I entered the room.
She was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall. Glancing at me peripherally. Her eyes refused to meet mine. She said nothing.
I choked on air. My words were in the bottom of my stomach.
"I... I'm sorry."
She said nothing. She was furious. I could see her eyes sparkling with the glimmer of tears. I missed her face more than anything. Even this face. This face that was angrier and more pained than I had ever seen it before.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Day Two
She called but I refused to answer.
She had done nothing wrong. I had been out of town for two days, she was as supportive as any fiance could be. She understood that my mind worked like this, that I needed to be away from everything sometimes. She always ran with my crazy, spontaneous actions and didn't ask too many questions except to make sure I was okay.
But I didn't want to hear from her right now. Not because I didn't love her. Not because I didn't feel good about us. Not because of anything that made any rational sense. I just didn't want to hear her voice at this particular moment. I refused to believe that anything good could exist for a person like me.
I think we all go through that. We get to the top of the mountain with its beautiful view and a great sense of accomplishment only to have the horrible realization that the only place to go is down. I think those of us who are lucky enough to get our dream job, our dream house, our dream family find that the more we have that we cherish, the greater the fear we have of losing it all. I had always believed in a sort of karmic balance, despite my lack or religion. I think at the core we like to believe that good brings good and bad brings bad.
I felt this way until last Monday.
Atticus didn't have any bad karma, none that I nor anyone else knew of anyway. He was everything I wanted to be. He had the dreams of dreamers, the tact of realists, the empathy of supporters, the leadership of leaders. So why did he chuck himself off that skyscraper?
I paced my motel room. Anxious and jaded. Questioning everything I ever knew or felt. The very definition of happiness and accomplishment was shattered like the fallen angel that was Atticus as he hit the concrete.
I thought about the stress, the work, the deadlines, the ups and downs. I thought about how these can't be worth it if it all just leads to a momentary feeling of freedom. The freedom that comes from knowing you left everything behind only to feel regret before you hit the pavement.
How could Atticus have regret? I have to know. I have to know how he got to that point.
I contemplated whether or not I should keep going. I knew this led down a long road. I knew that the answers wouldn't be easy to come by. I knew that I may offend some people. But the curiousity ate at me. There was more than an itch to know, I felt like much of what I believed and held to be true depended on Atticus's motives.
The small piece of paper was crumpled in my hand. My phone was buzzing on the endtable next to my creaky bed. The sun had gone down and the room was dark. I lied down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, though I couldn't see anything but the faint outline of the room.
She had done nothing wrong. I had been out of town for two days, she was as supportive as any fiance could be. She understood that my mind worked like this, that I needed to be away from everything sometimes. She always ran with my crazy, spontaneous actions and didn't ask too many questions except to make sure I was okay.
But I didn't want to hear from her right now. Not because I didn't love her. Not because I didn't feel good about us. Not because of anything that made any rational sense. I just didn't want to hear her voice at this particular moment. I refused to believe that anything good could exist for a person like me.
I think we all go through that. We get to the top of the mountain with its beautiful view and a great sense of accomplishment only to have the horrible realization that the only place to go is down. I think those of us who are lucky enough to get our dream job, our dream house, our dream family find that the more we have that we cherish, the greater the fear we have of losing it all. I had always believed in a sort of karmic balance, despite my lack or religion. I think at the core we like to believe that good brings good and bad brings bad.
I felt this way until last Monday.
Atticus didn't have any bad karma, none that I nor anyone else knew of anyway. He was everything I wanted to be. He had the dreams of dreamers, the tact of realists, the empathy of supporters, the leadership of leaders. So why did he chuck himself off that skyscraper?
I paced my motel room. Anxious and jaded. Questioning everything I ever knew or felt. The very definition of happiness and accomplishment was shattered like the fallen angel that was Atticus as he hit the concrete.
I thought about the stress, the work, the deadlines, the ups and downs. I thought about how these can't be worth it if it all just leads to a momentary feeling of freedom. The freedom that comes from knowing you left everything behind only to feel regret before you hit the pavement.
How could Atticus have regret? I have to know. I have to know how he got to that point.
I contemplated whether or not I should keep going. I knew this led down a long road. I knew that the answers wouldn't be easy to come by. I knew that I may offend some people. But the curiousity ate at me. There was more than an itch to know, I felt like much of what I believed and held to be true depended on Atticus's motives.
The small piece of paper was crumpled in my hand. My phone was buzzing on the endtable next to my creaky bed. The sun had gone down and the room was dark. I lied down on the bed and stared at the ceiling, though I couldn't see anything but the faint outline of the room.
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