Virginia & A Shower

Chester, Virginia. I stopped at our terminal to take a shower. Hopefully next time I can remember to take a towel.
I’m headed to Mansfield, Massachusetts. I thought about e-mailing a friend of mine who lives just miles from there to see if she wanted to have lunch or something. But she doesn’t respond to my messages anymore. I can only assume that I did or said something to offend her. Or maybe she’s been privy to the insidious inference campaign from some quarters (meaning that nothing specific is ever said, but it’s generally inferred that I was an oppressive presence in my marriage). Either way, I don’t intend to show up where I’m not wanted, whatever the reasons for that may be.
I got up thinking about the wife again today. Never a good way to start the day. Mostly I’ve just been going over all this and reflecting that I still don’t get it. I won’t go into it now. But a part of me desperately wants to write a detailed explanation of how things went, from about April of last year to now, detailing, among other things, how we wound up in such a financial mess. Mainly because some things have been said which certainly aren’t true. For one thing, the three weeks I was out of work last year when I was switching companies is often pointed to as some sort of turning point, while I know that by that time nothing could have saved us financially.
Well, I would love to write that summation in detail. But I won’t. Or at least if i do, no one will ever read it. Some things you just need to let lie. I know who did what. I know what happened and when. I have names and dates. Hell, I have pictures. I do not feel like I need to explain myself. Nor do I need to assign blame in the eyes of my friends and associates. My conscience is clear. I sleep well. So while I may struggle with my new reality, and what my wife did and why, you won’t hear me saying a harm word about her. In time, every tiger shows its stripes. And if anyone doubts me, the truth has a way of making itself known.
In my dreams, I am flying again. I’m told that means you feel some sort of release or freedom.
I also dreamt of Caldwell last night, for the first time in ages. I met her in the field, in the in-between place. She took my hand and led me to the grave marker that I had always assumed was her own. There’s never been an inscription. But last night there was a name. “Mara.” Caldwell smiled and held my hand to her heart, as if to say “I give this to you.”
Now, this is not to mean that Caldwell was saying that any harm was to come to the wife. I understood the meaning clearly. This is in the past. Caldwell was saying “let it rest.”
God help me. I’m trying.
But I still got up this morning and went right back at it. For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to wonder if I should see a therapist. I can’t seem to shrug all this off.
But then, no one ever said it would be easy. If it was, it would mean that I’d never really loved Mara. Sometimes I envy how easily she just walked away.

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