To Turn A New Page

Twenty-three years. Twenty-three years of marriage that miraculously balanced a collection of weekly grocery shopping, years of losing the remote and full-on yelling matches which ended only once one of them took some “time for themselves” in the spare bedroom. Twenty-three years of balancing 3 children, a house mortgage that doomed like a dark cloud, pot roast dinners with relatives and never forget the one pet rabbit both she and her husband begrudgingly agreed to gift the boys. This was the backdrop of Janet’s life and now it felt like such a distant memory.

She found herself once again in that same spare bedroom, but this time there had been no fighting. No, the room, the house, the planet felt to her like white noise and she yearned to hear anyone’s voice other than the one in her head. The spare bedroom had become somewhat of a catch all filled high with old newspapers, photos, the boy’s daycare paintings, Dan’s clothes and of course, their wedding album. Dan, a not so handsome man but a man whom she immediately gravitated to. He was the first guy to graze her elbow as a teen while at her daily routine of waiting for the city bus. A spine-tingling feeling flooded her body as he lightly touched her elbow to ask for the time. Sure, it was not much to most but to her, a shy and timid late bloomer; she knew this was love. She and Dan’s daily commuting schedule gradual built a friendship which blossomed into he courting Janet and in less than a year, the two were married. A small and quaint wedding but to all, it was obvious they were made for each other.

Their marriage naturally had its up’s and downs like every marriage but it’s what they both committed to when they said “I do” twenty-three years ago and once the “in sickness and in health” part hit their marriage like a brick wall; they buckled in together for the bumpy ride. Her husband’s simple annual checkup for work was not the usual “Everything looks great we will see you next year” appointment. No, Dan was sick and not a sick where you need to follow up with a specialist or go on a vegan diet. No he’s sickness was a terminal sickness and one that Janet braced for as his caretaker and above all, his wife. She scheduled every visit, picked up every medication, argued with every insurance company over the deductible. She studied and mastered the art of Chinese tea and alternative medicine, but nothing helped. Her husband who was the foundation of their family, was now crumbling day by day and Janet was there to pick up the pieces. Now, nine days after burying her husband; she found herself again picking up the piece but this time alone.

Although she and her husband were able to finalize the details of his last days, and gifting each of their now grown children a special momentum to remember him by; She did not have much of a plan of what to do ONCE he would pass. This was something she was not comfortable giving any thought to and would tell Dan time and time again, “I’ll cross that bridge when I get there”. Now here it was, 11:12 am on a Tuesday and Janet clumsily tried to piece a plan together. Should I move closer to the kids? Do I donate his clothes to Goodwill? How do I file taxes and what will change once I mark ‘X’ for Widower? The questions bombarded her already throbbing headache as she collected small figurines and books to divided up between donation and keep boxes.

