Wish We Never Started

31

THE MARRIAGE

When I was nineteen, I proposed to Sarah. The following year, we got married, both of our families watching with the happiest faces you'd ever see. But I was far from that.

Sarah and me dated on and off for a few years. Our fathers and uncles worked hand in hand every day. Our mothers and aunts spent days together shopping and sipping cocktails by the pool and whatever else they did. It was like fate that we would end up together and have children of our own to follow suit in our legacy.

In the beginning, I liked Sarah. We were teenagers just fooling around, oblivious to the real world. She was fun, good at sports, popular. We'd steal expensive liquor from our parents and drive down to the beach, get drunk, and talk about life. Many things between us were relatable, but sometimes it felt forced. I still remember one evening when we both sat in the sand, close to the shoreline. It must have been near midnight. She looked at me and gave me a sympathetic look, one that felt real and genuine. That was one of the only times I ever thought that maybe this could really work out.

Once I was out of high school and caught on to what was happening, something like an arranged marriage being pushed by our parents, I tried my hardest to make it stop. But I couldn't win the fight.

We were married for a few years and they were far from typical. She was controlling, always a perfectionist but now more than ever. There was no love, just the desire to put on a show for the people we were around. The family we were around. It was utterly exhausting.

Then, one night after we cooked dinner and split a bottle of wine, we got into a screaming match. She wanted to move south, I didn't - that's what started it all. I brought up a divorce and I spent the next few days in a hotel. Everything was shattered.

I told my family we were putting things on pause and I was moving to Chicago to begin a new job and get settled before Sarah joins. I spent the night on the phone with Uncle Louis, who said he'd give me the job after an interview. Of course, my first response was yes. But really, all I wanted was an out, any way to get far from my family. Once I got to Chicago, I could deal with the aftermath of my faux promise. Dealing with just Uncle Louis there was much better than dealing with everyone else here in California.

We went through all the steps to divorce. Sarah cried, locked herself in the bedroom for days. Signing those divorce papers was the easiest thing I ever did.

"I just need your signature!" I yelled through the door to our bedroom, pen and paper in hand. Part of me was convinced this was all dramatics - she really could have cared less about me wanting a divorce.

But she never signed. Maybe it was her family in her ear. Maybe it was both of our families in her ear, pleading to keep the marriage alive for some god-forsaken reason. "Go out to Chicago with him!" her mom cried out at dinner, on the verge of tears.

"He is getting settled first. Before I follow him out. We just need a few months to work things out," Sarah replied, calm and collected as always. She stabbed her filet mignon with unnecessary force directly after, shooting me a harsh glare.

I held the napkin up to cover my mouth, swallowing hard. That's exactly what's happening, I thought to myself.

The second I stepped off the plane at the airport in a different state from my family and my wife, relief washed over me like a tidal wave. In the back of my mind, though, I knew that this wasn't going to be the definitive end. 

My studio was cramped, but it was also a very welcome change. This was my chance to start over. This was my chance to become my own person and live my own life.