2007
March
My freshman year at Cornell was not a good one. By March, I was feeling very depressed. I was struggling badly with school work and no one seemed to care. I was just one in a class of five-hundred, so what did the professors care? I was also struggling to make friends. My roommates and I didn’t get along well and I never saw the few friends I had from my old dorm. I didn’t go to parties anymore because Thomas got mad at me when I went to one the first semester. “You’ll get drunk and cheat on me,” he had said. I told him he was being ridiculous and I went to the party anyway. It was a blast and, of course, l didn’t cheat on him even though I did get drunk. But he was so furious at me for going that it wasn’t worth going to more parties.
“I can’t believe you went to that party when I told you I didn’t want you to go,” he said.
“Thomas, nothing happened!”
“Not this time, but if you keep going to parties and getting drunk, you’re going to cheat on me one of these times.”
I tried joining the rugby team to make friends. It was tons of fun, but it was just too much of a commitment. After failing a few midterm exams, I decided it was time to put all my time and energy into hitting the books. Just when I was starting to really fall into a depression, my mother called me one night while I was attempting to learn something about organic chemistry.
“Melinda, Hobbes isn’t doing well.” Hobbes was one of my oxen. He and my other ox, Calvin, had been my two best friends since I got them when I was eleven. Yeah, they were animals, not humans, but having been raised around cows, I seemed to relate to them better. Hobbes had been suffering from severe arthritis the past couple months and this wasn’t the first time my mother and I had a conversation about his illness.
“Well, can Dad give him some medicine or something?” I asked.
“There’s really nothing we can do. He is having a really hard time getting around, Melinda. I think it’s best if we put him down.”
“No, Mum, please!”
“It’s your decision, Melinda, but you need to think about Hobbes. He is just suffering. He isn’t happy.” I had been thinking about this a lot the past few months, but avoiding making a decision. I didn’t want to lose Hobbes, but I didn’t want him to be in pain, either. It had made me cry just to watch Hobbes walk the last time I saw him. I couldn’t bear to think how he must look and feel now if he had gotten worse. It was selfish of me to keep him in pain so that I wouldn’t have to be.
“Okay,” I said. I hated myself immediately for saying that one word.
“You’re doing the right thing, Melinda; he’ll be much happier.” There was a short pause before she went on. “What do you want to do about Calvin? Tim says oxen don’t do well without their teamster, they get very depressed. You may want to think about putting him down as well.” Tim was our good friend and neighbor who had a lot of experience working with oxen and he often gave me advice on mine.
“No! He is perfectly healthy and I can’t handle losing both of them.”
“Okay, we’ll keep him then.” I don’t remember what the rest of our conversation was about, but I ended it quickly because of the massive tears forming in my eyes. I immediately called Thomas, crying heavily into the phone. He tried his best to comfort me, but there really wasn’t much he could do.
Hobbes was taken away on a Wednesday. I was devastated that I didn’t get to say good-bye since I was in Ithaca, but part of me was happy I wasn’t there. I knew if I had been, I wouldn’t be able to let him go. Would Hobbes be mad at me for the path I’d chosen for him? Calvin would surely hate me. I wanted what was best for Hobbes, but how was death the best choice? I moped around for weeks before my mother called again.
“Melinda, there’s something I have to tell you.” I wanted her to say that they decided to keep Hobbes, that he had magically gotten better and was feeling just fine, and that I’d see him when I came home for spring break in a few weeks. But she didn’t.
“We decided to put Calvin down, too. He was shipped with Hobbes. I wasn’t going to tell you, but Samantha made me. She said you’d want to know.”
Samantha was right, I did want to know, but I certainly did not want to hear it. So many emotions washed over me that I was numb for what felt like hours. My face got hot with anger and tears swelled up in my eyes.
“You did WHAT? I told you I wanted to keep Calvin! You said you would! And then you didn’t tell me?! As if I wouldn’t notice he was gone?”
“Melinda, he would have been so depressed without Hobbes he wouldn’t have been able to live.”
