Sorry to Let You Go!

Four hands patted the soft but rich black soil on either side of a covered hole that is the roof of the new seed’s home.     

“The sun’s out, smiling down upon such a little seed. And the rain will kiss such a home, their droplets hitting the dirt and then bouncing a little and then the dirt sucking it all up.”

The husband looked at the wife. “Huh?” He cocked his head. “What are you talking about?”

She smiled and closed her eyes, bobbing her head. Getting up, she invited him into the house. “Come on! Let nature do the rest.”

The husband and wife went into the house, but the husband suggested that she stop and think about the very seed they planted. “Yeah? What kind of seed?” The oblivious wife turned to take some pans out of the cupboard in the kitchen. “We’ll just go about our day. Today’s Sunday. Can’t wait for that winter wind to rush through my hair as I walk to work every day!”

The husband cocked his head. “What? That sentence doesn’t even make any sense.” Shaking his head, he told his wife he’d be outside. Actually… He went over to one of the kitchen pantry drawers and opened the one in which lay the seeds. Picking up a package, he read, May contain special fruit. If you wait, you’ll be rewarded.

The husband crinkled his face into a confused expression. Mumbling, he asked, “What tree produces special fruit?” But tossing the package back into the drawer and closing it, he left his wife to cook the thing she was making, and he walked outside. Approaching the seed’s planted and covered hole, he blinked and then covered his eyes against the piercing sun.

“Wow! Cool it.”

He looked away. And down. He told the seed to sprout into a tree already.

Nothing.

He sighed. “Just like my job. And marriage. And life. Nothing ever happens.” He smirked. Soon, after sitting on the back porch for a while, it got late. Crickets chirped. “Keep going, guys. You’re heard. Maybe one day, you’ll graduate to cicadas.” Getting up, he yanked open the screen porch door, letting it slam behind him. But the backdoor being shut behind him didn’t sooth his misery. He ignored her question of whether he’s going to bed.

“No. I’m not tired.”

“Oh! Well,” she disappeared into their bathroom, and reappeared with bright pink curlers in her hair. “You—you sure you don’t want to read a book? Or,” she scurried to the pantry and brought out some chocolate chip cookies on a paper plate. “Some cookies? I’ll get you some milk—“

“I said no.”

“Then what will you do—”

“Stop talking, woman!”

The husband barked this order out at her, and, ignoring her surprise, he headed outside. The crickets really were talking now!

“Be quiet!” The man plopped down into their porch swing. “You’re louder than—”

“Me?”

The husband turned. The porch light needed to come on. Once it did, the husband drew back. “Who are you?” Seeing he had nothing, he balled his fists. The man in a tuxedo stood before him firmly. “I notice you have fists.” He invited him. “Come, we have much to do—”

“Why should I go with anyone? Please don’t ask me to do anything I already am doing. I’m always invited. I just need to understand why!” He snickered. “Oh, I know why. Because I’m always ready to fall into someone’s exciting, entertaining life, right?”

The man in the tuxedo was joined by a beautiful woman in her white wedding dress. The man in black and white tuxedo smiled warmly, and she smiled up at him. They clasped hands, and turned away, opening what looked like a door on a tree. It was made of bark. Soon, couples were dancing on the grass in front of my house. They seemed to be… I narrowed my eyes. My wedding day came to mind. I pursed my lips. My wife no longer danced or sang with me, in my arms. I was always working, seemingly having given my ring to my office job. And she?

She stayed home, cleaning. I shook my head. What a boring life. But it wasn’t even my marriage right now. Everyone in my family growing up had asked me to do things—things I wasn’t into, I cared about or I had passion for. Nothing suited my taste. I had always given in, out of kindness. But my refusal to say no to a crap job and a crappier marriage just did it in for me.

You know, I’m being light. It wasn’t even doing things out of obligation. It—

“Where’s your wife?”

The man stayed. The wife stayed, her arms around the man’s neck, and a hand of his around her waist.

I looked, and blinked, not moving. My cheeks burned with desire for such a picturesque life. Picturesque marriage.

“You can only experience what you choose to do. No one’s forcing you this time.”

“Forcing me to do what?”

The man didn’t answer, but joined the other couples dancing and singing in front of the tree that took me by surprise. I stared up at the whole thing. It had grown! Yeah, I shoved my hands into my pockets. Of course. It was magical.

I called my wife outside, pointing at the tree. She screamed and ran inside. I forced myself to go get her. “Honey—”

She wouldn’t come out from the bathroom.

“It’s magical, sweetie.” Even this word slipped out of my mouth slowly like something that was putrid that I was trying to get out of my mouth. “Dear. Isn’t that something else? Can’t you take a magical moment?”

“Can you?”

I stood there. I didn’t answer. She came out soon, and said she was heading to bed—tomorrow was a workday. I balled my fists. “Yes, dear.” I gritted my teeth, and headed to bed. Neighbors asked me whether I had seen a skyscraper of a tree in my backyard. I spat that I did. No one talked to me that weekend. After coming home from a wedding one weekend, I shut off all communication with my wife. I didn’t speak to her. I didn’t say anything. That night, I dreamt.

