We All Fall Down

Chapter 16

John

Present

I sit for a moment, staring at his tie clip, surrounded in the flood of emotions I feel when I talk about the parts of my past that I don't enjoy revisiting. I look to my left and see my reflection in the glass of one of the bookcases. I look like I haven't slept in years, and truly I haven't. Not well, at least. I need a shave, probably a haircut too. I'm greying around my temples and inwardly cringe at the way they spring out like coiled wires. I rub my chin waiting for him to say something so I don't have to, but I guess that's why he's here. I look back at his tie clip and then let my eyes wander over his arms. They're covered in thick, grey hair that pokes out of his wool sport coat. I flip my pocket watch in my hand over and over. His bald head shines under the florescent light, and when he nods I can see the spot of light travel around the top of it. He clears his throat, and I snap out of my trance.

"One of my friends is the head of the board for a major nonprofit organization that helps families in need get back on their feet. He's got a wife and kids, dog, the whole deal. They live on a few acres somewhere near Middleton now. My other friend took over his parent's company after they died and then sold it. He's resting on millions and moved out West. He dates models. We all keep in touch, but sometimes it's just painful to see what they've become and facing what I haven't." I almost feel a relief finally admitting this to someone. That I feel inadequate. I'm embarrassed that I'm not more. That I couldn't just get over my shit and move on.

"I don't understand. You're a successful man, John. You live in a penthouse in New York City. You run a successful advertising firm. You have a relationship with a beautiful and successful woman. What more do you expect from yourself?" Marshall says in such a sincere way, making me feel that he's genuinely concerned as to why I struggle with my self-worth. I ask myself the same question every day.

I've gotten closer with Marshall over the last few years, and he's my voice of reason when I need it. He is like a father figure now, especially since Victoria and I have gotten more serious. His wife, Sandra, sends me a birthday card with some sort of homemade confection every year. She never forgets. She used to be an executive at a major hotel chain and retired to be able to be around for all her kids. She also volunteers at the VA. Vic comes from good people. I hope to create that kind of life for us one day. I want to go to t-ball games and ballet recitals, but then I have panic attacks over the fear that I'll get the sickness, too. That I have it already. That my family will inevitably shoulder the burden of my demons. The darkest ones that even I am not fully aware of.

Marshall and Sandra would make for great in-laws. They've provided Victoria a wonderful life. She's told me of trips they would take as a family to the mountains for hiking and fishing. She and her sister are both successful in their own right. They are always checking up on their parents, even though they're still very capable despite being in their late sixties. I recently got to go on a trip with them to their home in the Hamptons. It became even more apparent that she is the woman I needed to spend the rest of my life with. At times, I feel so out of place around her family, but I yearn to belong. I desperately want to have a happy family. So, I have these talks with Marshall in hopes that one day, I'll feel comfortable enough to ask him the most important question I will ever ask anyone. I just need to know that once I say it all, once he knows the ins and outs of who I am, he still wants me in his daughter's life.

We've been together for almost five years now. We don't live together, although I know she must be wondering if and when I will ever pop the question. She's one of the top producing real estate agents in New York City. When we met, I had just landed this job, and I've done a lot for myself in a short time. Marshall respects how driven I am, but reminds me that I push myself too hard.

"I've just seen first-hand what failure looks like. And I don't want to repeat history," I reply, knowing that Marshall is also a man of integrity who—over the years—has had his own struggles with a work/life balance.

"Who do you refer to when you reference failure?" He asks, adjusting his glasses.

"I think they both failed. Both of my parents. I'm sure my father did his best, but he still missed so many signs. He could have helped her. And she...when she had the chance to help herself, she didn't." I feel my heart begin to race at the thought of my parents. How angry I still feel even after all this time.

Victoria has been the breath of fresh air. The piece to the puzzle of my life that was missing. She's warm, encouraging but strong and independent. She deserves a good man. Someone who doesn't have so much baggage. I know we would make wonderful parents. I think I probably talk more about our future children than she does, but I can see her eyes light up at the thought of it. It's a lot for a woman to consider these days—having to balance a family and a career—but I will be supportive of whatever she needs.

The thing is, she doesn't know much about my past, and I'm hesitant to tell her. Marshall is easy to talk to, which most might find strange, but our relationship is a unique one that has given me a chance to figure out what kind of man I really want to be. There are days that I want to tell him every sordid detail so that I will know once and for all if he will accept me. But where do I even begin?

Committing to Victoria is terrifying. I need to be proud of what I see when I look in the mirror before I feel deserving of her. I look forward to the day we can start fresh somewhere new and exciting, begin an adventure together. I'll make the rest of her life just as much of a fairytale that it has been up to this point for me. Lately, that future seems more tangible, realistic. Maybe I'll bring it up to her the next time she has an evening off.

I just hope my mother doesn't call today. It always puts me in a sour mood. I have asked many times for her to give me space, but she never listens. Then again, if I thought my mother was stubborn and ruthless before, she certainly won't start taking orders from anyone now. I don't hate her. It's one of the things I remember discussing with the therapist all those years ago. I had to forgive her, but I can't forget. I still can't help feeling bitter and angry when she calls and wants to reminisce. I can't keep going backwards. What I can't stand even more is how she paints her own picture of how things went down, instead of what really happened. I allowed it for so many years, but it just finally got to be enough. We all had had enough of it, and although I was probably a bit harsh with her, I couldn't help but feel good about it. Finally, no bullshit. No pretending, and I think she respects me for it now...maybe not then, but definitely now. She still has her moments.