“I’m depressed about it, too, does that mean you’re going to put me down as well?!” I retorted. My mother, God bless her heart, tried her best to make me see the reasoning and make me feel better, but she just couldn’t do it. Not then. I hung up with her and sobbed into my pillow for hours. Eventually, I called Thomas, but he was little help. I just wanted to cry on someone’s shoulder, but I had nobody.
I wallowed for days. I didn’t get dressed or go to class. I just laid in bed all day like a corpse, thinking about Calvin and Hobbes and how their deaths were my fault. I needed a change. I had to get away from this place and go where I could be around someone who would be there for me. I needed my Thomas.
“Why don’t you take some time off from school and come live with me in Washington?” Thomas suggested one day.
“I don’t know about that. As much as I want to live with you, taking a whole semester off from Cornell doesn’t sound like a good idea. I will fall behind and may not graduate on time.” Like always, he had a solution for everything.
“There are plenty of schools out here. You can take classes here, get a job, and we can have an apartment together.” It did sound amazing. I had been out to Washington once when Thomas first got back from Iraq last October and I absolutely fell in love with the place. The idea of actually living with my fiancé, instead of having our continuous long-distance relationship, seemed too good to be true. But it could be true; I just had to make it happen. So, despite my family’s fervent attempts to get me to change my mind, I filled out my leave of absence paperwork.
August
I had always wanted a traditional wedding. So, naturally, I was a little shocked when Thomas called me and told me we had to get married sooner than we had originally planned. I was on summer break from Cornell, and then taking a semester off to live in Tacoma, Washington with Thomas.
“Married?” I shifted, moving the phone from my right ear to my left.
“Yeah, it’s the only way we’re going to be able to afford to live together.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before I went and took the semester off?” We had been engaged for a little over a year and I wanted to get married more than anything, but not like this. “You know I wanted to have a big wedding with our families and the dress and all that.”
“Well, we can have that later. We’ll just have a small wedding for now, and then have a bigger one later. But I need the extra pay I’ll get for being married in order to pay for our apartment. Come on, you want to get married, don’t you?”
I let out a large sigh. “Okay. I don’t want to tell anyone yet, though.”
“Why not? I am excited to tell everyone.”
“Me, too, but I know my family is going to be mad. I just don’t think we should tell anyone.” My family had not been too receptive of my engagement, which happened only three days after my high school graduation. I knew my parents would flip out if I got married.
“Okay, if that’s what you want.”
I moved to Washington on August 20th, 2007, and a few days later, Thomas and I went to the Tacoma town clerk’s office to apply for our marriage license. The first days in Washington were Heaven. Thomas had found us a spacious two-bedroom apartment that, to my delight, had a dishwasher and a washer and dryer. The apartment was quite empty, as all we had at the time was a small tan sofa, a wooden entertainment center and a queen-sized bed in the bedroom that Thomas bought just days before my arrival.
We got our marriage license and made our appointment for our wedding ceremony at the Pierce County Courthouse in downtown Tacoma. Our appointment was for the afternoon of Friday, August 31st. Thomas had asked two of his Army buddies, one of whom I had never met, and the other whom I didn’t care for too much, to come with us to be our witnesses.
I felt a little disappointment as I got ready for our ceremony. I had never been very good at doing my hair or makeup, and I wanted to look as beautiful as possible on our big day. I pinned up my long brown hair as best I could, but kept kicking myself for not having set up an appointment at a hair salon.
My dress was even more disappointing. It was pretty, but it wasn’t a wedding dress. I thought about what getting ready for my wedding should be like if I had been having the wedding I wanted: my bridesmaids in their matching dresses helping me get ready for my big day, and my father waiting anxiously outside the room with the pearl necklace purchased especially for this occasion.
I told myself it was okay that I wasn't having a big wedding because I was marrying Thomas. That's what really mattered. Thomas, his two friends, Kory and Dan, and I piled into Thomas' gray Dodge Dakota. It wasn't a long, black limousine, but at least Kory and Dan let me sit in the front seat.
Thomas dropped us off in front of the courthouse and went to park the truck. We entered the large building and went through the metal detectors while a security officer searched my black purse.
