stared into the dark horizon. 

“It was a moonshot.” He murmured under the weight of a painful breath. He bit his lip shifting slightly towards the tree, withdrawing his keys. They dangled in front of me offering the chance to change the trajectory of the current moment. 

“Do you need me to drive you home, or would you rather,” He began. Interrupting Jamie I said, 

“I can get an Uber.” My answer hurt him. And I don’t know why I told him this. I knew, despite the abrupt question, the only thing I wanted to do right now was to be with him, to comfort him. 

“Well, would you at least let me wait here with you?” He asked. 

“Sure,” I said. 

We settled beneath the oak. My brain calculated what order of words could take back the pain what I had said before carried. However, each computation failed to complete the metaphysical dilemma presented before me.

In high school, my mother always used to tell me I was “thinking too loudly” whenever she knew there was something on my mind. At that moment, my thoughts were shouting. I tried to silence my doubts, pulling my phone from my bag. Its screen glowed upon the paleness of my face. I tapped my address looming in black text below the search bar and selected the credit card icon to pay for the $15 trip. 

“I can pay,” He said after seeing me pull out my credit card to cross-reference the final

four digits of the card.

“Don’t worry about it,” I replied. “They’re only five minutes away.” 

      “Nice,” He responded nodding his head slowly. 

It was a painful scene, the two of us perched beneath the tree, the rest of the world still bustling far beyond the confines of the park. Jamie sat, back slumped beneath the tree; his knee closest to me bent as if shielding himself from whatever I would say next. He gazed at the street below as did I. I wanted him to say something. I wish he could hear my thoughts like my mother claimed she did. At that moment, a chorus of cicadas decided to fill the still silence between the two of us. However, no song, no matter how loud, could pierce its veil. 

Over the horizon of black trees, I noticed a quarter moon rose during our exchange. We came too late in the week to see the full moon; however, the lambent half was enough to catch the wet surface of the tears streaming down our faces. It was then that we could make out the light from a pair of headlights illuminating the road before us. I grabbed my phone from my lap, unlocking it to discover my Uber had arrived. I turned to tell Jamie, but he was already standing, brushing the dirt and grass clippings from the back of his jeans. I stood, only to catch my dress on the rough bark of the oak. Tearing my hem from the oak’s grasp, I watched Jamie start down the hill.

I wanted nothing more than to come up and hug him from behind as I had in the hallway between lectures. Fighting the urge, I found myself following him to the silver sedan parked at the foot of the hill, hazard lights blinking. 

“Is this what I wanted?” I asked internally. Before I could answer myself, we reached the car. I watched as Jamie opened the car door, handing it to me. I faced him, refusing to look away as I sat down. I started to say something in protest. However, he spoke before my stutters could form a sentence. 

“I guess we will want to see other people then.” He said as a matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah,” I said. My stomach dropped as the word fell from my lips. He looked down into the gravel, thinking of what to say next to me. With his face downcast, his visage was contorted by the light of the street lamp. But even through the deceiving shadows, I could still see the grief that marred his face. He then looked up into my face, brows contorted, still trying to come up with the words to explain the current situation. It was clear we were both confused by the things we had said. Nevertheless, one of us shut the door.

Through the tinted glass of the window, I could no longer see that Jamie had been crying, he was a mere figure unyielding against the inky abyss of the night sky. He remained standing there on the road, eyes glued to the car, watching me as the driver pulled on to the road. He grew fainter, quickly disappearing as we drove into the night. Pangs of regret washed over me immediately once I could no longer see Jamie. And it was at that moment that all doubt seemingly ceased.