I was running towards a fallen tree, and my head was turned so that I saw my wife. She stood there all alone, her beautiful wedding dress decorating her like a Christmas ornament. I opened my mouth to tell her where I was going, but nothing came out. Nothing happened.

I gestured towards the fallen tree, bounding over it and continuing to run. I ran and ran, soon getting tired. I slowed to a stop, heaving. I shouldn’t have been running that fast. Something came to me. You are not your parents. Your parents wanted grandchildren. Well, you’re you. You got married because you fell under the spell of having to continue the family line. Divorce is not the end, or at least doesn’t have to be. But where will you fall in when you’re done with her?

Be quiet, conscience! You don’t know what you’re talking about.

“I do.”

I spun around. It was the man, and his wife! Where’d they come from?

“What do you want?” I backed away. “You can read minds!”

“If you join us, you won’t be tortured—”

I continued running. Headlights were coming at me. I tripped over something, the lights blazed before me—

“Daisy!”

I yelled into the night air, upright in bed. Cold sweat clung to my body. I looked over. She was beside me. I curled up, facing the opposite way. I tried getting myself as small as possible. I wished I slept on the couch. Like so many nights before. I went to sleep.

Hospital bedsheets covered my legs up to my waist.

“You had been hit by a car!” A doctor said as he peeled back the baby blue blanket to examine my wound. I inhaled but almost passed out from the pain. I asked him whether he was professional. He stared at me. “Son, I’m a doctor!”

“Yes, but it hurts so much. Sometimes, I get nervous, and I don’t wake up—”

He rested a firm but gentle hand on my baby blue hospital gown shoulder. “Sir, you’ll be fine—”

I punched the darkness, anger pulsating through me.  

Pancakes and waffles waffled their smell over to me, striving to seduce my taste buds into chomping down onto them. Death wish, much? Anyway, I opened my eyes, and grabbed the clock. “Honey!” I ripped the sheets off and ran downstairs. “We have—”

“Today’s Friday—Fourth of July’s tomorrow. So we get off today!” Her smile contagiously cheery, she bobbed her head. “Aren’t you happy? No work today!”

Humming softly to herself, my wife continued pouring batter into the waffle maker. She invited me to help her. I stood there, watching everything—the chocolate chips, the stirring, the pouring and the lifting of the pancakes and the waffles. If she were magical (which she probably was by the way she multi-tasked), I’d quit this place right now and for good. But I just stood there. “Honey.”

“Well,” she looked at me a minute. “What do you want to do tomorrow to celebrate Fourth of July?”

I blinked. Um. Nothing. Holidays don’t heat my griddle much. I’d just prefer some football. I shrugged, and walked outside. Later that night, I awoke to someone setting a plate on a tray table beside me. “Breakfast for dinner?”

“Uh…”

She flicked on the porch lights. The waffles—chocolate chip—stared up at me. I grabbed them, my stomach thanking me later with gurgles. I ditched the porch swing by standing up that night before the man in the tuxedo. His wife was grinning as they laughed and talked lovingly to each other—

I ran. I heard his scream that a car was coming, but I waved him off. A screech of tires, a honk, my wife’s shout—!

I awoke this time, in the hospital. A doctor asked whether I was doing okay. I tried moving, but he held me down firmly. “No, sir! You’re not going anywhere.”  

“But…it’s Fourth of July. Well, tomorrow.”

“Dear!”

I think I heard my wife’s call, but I wasn’t sure. I reluctantly lay back, my teeth seconds from being gritted. I jerked my eyes over to her, and she was hurrying into the room. Rounding to my bed, the ugly metal rings separating us, she blabbed she had to hurry here. “Two tickets, dear! That’s the cost of—”

“Shut up.”

I turned away, wishing her away. I wished she had gotten hit by that car. I wished it wasn’t Fourth of July tomorrow, so I didn’t have to waste tomorrow in the hospital. I turned to her. “Go away. I don’t want to see you.”

Eyes widened, and then crinkled. “What—do you mean?”

I didn’t answer.

“Go away!”

“But—”

“GO AWAY!”

She fled. I lay back, and closed my eyes. I dreamt I was running, ignoring the tuxedoed man’s calls. Come on, man! You’re not who you think you need to be. Let’s dance together, your wife and you. And us. I kept running, looking back. Then I saw them dance together, her in his arms and him in her arms. I wanted to turn back, but couldn’t. No! My legs wouldn’t let me. My head turned around, but I was moving away from all this happiness. Joy. The stuff I felt only on my wedding day.

My parents got a divorce. And I obliged to get married, regardless of the fact that I didn’t want to. I did just to please my parents, who made me feel I had to be a parent, too. I am not. But first comes marriage, then comes—

“Fredrick, watch out!”

Headlights, and then—

“Daisy!”

I mouthed her name as I shot up in bed, an ugly sweat covering my body. The darkness just laughed in my face as I lay back. I looked at my nightstand’s alarm clock. 3:34 am. It was Fourth of July. I cried out, and threw my hand on my side. Just under my rib. I looked around. “Daisy?”