Thomas joined us in the main lobby after going through the metal detectors himself. We proceeded to the elevator and rode up to the family division floor. We got off, took a right, and entered a large room that was supposed to resemble a chapel. It had wooden pew benches on each side, a main aisle in between the benches, and a large desk at the front, just like the ones the judges use in courtrooms.
The four of us sat in the front row of benches and waited for the judge. A sudden panic went through me. “Thomas, I forgot my camera!”
“Don’t worry; you’re going to remember every moment of this, so you won’t need pictures.”
Our judge, David Kenworthy, came in through a side door. He was an older gentleman with gray hair and a kind, oval face. Thomas and I stood up as he walked towards us.
“Hello, you must be Melinda and Thomas. I’m Judge Kenworthy.” We exchanged handshakes and “nice to meet you’s.” Thomas handed Judge Kenworthy our marriage license and the judge had a few document for us. “Now, did you write your own vows?”
“No.” I had wanted to do our own vows, but Thomas refused to write his own, saying he was not a writer. Judge Kenworthy handed us a copy of the common traditional vows, making sure they were okay with us. He then asked if we had rings we wanted to exchange. Again, the answer was no. My wedding band came with my engagement ring when Thomas bought it over a year ago, but we didn’t yet have the money to buy one for him.
After some basic paperwork, we began the ceremony. Thomas and I stood face to face at the front of the room, and took hands as we exchanged vows. Thomas looked amazing in his dress uniform, and I felt proud to be marrying a soldier. It was a surreal experience; I didn’t feel like I was really getting married. But as the judge asked me if I took Thomas to be my lawfully wedded husband, it all came and slapped me in the face. I looked deeply into Thomas’ captivating blue eyes. This man was about to become the person I was going to share my life with. His was the last face I would see every night and the first I would see every morning. I would take care of him, fight with him, laugh with him, and lean on him. He would be the father of my children and the one I grew old with.
A huge smile came across my face as I stared at Thomas’ beaming face and excitedly yelled “I do!”
2008
November
I had known Scott Whitaker my entire life. He had been good friends with my brother, Jeremy, since they were in kindergarten together. We never really had much of a relationship. In 2001, Scott and my brother graduated high school and both left for boot camp. After that, I didn’t see Scott, except when my brother was home visiting, or when one of my sisters married one of Jeremy and Scott’s best friends.
Jeremy got married on August 31, 2008. Thomas was in Iraq, I was being treated for depression, and our marriage was a little rocky, but I missed him terribly on this day because it was our first wedding anniversary. Very few people acknowledged it, probably because they were still mad that Thomas and I eloped. I drowned away my sorrows at the wedding via the open bar. By the time the reception was over, I had gotten quite drunk.
I was not the only one who was drunk. Scott, one of Jeremy’s groomsmen, was under the influence himself, as were several others. After the reception, a shuttle bus took us back to the hotel and a large group of us kept the party alive in an empty conference room. Scott’s girlfriend, Rachel, whom I had gotten to know quite well and liked very much, decided to go back to their hotel room to pass out. Scott then surprised me by putting his arm around me and telling me how beautiful I looked.
I liked this attention, but I had to avoid letting the drunken stupor overcome me. “Scott, thank you, but you are with Rachel and I am married,” I kept telling him. When our after party had dispersed and most of the guests went to bed, I walked Scott up to his room, slid his key card in the slot to unlock his door, pushed him inside the room, and let the door shut with both of us on opposite sides.
I thought a lot about Scott the few days following the wedding, but told myself he was just drunk and the whole thing was a big mistake. A few days later, I got a Facebook message from him apologizing for his behavior. I appreciated that, and replied, accepting his apology. We sent a few messages back and forth just asking how each of us was doing and what we were up to, but eventually the messages stopped and our little relationship came to an end.
Or so I thought. The following October, my depression hit one of its lowest points and I dropped out of Cornell and moved home to New Hampshire to get my life back on track. I wanted to transfer to a different school for the spring semester, but Thomas thought it was best if I stayed at home and waited until he got back from Iraq before I decided to move somewhere else.
Not long after I had settled back in to my parent’s house and started working on their farm, my sister Samantha and her husband Keith decided to throw a Halloween party. They lived in the same town as my parents, and I was excited to finally have some friends to spend time with.
