A Decade Spent in Silence

Another mile passes, and with every word not said, the distance between us grows farther and farther. The steady hum of the motor drowns out the silence as we travel down familiar roads - same twists and turns, same potholes, same signs. The peace I used to find in repeating the same trip over and over again and in knowing all the warning signs and hazards ahead now seems like the world is closing in on me. This is an endless journey to nowhere. There will be no marvelous sights to see, no unexpected grand adventure, no momentous landmarks along the way. Instead, worn out wheels roll comfortably forward in the same direction as before. My eyes numbly follow the mile markers, and I catch a glimpse of my discarded heart, littered on the side of the road.

We had spent the day in the company of friends and I was exhausted from faking happiness. I put on a good show, I always do. Well dressed and makeup flawless. A smile on my face. Simple signs of affection - holding hands, a quick kiss, laughing at his jokes - ahhh, from the outside looking in, it must really look like I have my shit together. The life that others envy. Yet here I sit in silence with the actor I married. I thought I put on a show, but the mask he wears is truly award winning. When I was was younger, I was much too naive to see through the bullshit. I was pressured into a quick proposal with the promise he “loved me” - that lasted a whole year before the mask came off.

God. I am such a fucking dumbass.

My head hits the window hard and I’m brought back to my surroundings. He’s glaring at me, looking appalled like my head just spun around in a perfect 360. I’m sure he deliberately hit that pothole to jar me back to reality. Asshole.

“Are you even listening to me?” He snaps.

Ooof. I’m so consumed by silence I must have tuned him out.

“I’m sorry,” I dryly reply. Sorry. Sorry. Im always fucking sorry. He could cut my heart out with a knife and I would apologize for bleeding on the goddamn floor, and then I’d bleed out while trying to clean up the mess he made. I’ve said the word so much it’s just as automatic and natural as blinking your eyes.

“What were you saying?”

“Are you drunk? On drugs? Are you even with it right now?” He shoots his dark eyes in my direction. I used to think the warm browns were so deep and calm. But looking at them now, they’re really just the same color as shit. Drunk, no. Though I did have a good buzz rolling earlier with the sample bottles I get at the liquor store and hide in my purse in case of emergencies. Helps with the acting. The show must go on.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m just tired I guess. I must have zoned out.” I excuse my absence but really I was anywhere else but trapped in that welded mass of metal, rubber, and leather with him.

He rolls his eyes at me and his face twists into an ugly look of shame and disgust. I never thought his facial expressions could have such power over me, but his visible disappointment in me always leaves me feeling small and full of shame.

“Did you remember to send in my registration? It’s up the end of the month.”

“Yes, of course, it’s taken care of.” It was actually not. How am I supposed to manage a full-time job, a family business, household, pay all the bills, and remember to handle his additional responsibilities as well? I suppose in a normal, healthy relationship one could ask their partner for help, but that had not been my experience. I had been cast into this role of being the Fixer, the Giver, the Responsible One. I handled it all, without asking for help, and he never noticed that all the while, I was drowning. No one ever explained that being a wife came with so many hats to wear, responsibilities to fulfill, and sacrifices to make - and you are expected to do it all gratefully and happily. What a bunch of chauvinistic male supremacy bullshit an entire society is built upon.

I drop the sun visor and check my eye makeup in the dimly lit mirror. It was hard to look at my reflection in the mirror anymore. I don’t recognize who I see. This girl was tired, with a dull sadness in her icy blue eyes, and worry lines that cut across her once porcelain and radiant skin. I missed that carefree, glowing girl full of adventure, laughter, and love to give. That girl was someone I didn’t even know anymore. I wipe away my bleeding eye liner from the creases of my eyes, and flip the visor back up so only the dashboard lights interrupt the blackness in the cab.

We continue down the dark road in our customary silence. What was there to discuss anyway? Any conversation with him is surface level at best and stars him as the main character. His day, his interest, his needs, his sports teams, blah, blah, blah. That’s it. I don’t think he even considers that there may be a soul, mind, and heart within the confines of my flesh that are aching to be seen and heard. Silence is better. Silence is safe. Silence allows me to escape in my imagination and daydream about a life worth living - one full of laughter, love, and adventure. If nothing else, silence is my release.