“Sir, is everything okay?”

I took in the ugly curtain of the hospital bedroom. Then I looked at the nurse. “Is everything alright?” She repeated. “Please—if you need anything, we’re here.”

I needed something. I know I did. I lay back down. “I need to go home. Back to my wife.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll be here for the next four months.”

The quiet sound of shoes exiting faded as I struggled to contemplate that sentence. Four months. I wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t eat real food. I couldn’t go freely in my house. I couldn’t celebrate Fourth of July. I couldn’t… I closed my eyes. I drifted off to sleep. The man in the tuxedo appeared to me. His wife was hanging around him, smiling joyfully. They ran off, dancing together amongst the other couples. I blinked. I looked around myself—the porch light and swing were behind me. The door hadn’t been opened. Where was Daisy? I went inside. I called her name.

Suddenly, commotion outside. An ambulance screamed into the night, and I bolted out the front door. “Daisy! Daisy!” I ripped away from emergency personnel, firefighters and doctors as I rushed to find her. “Daisy! Daisy!”

“I’m right here.” Someone whipped me around.

“Daisy!” I tried looking for her. I heard her voice, repeating itself over and over. “Daisy!” I searched and searched, but couldn’t find her. I heard her saying, “I’m right here. Fred! Fred—”

“Honey!”

I mouthed the words, rising up again. The same nurse hurried into my room. “Sir? Everything alright?”

“Yes.” But I knew in my heart it wasn’t. Nothing was right. Not my job, not my marriage, not my life. Nothing. I might as well just throw myself in front of a car.

“Sir. You’ve been yelling out. I don’t know if you’re truly okay.”

I just wanted to go back to sleep. Sleep peacefully.

“Sir, can we move you? Are you afraid—”

“No!”

The nurse retreated outside. Later, I apologized.

“I hope so.” Shivers ran up and down my spine at her iciness.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hope so.”

“Look—I haven’t been so patient—”

“Yeah, and you’re the patient!”

I laughed stiffly.

“Look.” She stopped before distributing my medicine.       

“I didn’t want to be a nurse. You are what makes me go from paycheck to paycheck, working sixteen hours shifts twice a week. Sometimes, I want to just wake up from this nightmare. But you’re the one who keeps me working. I had parents who kept me going, but I didn’t want to be married to my work, either. I wanted to do what my heart said for me to do. Please, understand!” After distributing my medicine, she said, “Are you going to turn into someone your parents want you to be, or are you going to do as you deem necessary? Are you going to just let your past define and direct you, or are you going to free yourself from the stupidity?”

I lay on that bed for the next three and a half months, trying not to sleep. That nurse…I felt bad. “Daisy.” I said to her that morning. “I want her. Here.”

“Yes, sir!” She grabbed the phone, and dialed my home phone. Someone picked up. “Yes?” She gave me the phone, and I talked to her. “Hon…”

“Dear. You okay?” The jingling of keys and the opening of a car and then the sound of footsteps into my hospital bedroom. Daisy was there, and I grasped the metal bars to prevent myself from hurling from this stupid hospital bed to wrap her in a hug. Bring her to the dance floor in front of our house. Dance with her, the way the wife danced with her husband.

Forget everything, as nothing had mattered. I couldn’t rewrite my parents’ divorce. I could only save my marriage from such a fate.

“Daisy. I…”

“Honey.”

I reached for her, but she pulled away.

“Honey!”

“Stop calling me that. I’m not sweet as honey anymore. The way you’ve been ignoring the taste!” She exited. Alone, I slumped into my bed. Everything was darker than my bedroom. I wanted my own comforter, sheets and pillow. I wanted to dance with my wife the way that man and his wife danced. I groaned, clutching my heart. I tore away whenever the images came to mind. I needed to be there. I couldn’t even look. I couldn’t even hear the sweet, stickily loving voice of my wife. I saw I clutched my comforter, and I let go.

“Honey!” I called out into the dark.

“Sir!” The nurse rushed into the room, whipping back the curtain. “Everything okay?”

“No!”

“Yes, sir!”                 

The next thing I know, I was being carted out of there. Home. I was soon home, and placed on the bed! I stayed there for so long. I ripped my sheets off every night, kicking at the comforter and ordering my wife to stop covering me up like in the hospital. She only reminded me of the nurse—bothering me!

“This is a nightmare!” I bellowed.                        

“It wouldn’t have to be if you’d just love me.”

I looked over at the woman. She wasn’t rigid anymore. Just sorrow painted her face. She looked down. “I’m sorry—”        

“Stop it! You’re not to blame!”

“But you are.”

She looked at me.

I balled my fists, hating myself. I went around the bed, and clasped her hands in me. "I'm sorry." I whispered. She looked at me. Nodded.

Soon, I was out and about. But I made careful to not run. The man and his wife invited me to dance. But I preferred to do so on the porch.

We didn’t even have our wedding clothes on.

But we danced, and we were together.