I spent the entire afternoon of the party with Samantha, our new sister-in-law, Kim, our friend Erin, and Scott’s girlfriend, Rachel, decorating Samantha and Keith’s house for the party. There were fake cobwebs and spiders in every corner of every room, ghosts hung from the ceiling, bowls of candy littered every table, and there were orange candles and pumpkins everywhere. Even the windows were decorated with decals and Halloween lights. We made lots of food and had a great time making—and spiking—our punch. The house looked awesome.
The party got off to a wonderful start and everyone looked great in their costumes. I had wings, a wand, and a tiara that I combined with the Alfred Angelo gown I wore to my junior prom to make a fairy princess costume.
My parents even dressed up and came: Dad as a cowboy, Mum as a cow. How fitting for a couple of dairy farmers. The Celtics game was on and we were all in the kitchen playing drinking games. I was sitting in between Scott and Rachel and Scott kept stealing my wand from me and using it to “cast spells” on the cards as we played Kings.
Later on, Scott and I talked about Cornell. He seemed very concerned and thought I should go back, but I told him it made me so damn unhappy to be there. Scott was the first person to express concern about what was going on with me. It was nice to have someone listen to my problems. My family seemed to be in denial about the whole thing, especially my depression, the antidepressants, and the therapy. But Scott listened. That night, for the first time in my life, I felt like he and I were friends. It was a strange feeling, but one that I liked very much.
Later on in the evening, and several drinks later, Scott and I were talking again. Rachel had long passed out in the living room. Scott was sitting at the table and I was standing next to him. As we were talking, Scott kept tapping his lap with his hands and telling me to sit down. As I went to take a seat, Samantha caught my eye and shook her head at me, mouthing the word “no.” I was angry at her for interfering, but I obeyed and took a seat in the chair next to Scott’s.
It was getting late when Kim told me that she and my brother were getting ready to head back to my parent’s house. Since they were my ride, I had to leave. I went upstairs to change back into the clothes that I wore to the house before the party started. After I changed, I went across the hall to put my prom dress back on its hanger and in its plastic casing. As I was putting it away, Scott appeared in the doorway of the game room. I hadn’t heard him come up the stairs.
He walked up and stood very close to me so that we were chest to chest. He began whispering in my ear how beautiful I had looked in my costume and how much he wanted to rip my dress off and ravish me. Then, we were kissing. He had his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and I ran my hands through his brown crew cut.
I finally regained the senses that Scott had momentarily taken from me. I pushed him away, picked up my dress, and walked to the doorway. That’s as far as I got before turning around and going back to him. He met me halfway and we kissed once more before I turned around and left, wondering what the hell had just happened.
2009
April
The hardest thing to do is look at yourself in the mirror after you’ve realized the person staring back at you isn’t even you anymore and you don’t know where you went, or if you’re ever going to come back.
Who had I become? I loved Thomas with all my heart. But I was cheating. Only it wasn’t me; it was some horrible monster I had become. I wasn’t sure where the monster had come from or why it was here ruining my life. Wasn’t my life bad enough? I had no friends, I was living with my parents, working a job I didn’t like, putting what I really wanted to do on hold, I was being treated for depression, and my husband was in Iraq. Yet I was making my life even more of a living hell.
I loved Scott. And everything he made me feel. When I was with him, my emptiness disappeared. I felt wanted, needed, cared for. He listened when I talked, and he heard the words that I spoke. I could tell him about my problems, my depression, anything. He was comforting and made me feel better. He was everything Thomas was not. Scott’s words did not destroy my self-esteem or bring tears to my eyes. Everything was a fight with Thomas. Thomas was at war for his country and he felt it necessary to carry war into our marriage. There was no fighting with Scott.
On a cloudy April day, I met Scott for another of our secret encounters. We chose my sister’s house, as it was most convenient, and we knew that my sister and her husband were both at work. For awhile we just sat on the puffy light green sofa in the living room and talked. Scott wanted to know how I was doing and everything I’d been up to. It was nice to have someone take an interest in me. Later on we went upstairs to the guest bedroom. Scott embraced me so we were chest to chest. As he kissed my face and neck, I stared at the blank wall behind him. His arms were around me, but mine were not around him. I lifted them up so that they were against his sides, my hands behind his back. I stared at my hands for what felt like a long time. Use them, put them on his shoulders, his chest, and push him away! Say no, God damn it! But I gave in to Scott once more.
