In More Ways Than One

The moon is particularly bright tonight. The shadow it casts through the window leaves a dim glow, with one warm, bright strip down the side of our bed where you should be sleeping. As I stare at the empty space, I can’t help but feel that one strip of moonlight is the only warmth that has graced this love-forsaken room in years.

I sit on the edge of the bed in the semi-darkened room and, as my eyes are drawn toward the shadows in your open closet, I wonder if it’s too soon to start clearing out your clothes. I’m not sure why I’m thinking about this right now. It’s certainly not appropriate. I’m sure our kids wouldn’t think so, anyway. It’s barely been three days, but still, as I gaze around our bedroom, it seems all I can think of is finding a home for everything of yours that my dry eyes attempt to focus on.

Would your dad want the watch back that he gave you for your college graduation? Would your uncle Joe like to have the chess set he gifted you last Christmas? Will your shoes fit Alex? Would your brother Andrew like your cuff links? Does anyone even use cufflinks anymore?

I shake my head in an attempt to clear my ill-suited thoughts, take one last trip to the bathroom, then lay down and prepare for another sleepless night of questions that may never be answered. Like, how did you just disappear into the water? Why can’t the police divers find any sign of you? And why, in the name of God, would you attempt to punch your boss?

What happened to you Joe? What happened to us? We used to be so in love. I remember a time when you used to tell me I was beautiful. At the start of my every day, before I was even fully awake, “good morning, Beautiful,” were the first word I heard from you.

You made me feel loved, made me feel attractive, even when I felt I wasn’t. It didn’t matter how messy my hair was or what I was wearing, you’d always smile and tell me you loved me. Even when the fine lines started to form at the corners of my eyes and the rolls started to appear around my belly, you still smiled and kissed me every morning.

I don’t know why, or remember when that changed, but it’s been so long that it makes me feel as if the good memories in my mind are all just a dream I had. You certainly haven’t told me that I’m beautiful lately, the opposite actually.

When I tried that new diet in an attempt to fit into my favourite red dress for your company’s party cruise, you were anything but complimentary. I was so proud of myself when I lost weight and pulled on my old blue jeans that I haven’t fit into in years. I asked you how you thought I looked. You barely glanced at me, and with a derisive huff, told me I was still fat. And when I put on that red dress on the night of the cruise, you looked right through me to the clock on the wall and told me I had better hurry the hell up.

You’ve been so petty, so jealous, and so damn controlling of every move I make. I can’t even go to the grocery store without you questioning me.

I never understood your jealousy, Joe. What did I do to give you cause to believe there might be someone else? I asked you that question directly during one of our many arguments. You never answered. You just walked out, slammed the door, and went to the pub.

When you came home, I was already in bed, and you were all over me. I thought I’d throw up from the stink of tequila on your breath, but I just lay there and took it, knowing if I didn’t it would cause yet another fight. It seems the only time you wanted to make love to me was when you were piss drunk. You couldn’t even bear to kiss me when you were sober.

Alex and Jennifer noticed your behavior. They asked me, “what’s wrong with Dad,” and why you were so mean to me. I didn’t know what to tell them. I tried to brush it off and suggested your work stress as an excuse. I know they didn’t believe me, but what could I say? I’d never want our children to hate their father.

Our friends have seen the change in you as well. Did you notice that they seemed to want less to do with us lately? We hadn’t been getting invites to social gatherings like we used to. Even your golfing buddies stopped inviting you to play last year. I guess they tired of your insisting that it be on your time, at the course you chose, and with the partner you wanted. They got tired of you acting like a schoolyard bully.

Your best friend Dave didn’t even invite you to his daughter’s graduation party. You blamed that on me, of course. You said no one wanted to be around me because I’m a bitch. You blamed everything on me, but that’s okay. I’ve grown used to your bullying.

I guess I should be grateful that it wasn’t physical. Well, except for that one time I told you I fucked your brother. You knew that wasn’t true, though. You knew I went there to deliver the cupcakes I baked for your niece’s birthday. Because I didn’t rush back, you demanded to know where I was and who I was with and what I was doing. I got tired of your stupid interrogation, so I said what I said. My response shocked you. Your handprint on my jaw shocked me.

I suppose it’s lucky for me that you saved most of your bullying for your excursions to the local pub. It seemed nearly every time you went, you came home with a bruised fist. I’m surprised the owner kept letting you in.

I tried asking you what happened. You told me to mind my own damn business. When the kids asked you, you said you got frustrated at work and punched your desk. I don’t think they believed you, but I was glad you didn’t snap at them the way you snapped at me.

I thought maybe we were getting better at the party. It was going so well. We were having a wonderful time together, at least I thought we were. For the first time in forever, it felt like we were getting back to us. We danced like we used to. We laughed like we did when we were first married. You kissed me. You told me I was beautiful. You even made me forget about your insulting response, or lack thereof, when I put on that red dress.

Then, suddenly it was over. Then, all proverbial hell broke loose. When you excused yourself to go to the bar to get us a drink, I saw your boss, Colin, and his wife on the other side of the bar. I went to say hello and thank him for setting up such a wonderful party. He put his hand on my elbow and leaned in for a greeting kiss on the cheek.

You lost it. You started screaming at him, called him all kinds of nasty names. He tried to calm you down, to stop you from embarrassing yourself, but when I grabbed your arm to drag you out onto the deck, I got that familiar, sickening scent of tequila, and I knew there was no calming you then.

Colin followed us outside. I don’t know if he was planning to attempt a civil conversation with you, or to fire you on the spot. We never got a chance to find out. You threw a punch at him. I couldn’t believe it. Even with the struggles you and I had been having, even with your insufferable misery toward nearly everyone we know, I still would never have imagined that you would attack your boss. And why, Joe? Because kissed me on the cheek.

It was surreal, like I was watching a slow-motion film come to life in front of me. I saw you hurl your fist at Colin’s jaw, but you missed when he ducked out of the way. I saw you stagger with the force of your swing, or maybe it was your drunken stupor. You crashed into the rail. You fell forward, and then over. I heard the splash.

I looked around and saw the horror on the faces of the people on the deck with us. I heard the screams, but I’m not sure if I screamed with them. I was in shock. I think I still may be. I rushed to the rail and looked for you in the water. I couldn’t see you. No one could.

I heard someone call 911. I heard another splash as Colin grabbed a life jacket and jumped in after you. He looked for you in the dark water, but he couldn't see you. He yelled for you, but there was no response. He tried to save you. The man you attempted to assault tried to save you.

The police were there in minutes. They searched, but they couldn’t locate you either. They called in the coast guard, who came with divers and a helicopter. Still, there was no sign of you. They searched the lake and scoured the shore for three days, and still nothing. You just seemed to disappear.

Two officers came to visit today to give their condolences to myself and the children. They’re no longer calling it a rescue mission. They say it’s a recovery now. The kids are devastated. I wish I knew how to help them. The news from the officers broke their hearts. They said they still can’t understand how you so quickly disappeared under the water. They will keep searching, but the chances of finding you alive are almost nil at this point.

As I lay here, having a one-sided conversation with the moon beam that's taking your place on our bed, what I can’t understand is why I can’t cry for you. I’ve shed a few tears in empathy with our children, but I can’t seem to find any of my own. We’ve had fifteen years together, Joe. Fifteen years. Two beautiful children. Now, it seems that you’re gone, and it seems that I don’t even care.