Not yet fifty and single again - J

Intermezzo

The drive to my house doesn’t take me very long. Again, I have to be careful, as it is dark. There are no streetlights, and the road is full of potholes. When I arrive, my boys are already barking and jumping in anticipation. Somehow, they recognize the sound of the car, or is it a certain smell? Opening the gate, they jump on me, run out, up and down the street.  

Dog time…I kneel down and let them jump on me while they fight for attention. I roll them over, throw sticks and enjoy the love they give me. Of course, the cats are nowhere to be seen for now, anxious as they are to be stepped on by the dogs. 

I enter the house, switch on the lights. The ventilators are on full speed, giving a nice cool breeze. I get out the food for my boys, fill their plates and repeat the ritual I do every morning and evening. They are happy. By now the cats have also joined, claiming their right to food, probably thinking that the louder they scream, the faster they get it. They are right.

Once all of them are eating, I go back inside. I check the time. Seven o’clock. I have half an hour to freshen up and have something to drink before I need to get in the car and pick up L. I decide to shower first and throw on some fresh clothes. The ones I am wearing carry the smell of panic and distress, and I don’t want to carry that around me any longer. 

I get some cold water from the fridge. Pour myself two big glasses as all afternoon I didn’t drink. Dehydration makes my body feel weaker than I already am after this afternoon’s stress. I feel better, balanced.  

I don’t want to linger around the house and wait. I check my phone to see if I got any messages from work. Nothing from R, so no emergencies or important issues I have forgotten. That is a relief. I try never to let my private life interfere with my work. I always take pride in delivering what I say I will deliver, in time. I don’t like it when I can’t, as this sense of obligation has been engrained in me since I was young. Always do as you promise. 

I close the door, give my boys another hug and start heading out of town again. The drive to pick up L will take me around forty minutes. Around the lake, as it is central in all travelling in this area, situated between three small cities. Unfortunately, I won’t be able to enjoy the beautiful views, as it is dark now. Heading out, I notice that I have forgotten to bring my USB with music. I continue my journey in silence. It is pitch dark outside, with the headlights of the car showing a short stretch of road before me. As is often the case, there seems to be a complete power-blackout. Without any streetlights, and no full moon, the darkness is complete. I only see the green dashboard lights in the car. As I follow the road, my headlights shine on steep rock-walls lining the left side of the road. In other parts, dark houses, lit by candles. People sit in front, on the porch. They are used to not having electricity. 

The darkness does not stress me, because I have driven this road probably a thousand times. T. and I have driven this road so many times at night. That was before we decided she would move to another part of the country. I stayed behind longer, for work…although then it made sense, now I sometimes doubt if that was the right decision.

During the last years of our marriage, where we were most of the time living separated lives instead of being together building new histories filled with joy, the memories of fighting and pain seemed to have gained momentum over the memories of good times, of laughter and love. Driving along the road, I try to push myself to think of all the good times, but a feeling of sadness is still dominating my mood. “Why, I have a date with a wonderful lady in a short time”, I tell myself. But I cannot stop my thoughts from running away with me, even if I try. 

In my mind a dilemma is building. There are things that I have locked away, but I know I need to let them out. If I don’t, they will come back some another time, maybe when I least expect it, or want it. But it is hard as it seems unspeakable. How can I describe violence in a way that makes it less shameful, less brutal, less violent? How can I describe it with metaphors? Is it comparable with the feeling of drowning? Sinking deeper and deeper, the pressure on the body increasing, the pressure in the lungs building until it feels as if it burns? The fear, the panic that comes with not being able to breathe? Knowing you must keep your mouth shut, keep the air in, as it’s the last there is and when you open your mouth, you will die?