Afterwards, we found ourselves in the kitchen. I discovered some chocolate-covered pretzels and sat on a bar stool enjoying the salty sweetness. Scott started getting ready to leave, putting his brown shoes on slowly. It was still sunny out, so he took off his glasses and put on his prescription sunglasses instead. As he went to leave, he paused for one more kiss. After which I pulled away and tried to look him in the eyes, but those damn sunglasses. I knew he was looking into mine. I quietly told him that I loved him. We had never said those words to each other before. He didn’t say them back. And I realized that Scott didn’t love me. He never did and there was a very good chance that he never would. The pain must have shown on my face, because Scott said “You know I feel the same way, right?”
I told him yes. I’d become a good liar in the past couple months. Satisfied, he said his goodbyes and left. I stumbled into the living room and dropped myself onto the floor, weeping into the same puffy light green sofa that Scott and I sat on just an hour or so earlier. I was much happier then.
I thought briefly about the knives I knew were in the kitchen. No, no cutting, I told myself. Scott was not worth it. I knew deep down inside of me that distributing my pain amongst different body parts was not going to make any of it go away in the long run.
My eyes ached; they were heavier than boulders. My cheeks burned like fire from my hot tears, yet the crying did nothing to make me feel better. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next, but I knew I wanted to get out of everything and anything that was familiar. I immediately drove my gray Dodge Dakota back to my parents’ house and packed a bag with a few essentials. Luckily, my parents were busy and didn’t see me. I threw my bag in the passenger seat, hopped back in the truck, and took off. I had no idea where I was going; all I knew was that I needed to get away—from my life.
I arrived at Kingswood just as the kids were boarding their buses to go home. I had never been there before and was excited to see where Kelly worked. I checked in at the main office and the tall man behind the office desk paged Kelly to the office. I waited a minute, awkwardly, then I spotted Kelly walking through the main hallway of the school. I ran out to greet her. A surprised look and a smile came across her face as she saw me.
“Skunk!” It had always been her nickname for me. She wrapped me in a big hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d come surprise you at work.”
“Do Mum and Dad know you’re here?” Of course, she would ask that, it was her duty as an older sister. She didn’t seem concerned when I told her no.
“Just out for a drive then?”
“Yeah.” She took me around the school, showing me the classrooms, and I met a few of her students and a few of the faculty members as well. I really wanted to just blurt out the secret that had been eating me alive for the past six months.
After Kelly was done at work, I followed her back to her apartment. Her husband, Kyle, and their three-year-old son, Liam, were there. As happy as I was to see them, they made it more difficult for me to talk to Kelly alone. I agreed to stay for dinner and played with Liam in his room for awhile. Kelly started making dinner, chili with homemade tortilla chips, because she knows that’s my favorite dish of hers.
When Kyle was in the living room watching TV, I had Liam go into the living room to be with him while I went into the kitchen where I knew I wouldn’t be overheard.
“Skunk, what’s wrong?”
“I cheated on Thomas with Scott Whitaker,” I blurted out. A weight the size of Mount Everest was lifted off my shoulders. Kelly looked surprised, but she hugged me.
“Just once?” I shook my head which was now buried in her left shoulder.
“We’ve been having an affair since last November.” Kelly held me for awhile as I sobbed. All of a sudden, I felt a little hand on my leg. I hadn’t heard Liam come in.
“Mommy, what’s wrong with Auntie?” A small smile came across my face at the sweetness of his question.
“She just needs hugs right now.” Liam wrapped his arms around my legs. I reached my left arm down and put it around Liam’s shoulders.
Kelly and I talked for a long time about what happened. She was extremely kind and understanding. “You have to tell Thomas. He deserves to hear the truth and he should hear it from you.” We decided it was best to wait until Thomas got back from Iraq.
