Reflection

The landscape has been transformed overnight. A storm came in like a furious woman and covered everything with several feet of snow. It’s times like these that I am glad I work from home. Jack was smart enough to stock up on groceries yesterday. Both the cars are parked in the garage so no scraping off ice when the time finally does come to leave our humble abode. I hold my cup of coffee closer as the hot streams hit my nostrils. I can’t keep from sighing as I glance at the pot, still half full and taunting me. I know I’ll want a second cup but I’m trying to be patient, waiting for him to come downstairs and have one of his own. He prefers one big cup to my multiple ones. I glance at the clock on the microwave. Going on 8 a.m. He never really was a morning person. He preferred rolling out of bed closer to noon. It didn’t help that he worked so late most days of the week. I had always wondered what it would be like to have him roll over, kiss my cheek, and whisper good morning in my ear. We would get up together and sneak glances at each other in the mirror as we brush our teeth. It never happened. I was always up before him. I would always gently slide out of bed, make sure he was still covered, and tip toe away to the bathroom. I’d go through my morning routine alone, seeing only my own haggard reflection. Then I would push my feet into slippers that turned me into a ninja around the house and head down the stairs. Coffee. Some kind of sliced fruit. Then into my office where I would spend the day in front of the computer, trying to turn thoughts into words on a screen. Eventually he would amble his way down, throw something quick together to eat on the way out, give her a quick kiss on the cheek. And then he was gone. 

Sometimes I wished we could get a dog. That way I would have some intelligent company all day. I had always dreamed of having an australian shepherd to lie in a bed on the floor while I worked and help me get some fresh air every couple of hours. I knew over the past year I had gained some weight and it was disheartening. An active dog would inspire me and maybe that would also help with my mood. Jack objected, citing allergies that I wasn’t quite sure were even real. The house often started to feel a bit stuffy. And too quiet. I had put together a Spotify playlist of so-called “relaxing” music, just enough to get my foot tapping but not too much as to fully distract me. Evenings forever seem to be the same. I make dinner late, around 7. Jake usually doesn’t get home until 10 or 11 on a good night, 1 am on a bad one. I would prep a plate for him and leave it in the microwave, then proceed to eat my own meal on the couch. I will usually channel surf until I find something worthy enough to draw my attention. I try to stay up until he gets home. I’ll ask him how his day was and he will give some generic answer. He will zap the food, sit next to me on the couch, change the channel to whatever sports game that was set to record. They might share a few sentences before I would head upstairs to bed. He would usually follow shortly after. Both bedside lamps would click and it would start all over again the next day.

An endless vicious cycle. Yet we both embraced it, just let it happen. We got comfortable with the silence, accepted all the things that were left unsaid. I took one more look out of the window before climbing the stairs. I crept past our bedroom door, listening for the sound of quiet snores. Of course he was still asleep. The next door was one that had remained closed for some time. I knew that my hand was on the knob but I couldn’t feel it. I also couldn’t muster the courage to turn it and even peek inside. Everything was probably covered in dust. I will want to clean, blow off the cobwebs. But I also fear touching anything. My eyes closed and the cold outside felt like it was creeping into the deepest crevices of my soul. I released the silver orb and padded back down to the main level, this time not worrying if I was loud or not. It was his day off anyways. Why should I care if I woke him up? I returned to my mug and poured another hearty helping before retreating to the living room. I feel a slight twinge of guilt at my betrayal but maybe it’s just time for some change. Our world has been stagnant for so long. Even if he gets angry that I left almost nothing in the pot, it would still be more emotion than he has shown in a year. I had pushed the sounds of his strangled cries coming from the hospital hallway into the back of my mind. While he had been vocal, I had been silent; unable to find a word or sound to express how I was feeling inside. We went home that night, empty handed.

I couldn’t bear to just sit on the couch and ended up making my way to the sunroom. My breath came out in puffs, we hadn’t bothered to turn the heaters on out here. During the warmer months it was one of my favorite places to curl up with a book or a few sheets of paper and a pen. It was one of the reasons I had first fallen in love with this house. It seemed like a sanctuary though at the time of our viewing it was empty. But I put my imaginative goggles on and I saw it for what it could be, a sanctuary. He had let me pick out matching grey patio furniture, a plant to put in every corner (fake of course since I wasn’t sure I could be trusted to keep real ones alive at the time), strings of lights along the ceiling beams. It served as a social center for our housewarming party. That was back when we invited people over, back when we laughed, back when we actually cared about each others’ existence. But had I ever really stopped caring? I had all these routines that centered around what would make him most comfortable, what would disturb him the least and help him the most. Why? He had checked out when I needed him most and now we just lived this sorry excuse of an existence because neither one of us wanted to face reality. Were we better off separate? Would we end up just destroying other people? Could the once picturesque version of life we once had be restored? Did I want it back? Did he?

The shattering of ceramic scared me out of my hurricane of thoughts. I jumped back as the last of my coffee spilled across the floor by my feet, chunks of my favorite mug flying in every direction. My hands flew to my mouth subconsciously even though I had not even let out a peep. I didn’t even wait to hear feet on the staircase before I went flying out of the backdoor. My fluffy pink robe didn’t do much to ease the bite of the cold air as it hit me, my slippers immediately got soggy in the snow. But I kept my feet moving. I was just a coward. I was afraid of the waves that change and disruption would make. I was afraid to know for sure that Jack didn’t love me anymore. I barely registered the sound of my name being called as I crossed the expanse of our backyard. We were supposed to build a fence but never got around to it. I had wanted a greenhouse, he had wanted a bigger standalone garage to tinker about it. All projects that were put on hold. All dreams that never came to fruition. 

Finally I found that I could run no longer. Inches from where my feet had stopped, a glassy reflection pool. I stared down at myself, hating what I saw there. Hot tears streamed down rosy cheeks, my teeth were gritted together. The vision was something I was used to anymore. I had held everything inside of myself, pushing it further and further down trying to forget such a thing as emotions existed. And here was my curtain call. Isolation had led to fear and I had let it control my life. For Jack, despair had turned into detachment. We had run each other to the brink. How much further could we go? Tentatively I pushed one foot forward to welcome the sounds of cracking and creaking. It was time to either kill the fear or let it drown me.