Prettyboy

12: Our House, No More

One might suppose that with all my amenability and the disposition, a hankering for an evasion, I would have mentally sunk back and thrown everything of the past into the abyss of oblivion, heaving a sigh and watching all my problems dissolve. Yet it was not quite like that. Not that simple, it never is. I did not let the still fresh memory of my pretty boy slip out of my dingy mind, not for a single moment. Even if I had smiled to whom I deemed was well worthy of a smile, like Cooper or Robert, the smiles I put on felt all fabricated, underlining that I was a sham to the bone. I wanted to feel happy. I wanted to be able to let myself go and make something out of my sincere gloominess. And instead of digging deeper into it, I wished I could feel comfortable and bask in my sheer, unwanted misery. 

My mental lassitude this time was not a symptom of an impoverishing sickness like the one I endured back in March. My despondency in the absence of a dear friend was something predetermined and unpreventable, especially in the mornings. 

I knew I was alone when I woke up and it gave me the sense of being a loner again, as if I had never gotten married in the first place. However, this time, it did not drive me out to find someone to talk to like it used to do in the past. That feeling this time, pushed me forcefully back to bed. I had the time to think about everything and was afraid that I was deeply depressed. The thing about depression is that it is said to lead to death. But do you know what's so dreadful about death? It's that you're completely on your own. More than I had been these days at the end of June, with the imminent sunshine of July.

"Nice weather today."

"Indeed."

That is not the conversation I wanted to have with anyone ever, but it was a sign of calmness in the household when it turned up as a topic. Because when it didn't, mostly anything else I discussed with my wife, led to repulsive, wearisome bickering. I just wish sometimes the weather would change so intermittently, so that we could discuss it with more vigor.

My dear wife and I argued more than ever when Michael headed off for west Wyoming, to visit Lana's other sister. Bethany seemed kinder than Lana's other sister, who had taken Gerard with her. Or maybe that was just me. I barely could remember the woman's face.

End of June, Lana and I had a big argument, perhaps the biggest one yet, which led to her leaving one week early to go to her parents'. What provoked the fight in the first place wasn't that big of a deal. Think it was about leaving the towels to dry above the sink or something petty like that, but it ended with Lana breaking about five China plates or so. And oh, she used to love those China plates. 

How the argument ended, the way she had looked in my eyes and warned me to return to my senses or else, had had a big impact on me.

I wound up abandoning the Squirrel Hill house the next cloudy morning, since I couldn't stand the goddamn stifling silence and the creaking of the stairs. Robert was bemused when he came by the day before and saw me packing to take off, but he accepted my decision nevertheless, eyes downcast and all as if that would change my mind. I went off on him, supposing that he was acting that way only due to the fact that I wouldn't turn up in an upcoming show, where a big name I didn't make the effort of recalling had made plans to 'meet up' and 'discuss'. Then I saw Robert's countenance distort and indicate disappointment when I yelled. My raucous yell echoed and bounced off the walls, it yelled back at me and I repented, wanting to sink to my knees and apologize. I didn't get the chance to, hindered by my ego, so Robert stomped out of the house vehemently. He was really never one to shout back when shouted at.

I found it to be quite ironic, when Runaway by Del Shannon came on the radio and the car filled with his 'why's and woes. As I walk along,  I wonder what went wrong, with our love, a love that was so strong. Tell me about it. Or don't, actually. I prefer not to think about it.