I spent the night and went back to my parent’s the next day. My parents didn’t ask many questions about why I had gone to Kelly and Kyle’s. A few days later, I was chatting with Thomas on instant messenger. He was in good spirits and was being particularly nice. He kept going on about how lucky he was to have a faithful wife. I couldn’t take it. I told him to stop, that he was wrong, and that I was a terrible person. He was confused and told me he was going to call.
A few minutes later, the phone rang. This was it. I was going to tell him. I couldn’t just let him go on thinking I was this wonderful person when I wasn’t. I picked up the phone.
“What’s going on?” I began to cry immediately.
“Thomas, I…I…I’m so sorry.”
“Why? What happened?” There was a long pause before Thomas asked, “Did you cheat?”
In a very small voice, I replied, “Yes.” There was an even longer pause before the flood of questions came.
“When? Why? With who? How could you?” He went on for minutes before he let me explain.
“Scott Whitaker. I’m really sorry, Thomas. I didn’t mean to hurt you. It just kind of happened.”
“Just once?” I wanted to say yes, but I knew Thomas deserved the truth—the whole truth.
“A couple times.”
“How many is a couple?”
“About four times over the course of several months. It didn’t mean anything, Thomas. I was just lonely and so miserable. He used me; he just told me everything I wanted to hear and pretended to care about me when he really didn’t. I regret it completely. I am so sorry.”
“Well, don’t worry,” he reassured me. “We’ll get through this. We’ll work our way through this when I get home. I have to go now, but don’t worry, okay? I love you.”
“I love you,” I replied. We hung up. We were going to be just fine. I just wish I had known then that he was lying.
July
Thomas got back from Iraq in mid-July, but he didn’t want me to fly out to Washington. I reluctantly cancelled my flight and waited eagerly for him to come home to New Hampshire. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want me to fly out, why he was putting off working on our marriage. One day, I signed into his MySpace account and looked at his messages. I read a message Thomas had written to Kory about how he was just pretending to want to work on things and how he was going to file for divorce as soon as he got back to New Hampshire. I was devastated, but even more determined to save our marriage. I continued my fight over the phone.
One night, after one particularly horrible phone conversation, I was lying on my queen-sized bed crying. Soon there was a knock on my bedroom door and Mum came in, leaving the door open enough so that the light from the cow lamp in the hallway entered my room, shining on the end of my bed and on the hardwood floor. I sat up as my mother walked around the corner of my bed, passed my black leather office chair, and sat on the right side of the bed where I was.
“Melinda, you have to forgive yourself.” She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me towards her. I slid further towards her, also wrapping my arms around her and linking my fingers behind her back.
“I can’t,” I replied, burying my face into her shoulder. I tried to stop crying so that I could speak clearly.
“You have to. You can’t keep going on like this, it isn’t healthy. You know Dad and I hate to see you like this.” Mum began rubbing my back.
“I don’t want to lose him,” I sobbed loudly, gasping for each breath.
“I know, Melinda, but you can’t keep beating yourself up for this.”
I turned my head away from Mum’s shoulder and stared at the hardwood floor. “I didn’t mean to hurt him. I am truly sorry and I’ll regret this for the rest of my life. This just isn’t fair!”
Mum pulled me even closer to her and began to pat my hair as I cried even harder. “Well, life isn’t always fair. I know that’s not exactly what you want to hear right now, but that’s just the way life is.”
“But he’s being unreasonable! He doesn’t even listen to my side of the story; he just says I am making up excuses. Explanations are not excuses. He’s throwing away everything because he is blinded by his pain and anger.”
“He is acting very immature. I know you’re sorry, Melinda, but you’ve done all you can to make him stay, and he doesn’t want to. You can’t force someone to love you.”
I sniffled, fighting back more tears. “But he did love me. We’re married; he’s supposed to love me for better or worse. He said he didn’t even believe in divorce and now he wants one. He says he’s a devout Catholic…Catholics don’t believe in divorce, and neither do I. Religion is supposed to be about forgiveness of sins. God forgives me and I forgive myself, so why can’t Thomas forgive me?”
“Well, it sounds like he doesn’t even really know who he is or what he believes. He is very immature. You guys married young and maybe it’s best if you two were apart so you can find yourselves.”