While she inspected every pocket of her husband’s coats, she noticed a small black weathered notebook wedged in between the planks of wood in their unfinished closet. It was rolled up, like a newspaper and accessorized with an arrangement of rubber bands to secure its closure. She ironically squinted her eyes in the dark room as if she were staring at the sun. “What is that?” she asked herself. A magazine, a journal, or a personal calendar? How could a book reside in the same home she lived twenty-three years in and never had come across it before? She couldn’t decipher it’s size, age or weight so with great caution & curiosity; she delicately removed each rubber band and gingerly turned to the first page. DAN scribbled in blue ink. She intuitively knew this was Dan’s handwriting and immediately flashed back to Dan always having his elbows on the kitchen table which was a common trait she found for Lefties. She turned to the next page. A few scribbles of phone numbers, names, and doodles throughout. Janet was afraid to smudge any of Dan’s notes, so she proceeded intricately while turning each page to reach the end. She saw more numbers, more doodles, dates of all twelve months, gum wrappers and receipts thrown in haphazardly and then empty pages. “Was that it? Was this his journal or a simple date keeper?” She asked herself and before concluding that yes, this was simply an 82-page notebook of old passwords & doodles, she came across it…JANET. Her heart jumped and her eyes swelled with tears she rapidly blinked away. JANET. JANET. JANET. JANET. Multiple Fonts followed by doodles written with artistic freedom on the page. Her heart rapidly picked up pace and she could feel the blood running through her veins. “Yes Dan, Yes Dan, YES” she pleaded in her mind, body, and soul. “What Dan? What are you trying to tell me?”. Her eyes darted across the page of lines and empty space and there it was, in small print I HATE YOU. Janet’s legs gave out under her and she collapsed. With the wind kicked out of her she buckled under those 3 words and gasped for any air while clutching her chest. The book had flown a few feet away from her but to Janet, it felt like it was a hundred miles from her grasp. By now her tears had begun to sting and the simple act of blinking felt like daggers. Her headache had now reached full marching band mode, but she was determined to crawl back to the book to read on. “I HATE YOU. We have grown apart. This is just not working anymore. You know it’s true and I love you as the mother of my children, but I can’t do this. Savings: split 50/50. Give her the GMC. Search Apartments in a 5-mile radius. No pets. Utilities included are a plus”. Blank. Blank Pages. Blank Ink. Blank Words. Wildly she turned the pages looking for more, but she found nothing. Just Blank Space. “THAT’S IT?” she barked. Her tears now running down in union with the mucus from her nose that both collected in her collar bones. “THAT’S IT? THAT’S ALL I MEANT TO YOU?” She yelled across the room of old photo albums & family valuables. Her brain began to scream at the pain of memories of all she sacrificed for her husband. She gave up her career to stay home, she gave in to all his whiny moods, picked up all his dirty laundry off the floor and held his hand not only at every work function but down to his last breath and this was her receipt. Twenty-three years of marriage and in the very end Dan got his way. He left her.

She angrily tossed the book across the room and heard a surprising metal thud when it fell. Exhausted and broken she summoned any strength she had to trudge over piles of clothes and comforters to find the book. She needed to look at it again. And again. And again, and again. She need confirmation of what a moment in less than five minutes scorched twenty three years of her beloved marriage. Janet clumsily stepped over pile of piles and there was the book. Still in its “O” shape next to a small black metal box. Was this even her house? How had she never seen his journal and now this metal box? She braced herself while slumped on her shag carpet and opened the small metal box. $20,000 attractively packaged in its white monetary bands. Janet’s eyes grew twice the size. “I…I can’t…How?” she whispered as she held the cold hard cash in her hand. Where did this money come from? Why would he hide this from me?” Her head pound, the nerves began to thump behind her eye sockets. Her stomach churned and her mouth glued together from all the dryness in the back of her throat. It was all too much for her and before she could compose herself; she fainted into darkness.

Janet slowly came to with the faint sound of an Ice cream truck advertising its primary three flavors: Vanilla, Chocolate, Sprinkles. She felt hung over, a sick feeling deep in her as she rolled to her side to a seating position. She cradled her head, still pounding as she looked at the carnage. Dust, cobwebs, Dan’s notebook, and this metal box of money featuring Grover Cleveland at her disposal. What now? She paused. She allowed the silence of the room and the weight of the day fall beside her. She felt the tears once again begin to mound but this time she decided to listen to them. What were her tears telling her? Was she angry? Was she mad at her husband? Was she lonely? She softened her eyebrows, soften the hardness the wrinkles lining her mouth, soften the back of her neck to wilt and caved into her chest. She swam in indecisiveness of hating and loving the same things about this man. This man who gave her the time of day as a teenager girl but yet took the time of years off of her. As she gave away to tears; she could hear the laughter of children nearby. Presumably, they were encircling the Ice cream truck outdoors and she was quickly flooded with reminders of her own children. Those boys. The love she has for those boys were worth it. Worth every sacrifice, worth every struggle and worth every secondhand dress she owned to always provide them the best. The outside laughter danced across the sunlit room and Janet had an epiphany. There was no more a dying husband to care for, no small children to look after, no reason to sacrifice to sacrifice and that’s when she knew exactly what her plan would be. She collected the cash along with the notebook and held it close to her chest. She confidently stood up, walked out of that room, and closed the door firmly. She went straight to the nearest table to lay down her newly found possessions. She calmly located the closest pen and slowly ripped out all of Dan’s notes from his notebook. She left no paper rips or remnants of his doodles. She cleansed the book a new and with her right hand, carefully printed on the inside cover: DAN. THANK YOU. and glided the pen to the first page. She began: JANET. DAY 1. Book to Flight Scotland.