Folie à Deux (27 page)

As I tuck my kids into bed I feel like I’m reuniting with them after a long absence. I’m extra sensitive, kissing them twice as much as I normally would and spending extra time with their bedtime stories. I reunite with them as much as myself, the part of me that’s a father was gone all day. This represents the longest I have ever been away from me. My two worlds came crashing in on one another, and the little boy with the big secret met the father who would do anything for his children.

The abandoned ego was unstoppable in the quest to satisfy adolescent desires. I fall asleep unable to peacefully decide if I feel proud that I put so many pieces of the puzzle together successfully or if I should explore the terrible shame of myriad betrayals.

Frank has been my best friend since ninth grade. He was much better adjusted to the social aspects of high school and was more like minded than anyone else I had met freshman year. We shared much of the grief when Kevin’s mother passed away and despite our inability to process, that experience created an unspoken bond. I would always admire his confidence to approach anyone, especially in college and introduce himself, astonished by his warm manner, devoid any egotism.

The testament to our friendship was the phone call I received a year after I was married. The phone startled me awake at six a.m. but the voice on the other end was more disturbing. It was Frank, in tears. He had recently moved back to New Jersey after graduation, but was offered a job in Washington D.C.

He cried because his father advised him against moving away which we both knew was because of how much Frank Sr. was going to miss him. I felt the same selfish urges, knowing if he moved he was never coming back. As I wiped away the sleep, “It is a great opportunity that you should seize. You know your parents will always welcome you back.” He left that morning to flourish personally and professionally.

Dana and I visited often as our two families grew together, the distance never impeding our friendship. Unfortunately, neither Frank nor his family could escape being tainted by
my self-interest. Late in the summer Natalia spends a week in Maryland with family, coinciding with a long weekend we are spending with Frank.

I send Talia the typically coy text, “Ya know, I’m gonna be in Virginia while you’re in Maryland….rendez-vous? Haha.”

Simple bait that she takes, “YES!! Where?”

Frank’s computer is kept on his kitchen counter which means I spend the first two days of our visit trying to view MapQuest without being seen. My sole purpose is to search the distance from South Riding, Virginia to Rock Hall, Maryland. I am discouraged when I scan to the bottom of the screen and read, two hours and thirty-two minutes.

This plot was a foregone conclusion before I even proposed the idea so the distance only serves to quantify my infatuation, fueled by the six weeks since I’ve last seen her. All that remains is the familiar task of concocting my story to feed everyone around me. I need to make it acceptable to be gone at least five hours for the travel time alone, overnight is the only option.

Dana has already posited that something is very wrong with me and consequently, our marriage. She has sat me down several times, “Jim I don’t like the way things are between us. You never talk to me and are constantly on your phone.”

She has never been one to sugar coat her feelings, much to my chagrin, “Are you fucking someone else?” Her language often abhorrent in front of our kids or anyone else unlucky enough to catch the shrapnel of her outbursts.

“No,” I promise refusing to elaborate any further. No conversation is resolved and the further I withdraw the stronger she persists.

She shoves a book in my face one evening, “Male Depression: How to Recognize It and How to Treat It”, begging me to read it
as she has. When that diagnosis yields no results she theorizes drug abuse followed by homosexuality. She has already spoken to my parents to see if they have noticed a change in my behavior and if so what suggestions they might have. Unfortunately, none of what she describes to them is that outlandish from the son they have always known. Characterizations of a withdrawn, sullen, and suspicious husband don’t sound too far from their own experiences.

One day I come home to find our wedding album left open on my pillow, a card on top. The card speaks of a deep and never-ending love, as well as a devotion to making me happy and making our life together work. Sadly, it falls on deaf ears because I’m already too far down the path of self-destruction. Dana tries desperately to rekindle our relationship, attempting first to find out why I am behaving erratically and what she can do to help bring me back to center. I try tirelessly to convince everyone that I’m the unlovable person who exists in my own self-perception.

“I’m going for a ride to clear my head,” I tell her after dinner.

Although she suspects something is wrong she has not yet definitely leapt to infidelity. My request for some time to myself is met with no resistance certainly because the distance we are from home acts as an indisputable alibi.

I put the kids to bed and spend a few minutes with Frank, explaining to him the same lie, “I feel like I need time to work through things in my head.”

He asks me what is on my mind and I give him the best generic explanation. He knows everything in my past and although, no one truly understands an experience like mine, I let him think his empathy is sufficient. I walk away wondering if he is skeptical but chase that worry from my head and proceed.

I put the address that Natalia texted me into MapQuest and have one final moment of vacillation. Like many other seminal decisions, I find myself with no control over the forces that drive me. Somewhere in my preconscious I know it’s wrong but that poses no threat to prevent me. As I jot down the basic directions I run through the checklist of lies before leaving. I decide all bases are covered as I close MapQuest and make sure I delete it from the browsing history. I kiss Dana and the kids unsure of where I’m going, knowing even less, why.

As I start the car my stomach begins. The feeling, so old but now stronger in its renewal, reminds me of nerves but that would mean I’m nervous all of the time. Nervous of being caught, nervous to see Natalia, and nervous about where my life is headed. I overcome the panic, successfully disassociating from reality.

I drive for an hour, still texting, feeding off of our collective energy. She asks for half an hour’s notice so she can be ready to leave. My emotions are driving me to the point of turning back but with each song from my iPod, it becomes harder and harder to think about actually abandoning this plan. Natalia sends me an occasional text to check my status and with each I am further entrenched to complete the journey.

