Sands of Solace

I had to get away. I had to escape from him, my job, and the mundane part of my life and find peace to face what was happening. I loved him, and deep down, I still felt I needed him. I didn't want to need him anymore, and wanting him was no longer an option.

Christopher and I were married for 14 years, and regardless of never feeling like he loved me, I always believed one day he would. We had a ghost in our marriage. An ex-girlfriend of his who wandered the halls of our colonial two-story. She was in my kitchen, she drove my car, she slept in our bed each night, everything I did, everything I was, he replaced me with her, and that seemed to be the only time he was happy. We didn't have children, so the constant reminder of who I wasn't ate me a little daily. I buried that feeling most of the time, but for others, it consumed me.

I remember standing in the driveway of his parent's house, knowing they were out of town, yet seeing two cars filling up the concrete space in front of the cookie-cutter one-story in an older Austin neighborhood west of downtown. One was ours, a four-door Ram 1500 that we picked out on a spontaneous Saturday afternoon. I wanted the heated seats, Christopher wanted the 4-wheel drive and three hours after picking out the perfect truck, we traded in our BMW, drove off the lot and celebrated at a local bar with beer and wings. We made love that night, passionate, slow kisses, legs entwined, bodies crushed together. We explored each other for what seemed like hours that night. I fell asleep feeling loved and content, and that emotion washed over me as I stared at this same truck parked next to a little grey Hyundai in the December warmth of a Texas winter.

My hands shook as I entered the house, my palms sweaty, my heart pounding faster and faster as I walked through the dark house. I choked as I heard the laughs coming from the front bedroom, and as I opened the door to see them both in the same position, I felt only reserved for us as husband and wife, as lovers, in the small bed; I stopped breathing. They saw me. He laid his head back on the pillow, catching my eyes, and smiled at me. Embarrassed, her dark hair a mess, she hid under the covers, burying herself into the mattress, trying not to be seen. But I saw her and him and how he loved her in that minute more than he ever loved me. He just smiled, not sorry and not affected that I just found him in bed with another woman. He seemed almost happy, and the sorrow of knowing he knows I know and doesn't care, hit me with a wave of an oppressive, suffocating awareness, and I froze. I turned away and left the house. As I shut the door behind me, I heard him begging her not to worry, that he would take care of it, and to please stay. I heard her agree, and the giggles started again as the lock clicked into the latch.

I slammed into the house like a tidal wave, rushing around, searching for luggage and clean clothes from the dryer. I frantically threw in face wash, a toothbrush and toothpaste into an overnight bag, unsure if I grabbed socks or enough panties since I had no idea where I was going or for how long. All I knew was I had to get away, and now. I grabbed my bag and headed to the airport. I parked in long-term parking, walked up to the Southwest counter, and purchased a ticket to the next flight out. A non-stop to Las Vegas flight boarded in 30 minutes. Perfect. I want the hell out of here and now. I grabbed a quick drink at a restaurant bar, Woodford Reserve, neat. I emailed my boss I was taking Monday off, drank my bourbon in one gulp, threw $20 down on the bar table and walked out, heading to my gate.

Three hours later, I am in a rental car agency at the Vegas airport. I checked out a Toyota Camry, and still with no plans, I climbed in and turned on the ignition, feeling the warm air from the air conditioner wash over me. I turned onto Hwy 15 and just drove, not planning where I would go or what I would do next. I tried to come to terms with my quick decisions after leaving the house in Austin, but I couldn't. I just knew I needed time to choose whether to think, not think, feel, or not feel. I didn't want to have to deal with him coming home; I didn't want to smell her on his skin and clothes, hear his excuses, his reasons for killing me on the inside and see his face as he was resigned to doing so. I couldn't do it; I wasn't ready. I needed to spend time with me, so I just drove.

I am a planner. I plan everything, and even though I have a part of me that is spontaneous, I always find myself with a backup plan. I didn't have one right now, and the freedom of this was, in a way, exhilarating. I had turned off my phone earlier as the plane tires touched down on the black concrete tarmac after seeing I had seven missed calls from him. I didn't care. I had yet to turn on the phone; it was still silenced in my purse, sitting on the passenger seat floorboard. This rebellious act felt good, giving me a sense of power I had not felt in a long time.

I was hungry and pulled into a Mexican restaurant. I ordered two chicken tacos on a corn tortilla and a margarita and sat on the patio enjoying the sun's blazing heat soaking into my skin. I felt alive in this moment; I felt not just the warmth on my skin, but it seemed to flow into my soul, and I found myself smiling. I ordered another margarita and two more tacos and relished the open heat a little longer before getting into my rented Camry.

I passed through Dry Lake and Crystal, and after another hour, I hit the city limits of Glendale, I decided I needed to stop for the night. It was 8:32 PM, said the clock in the car, and almost urgently, desired a hot shower. I saw the lights of a Hampton Inn and pulled in, glad they had a room. I threw my bag on the clean white bed, turned on the water to get hot, stripped down and stood in the scolding water until my skin turned red. I brushed my teeth but found nothing to sleep in but a T-shirt. It didn't take me long to fall asleep, and I did so without dreams.

The next day, I found a Valley of Fire State Park pamphlet while having a waffle and coffee. Almost immediately, I decided to go, so I pulled cash out of the ATM and drove south on 169 towards the park entrance. Luckily, I had thrown a pair of trainers, shorts and a tank top in my overnight bag, so I was prepared for the hike. I paid the entrance fee, bought a small backpack and water from the park store, threw my purse into the trunk, and started on the Fire Wave Trail.

I passed others on the trailhead, headphones in their ears, listening to music or audiobooks, but I had left my phone in the car. I didn't want the noise of civilization. This silence was cathartic, the only sound around me was the scuttling of lizards as they ran to hide under rocks, the warm breeze kissing the brush mixed with the consistent rhythm of my shoes crunching the trail rock. The heat bore into my skin from above as the sun rose high. I had brought a cap with me, and I was grateful as I had left my sunglasses in my car in Austin. The heat on my exposed shoulders and arms made me feel good. I knew I would have a burn, but I didn't care. I thought of nothing but the next step; my mind was empty of thought and emotion, and I just let it be. I didn't force it, i just focused on my breath and the natural world around me and kept walking.

After a while, I stopped for a break and pulled out water from my bag. I saw a small hill with a flat plateau that would allow me to see the view of the area, so I began the small trek up the side, following a narrow, worn-out path to the top. I am in good shape; I take Pilates and Yoga classes 4-5 times a week, but halfway up, I decided to add more cardio to my routine. I stopped a few times up the hill, but rather than wallow in the pain, I relished it. I got to the top and smiled as the open expanse of the desert came into my sight. It was beautiful.

The sun was bright overhead, beating down on the mixed shades of brown; it was so overwhelming that it blinded me. I felt alive right now with my burning calves from the steep hike, and combined with the burn in my shoulders, I felt free. I took a deep, dusty breath, closed my eyes and realized I was in control of my life for the first time. No more lies, not by him, not to myself, no more illusions that my marriage was healthy. For the first time since I found him in bed with her, I was grateful. A small voice in my head told me that I should thank him for his affair because, at that moment, I no longer had to be second in my husband's eyes; I could be first for myself. I had just found a piece of me long thought lost, and I was done. I felt at peace, and suddenly, I knew I would be alright and could do this life without him. I embraced the moment, inhaling my newfound life, and as I tilted my head up into the sun, feeling the warmth wash over my face, I felt happy. Engulfed in the desert's parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.