I pulled my head away from Mum’s shoulder and looked at the tear stain I left on her light blue night gown. “I want to be with him. I love being a wife.”
“I know, but maybe this is for the better. You may not be able to see that now, but later on down the road you will. Someday he will realize the mistake he made. But right now, you have to stop punishing yourself. You don’t deserve to suffer this way. Melinda, it’s time to let him go.
I tried taking my mother’s advice, but I wasn’t ready to let go. When Thomas came back to New Hampshire a few weeks later, I drove our gray Dodge Dakota anxiously to his parent’s house where he was waiting for me. There was no warm embrace and no big kiss. There was no kiss at all. I made another attempt to plead my case with Thomas, face-to-face, but it was no use. I got so frustrated with him that I gave up and demanded that he drive me back to my parent’s house immediately.
“Thomas, marriage requires work. And we need to work on ours,” I said as we pulled out of his parent’s driveway. Thomas shook his head, not taking his eyes off the road.
“No, if you’re married to the right person, you don’t have to work at it. It just comes naturally.” I wanted to bang my head off the passenger side window. I had dealt with a lot of stubborn cows in my lifetime on my parent’s farm, but none were as impossible as my husband. Thomas continued, “I can’t forgive you for what you did. I can’t even look at you the same. I just can’t.”
“I’m not expecting you to forgive me overnight. It’s going to take time. But we need to try. You’re a Catholic; you don’t believe in divorce, so isn’t that out of the question?”
“Don’t you try to play the religious card! You only found God a couple months ago—you are not an expert! Don’t try to tell me about my religion and beliefs.”
“Even though I know more about your religion than you do? When was the last time you went to church, huh? I’ve never even seen you open your Bible!” I could feel my blood boiling inside of me.
“Don’t you dare turn this around on me! I’m not the one who messed up here—you are! I didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t try to make this out to be my fault.”
“Oh, so neglecting me and telling me my problems—my depression—aren’t important wasn’t wrong?”
“Here we go again,” Thomas said, rolling his eyes at the road ahead of him.
I stopped and took a deep breath. I didn’t want to fight; I was sick of fighting. I tried to take a calmer approach. ”Father Ray said he was willing to counsel us, but he said he would talk to just you if you wanted to go alone. Will you at least talk to him?”
Thomas sighed, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”
He never went to see Father Ray.
August
I had convinced Thomas to come over to my house and talk to my parents, my sister Kelly, and my brother-in-law Kyle. My family was my last hope. My heart leapt into my throat when I heard gravel crunch beneath tires as Thomas pulled in to the driveway. Everyone was outside doing afternoon farm chores, so I was the only one there to greet him when he walked in the house. We sat on the green loveseat in the kitchen and I tried one last time to save our marriage.
The conversation was peaceful, but I could not convince Thomas to stay. But my family would. They would say and do all the right things and Thomas would finally realize that he was making a huge mistake and stay. Kelly and Kyle soon walked in the back door with their four-year-old son, Liam. Thomas rose to greet them, as he had not seen them since he got back from Iraq. My parents came in a few minutes later.
I knew I would only be in the way, so I retreated to my room to wait out the storm. After lying on my bed crying for awhile, I heard my father come up the stairs. He stopped on his way to his bedroom. He was still dressed in his barn clothes, so I knew he had come upstairs to change his clothes, not to see me.
“You okay?” He asked as I blew my nose for the thirtieth time.
“Yeah.” Dad walked away and disappeared into his room. I tried not to feel upset that he wasn’t comforting me much. I remembered something Samantha had told me not long ago: It’s not that Dad doesn’t care, it’s just that he doesn’t know how to be there for us in difficult situations. He is awkward and doesn’t know how to be affectionate. Sometimes if we want support or affection from Dad, we have to go to him for it and be the first to initiate it. So when Dad came out of his room and walked by again, I ran after him.
“Wait, Daddy.” I caught him at the top of the stairs and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist. “Please stay with me.” I began to cry again. My father seemed shocked by my sudden display of affection, but he put his arms around me and tried his best to comfort me.
“It’s okay, Melinda, these things sometimes happen.”
“Why can’t Thomas forgive me?”