I pass Annapolis and see the lights of other small unknown cities. My exit from the highway dumps me on a road with corn fields on either side for forty-five minutes. I am lost in someone else’s thoughts for longer than I can remember. I think I hear the echo of my music off of the hollow farmland because I still have it at highway volume with both windows down.

I have no concept of the time. The further I drive from my family the more my stomach hurts. I look back at the time stamp from her last text message to calculate how long I’ve been in this
daze. I worry that I’m lost, having seen nothing resembling a town for longer than makes me comfortable.

I’m strangely relieved to see my phone light up from a call. It’s Talia. I know she’ll have no idea where I am and no idea how to direct me because she didn’t come this way, moreover, she doesn’t drive. I tell her my predicament and much as I foresaw she is of no help, “I know there is a lot of farmland around here.”

I tell her excitedly, “If the MapQuest directions are to be trusted I should be to you within ten minutes but I’ve never been there before so I’m not sure.”

All she offers is, “Ok, well, there’s a gas station with a convenience store on the corner. Pull in there and call me. I’ll walk up the block to meet you.” There’s a slight shortness in her breath which I interpret as anxiety.

I hang up the phone and sink further into the reality that I am completely lost in the middle of the night. I know for certain that I’m in Maryland, but what if there are two streets that share the same name and I’ve plugged the wrong one into MapQuest?

I park at the convenience store she described and call, “I’m here, I think. If you’re able to come out, now would be a good time.”

She whispers, “Ok,” and hangs up. She sounds even more nervous than before but that could be transference of my own paranoia. I look at the clock to gauge how long I should wait before calling to tell her I’m not at the right place. As I’m ready to make that terrible call I see her familiar gait walking toward me. I’m enveloped with an immediate sense of regret.

This tiny town sits across a small inlet from what looks like a dirty industrial area. It’s dark, so my initial opinion may not be accurate but the scent filling my nose matches that first impression. The unforgiving daylight could only make it more obvious
that the houses are run down with broken fences and in desperate need of improvement. This could also be a simple projection of the landscape of my morality. I have taken my mind to a dirty place where all of the outer edges of reality have a tainted hue.

As the person walking down the road draws closer I’m certain it’s Natalia and my heart pounds in my ears which are ten degrees warmer than the rest of my body, already sticky from the salty Chesapeake air. She speeds up her pace as she draws nearer and, without looking at me, opens, sits down and slams the car door in one motion. Although we text daily, it still feels odd to be back in her presence. Her breathing is much too accelerated from having just walked down the road but I’m afraid to ask her why she pants.

“Hi,” she gasps with the smile of a girl meeting her crush for the first time. “Am I dreaming or are you really here?” she says just above a whisper.

“Um, I’m really here, I think,” I say trying to be cute. As I lean in to kiss her she moves her face quickly towards mine and puts her tongue in my mouth more forcefully than I had anticipated.

“Let’s drive somewhere,” she says as if nervous even though she assures me there is no reason to worry.

When I ask where she reminds me, “I’ve only ever walked to the shitty little beach and the convenience store.”

Of course she hasn’t ventured anywhere that would be suitable to park. My regret accelerates. I jumped in the car to drive here but never thought about what we could do inconspicuously at two in the morning. I drive to the small inlet and we walk from a swimming beach onto a rock jetty that grinds on my feet with each step. I keep all my pain silent.

I smell low tide and pollution which fits my stomach. I cannot tell her about my doubts. All I hear echoing loudly in my
head is, “Why am I on this beach in a town I’ve never heard of?” I carve it off and cram my regret someplace quiet where it can’t disrupt this plan. I cannot guess the magnitude of the message she perceives at my presence, here on a whim and with so little thought about so many risks. My real life, unknown to her, has greater importance than this impetuous decision.

We walk back toward the car where there are four picnic tables and a run-down gazebo in which someone has placed a fifth. The table clearly does not belong, occupying all the available space. I sit first on the table top and she beside me leaning her whole body against mine. When I put my arm around her she leans back in harder. It’s awkward and I don’t know where to put my hands or where to look. I place my hand on her thigh and realize for the first time that she is wearing sweatpants, absurd given how humid the air is. The heat hangs in front of my face making it impossible to breathe.

I ask, “Aren’t you hot in these?” then fear that my question may have come across as innuendo.

“Yeah, but I had to make it look like I was going to bed,” she responds. It bothers me without taking complete form that she is learning to cover her bases so secrets remain concealed. The thought of pajamas and bedtimes and lies makes me feel dirty like colored Carebears. Everything feels sullied as though a parasite is relentlessly clinging to me.

She intertwines her hand with mine as it rests on her thigh and I squeeze. After an unbearable silence she leans her head back and puts her lips to mine. While we kiss she manipulates my hand to rub her thigh from knee to hip in a strangely forced rhythm. Every so often she allows her hand and consequently, mine to fall off the ridge of her leg and graze her inner thigh. Her
hips rise and she moans coincidently in rhythm with the crashing of tiny inlet waves.

She stops abruptly, and takes a deep breath, “Where can we go?” I don’t know exactly what she means.

“Where do you want to go?” I ask inflecting my voice higher.

“I mean let’s get in your car and go somewhere where we can be alone,” she says with conviction, absent uncertainty.

We walk back to the car and drive in the only direction that I know, the one from which I came. After a few minutes I see an auto body shop littered with imperfect cars both inside and out of it’s fence. Once inside the yard, I find a spot between two cars that look no older or newer than mine. I ask her to wait so that I can put the kid’s car seats in the very back of the SUV, clearing room for us. As I unbuckle the belts I pause, bend over and make certain I don’t vomit.