My father sighed. “I don’t know. He seems pretty upset. I think he just needs some time to cool down. But everything is going to be okay.” Dad held me for a few more minutes before saying something about heading back downstairs to see what was going on. I felt alone once again, but somehow closer to my dad.
I went back to my room and grabbed my Bible and sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed. I flipped the Bible open to Romans and found my favorite verse, Romans 8:28: “And we know that God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love God and are called according to His purpose for them.” I read that over and over again for what seemed like hours—hours of anticipation and fear.
Suddenly, I heard a vehicle start in the driveway. I quickly got up and went to the window to see what was going on. I got there just in time to see Thomas pull out of the driveway and head down the road. I watched him until the truck disappeared out of sight.
I began crying hysterically again as soon as the truck was gone. I went down the stairs and knew I would never see that truck again because of the sad faces staring at me.
“What happened?” I looked over at my sister Samantha, who had arrived while I was upstairs. She was on the verge of tears. My mother, who had been my rock the past few months, took a step towards me.
“Melinda, he’s made up his mind.” I cut her off.
“No! You were supposed to make him stay!” Any of the crying and sobbing I had done before this was nothing compared to the epic flood that I had just begun in my parent’s kitchen. My mother and Samantha both embraced me while everyone else stood watching.
“He’ll realize his mistake, Melinda,” my mum reassured me. “You’re better off now.”
“Yeah,” Samantha agreed. “This is a chance for a new start.” I knew they were right. This was the chance for a fresh start. And, just as suddenly as it had happened, I was miraculously done being in love with Thomas.
I went back upstairs to be alone for a little while. I had this sudden urge to be rid of Thomas. I wanted nothing to do with him and I wanted every aspect of our lives to be separate. I was more angry than sad. But at the same time, I was hopeful. I could do whatever the hell I wanted. I began by taking his pictures and letters out from underneath my pillow and ripping them up in to small pieces. It was freeing to tear up his bullshit words and watch the little pieces of paper float down into the garbage can. I took my favorite picture of him out from its penguin frame on my nightstand and ripped it in half slowly and victoriously, making sure I tore his deceitful face right down the middle. Then I sat down at my desk and got to work.
First, I opened a new checking account online with just my name on it—my real name, Melinda Gray. None of that Melinda Dunn shit—that was over. As I was typing, I caught the glimmer from my wedding and engagement rings. I pulled them off my left ring finger. It was like being released from shackles. I set them in my left hand and studied them for a minute. Then I spun around in my office chair and chucked the rings across my bedroom. They hit the wall, ricocheted, and landed out of sight.
I got all the phone numbers I needed to change the last name on my credit cards. I changed my e-mail address, sending an e-mail out to all my family and friends letting them know. After that, I looked around the room for any other signs of him. The bed. I didn’t want to get rid of that, but the sheets and comforter would have to go. I went online and ordered some Egyptian cotton sheets—the kind I’d always wanted—and a new comforter. I bagged up the orange Tommy Hilfiger sweater he bought me and some jewelry he gave me, including the sapphire jewelry set he gave me on my eighteenth birthday, because he knew I hated my real birthstone. But he must have forgotten because for Christmas one year he bought me another jewelry set with topaz gems. I put that in the bag, too. After I stuffed the bag in the back of my closet, I looked around once more. My room looked pretty good.
I ventured downstairs into the kitchen. Everybody stopped what they were doing and stared at me. I grabbed the frame off the wall that Samantha and Keith had given to my parents for Christmas last year. It had the word “family” cut out of the mat and there was a picture of each family within our family in each letter, starting with a picture of my parents in the “F” and ending with a picture of me and Thomas in the “Y.” I took the back off the frame, ripped our photo out, then hung the frame back up. I proceeded to the wall in the kitchen where Mum kept her family bulletin board with pictures of our family members. I tore down all the pictures with Thomas in them. I ripped them up and threw them away.
“Doing a little housekeeping?” Samantha asked me.
“Yup,” I replied, a grin forming on my face. It was the first time I’d smiled in a long time. “I’m just getting rid of all the unwanted junk around here.” Everybody smiled at me. There was that sense of humor they all missed so much. Their Melinda Gray was finally back.
