Down, Down

As her words washed over me, shock hit me like a punch in the gut and tears flowed freely down my face. Nan was my best friend, the person I felt closest to. She was like a sister to me...at least she used to be. The shoulder to cry on turned to ice on me, even though she hadn't been asked to take sides, only listen. Voicing my feelings for the first time had turned into an epic failure. That wouldn't happen again.

It took me days to get over the shock of Nan’s response. Since I was not normally an open person, for me to confide in someone was simply amazing; the confidant would have to be something special. After that horrendous episode, I withdrew even further into myself and became more introverted. Food no longer appealed to me and my insides felt dead. Was there any hope at all? What made it worse was that it took days before anyone noticed my depression. It was then that I began to question my life.

It didn’t take me long to get to the car. Twenty minutes later, the driveway that marked the entrance to our house came into view. The uncut lawn screamed for my attention as I drove up to the garage and parked my small Hyundai. Mark’s car was parked to the side which meant that he was planning on going out again. I couldn't remember the last time we had dinner alone.

I stepped out of the garage and looked at his car. An overturned trashcan lay behind it. He didn’t even pick it up. My gaze traveled up to the side of the house closest to me. A vine was making its home in the mortar around the brick. The gutter on the corner hung loose. A sigh escaped me.

I entered the house through our not-perfect-at-all-times-but-very-lived-in kitchen. Even on a good day, our home definitely could not be mistaken for a museum. The counters were never spotless, the floor was not clean enough to eat off of, and there was clutter. It was a house that was lived in even if the inhabitants weren’t always around.

We had bought the house two years prior after eighteen years of saving money and surviving in two-bedroom apartments. This four-bedroom house with a large gourmet kitchen, family room, game room, basement, and large yard had won my heart and was a dream come true. My enjoyment of it should have been greater, but it seemed like all I did was work and pick up the dirty clothes left behind by the rest of the family when they walked in the door. Cook, clean, work. Cook, clean, work. And still nothing seemed to get done.

Laying my purse on the counter after pushing an empty cereal box aside, I made my way into the living room looking for my husband. As usual, he was watching the latest political polls. Walking up behind him, I slipped my arms over his shoulders and gave him a kiss on the top of his head. I couldn't let the chance to cuddle slip away. He smiled and leaned back but kept his eyes on the television screen.

“How was lunch with Mother?” His eyes stayed glued to the screen, although he did reach up and squeeze my hand.

Nodding my head and moving to sit beside him on the couch, I replied, “It was okay. Like normal.” Why couldn't he just ignore the TV and look at me? I wanted to lose myself in his arms. Making love wasn't needed, I only craved the comfort of his arms wrapped around me.

Mark nodded in reply and then asked about the food, “Like normal. She loved it. I would go back but wouldn’t get on TV and tell everyone about it.”

Another nod.

We just sat in silence. The clock ticked from its location on the wall, and my head nodded in time with its beat. The realization of my actions shook me out of the trance I had allowed myself to slip into and enabled me to pull away from the hypnotic scene. At times I could be lazy right along with the rest of them, but to just sit around all day long drove me nuts.

I got up and made my way back to the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, the mess that was made that morning jumped out at me. The midnight shift hadn't allowed me to get home until seven-thirty. After crashing for a couple of hours, I had to shower and get ready for my lunch date. Not once had I entered the kitchen. Good thing. The sight almost pushed me over the edge. Every square inch of the granite countertop was covered in dirty dishes and empty containers. Pieces of food were scattered across the table. Garbage and food littered the floor. It was evident that several feet had walked right over all of it.

Feeling sick, my attention was first given to the floor. The garbage can filled up quickly. Pulling the bulging trash bag out of the can, I yelled into the living room, “Mark, could come take the trash out for me while I start on the dishes?” I placed the bag by the back door and began filling the dishwasher. No reply came from the other room. With a sigh I walked to the door. He was still in the same position. The only thing different was that scores were now flashing across the screen. I cleared my throat. Still nothing. Not even a shrug of the shoulders.

“Mark!” I yelled. He turned quickly in surprise. “I asked if you would take the trash out for me.”

“You don’t have to yell. I hate it when you do that. Just ask,” he grumbled as he got up.

My lips drew back reflexively. “I did just ask, but you were not responding.” I followed him into the kitchen and began slamming dishes into the dishwasher. Would hurting the appliances save my marriage?

As he returned from the trash cans in the garage, he replied, “I didn't hear you. How many times do I have to tell you to just ask instead of yelling?” He continued on back to the living room and his show.

My world stopped as I leaned against the counter, closed my eyes, and breathed in deeply. Couldn't I do anything right?

After thirty minutes, the mess was conquered, and the solace of my bedroom awaited me. A headache was creeping in. Thank goodness, the next three days were mine to stay home and do as I pleased. Right now, a couple of aspirin and a dark room until it was time to start dinner were all that this weary, aching body required.

Laying on my bed with the curtains drawn and a cool washcloth over my eyes, I tried not to think about my failures. Abigail's words kept reverberating in my head, preventing the headache from leaving me in peace. Thoughts of Mark pointing out my mistake of yelling and the mess in the kitchen caused bile to rise up in my throat. A full-fledged migraine was setting in. Just what I needed! There was still laundry to do, dinner to prepare, and floors to be mopped. A tear rolled out from under the cloth as I somehow managed to drift away.

Two hours later, I moved slightly and found that my head was still attached to the rest of my body. Very slowly, I sat up. A few seconds of sitting on the side of the bed enabled me to make my way to the bathroom and prepare to go downstairs. My mind didn't venture beyond that. Maybe washing my face would bring me back to reality.

Letting the water drip from my face, I looked at the reflection. Who was that woman looking back at me? An extra fifty pounds or more was on her. Her hair was a dull color, not the shimmering blonde that Mark first saw. But it was the eyes that really got me. They were empty with no glimmer of life. Where was the sparkle Mark used to comment on? He would say how my blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in pools of crystal-clear water. Now they seemed dead and lifeless. Who was she? She was Leigh Carmine, wife of Mark Carmine, mother to John and Zach. She was a nurse at St. Mary’s, and a failure at everything she did. Was that all I was? What happened to all the dreams I once had? What happened to the life that came from me? Where was the real Leigh? Did she even exist anymore?

Two hours later I sat before baked chicken and steamed vegetables with my husband and two empty seats. My boys were somewhere. Who knew where? If any questions were asked about where they were, Mark said I was nagging them. He was talking about something that happened at work and confusing me with the names. He never clarified which Adam he was talking about or which Michael; he knew so many people that it was impossible to keep them straight. His mouth never quit long enough for me to interject a comment. I eventually gave up and focused on the untouched cauliflower.

A few minutes later, Mark looked over at me. “What’s wrong? You haven’t said two words since we began eating.”

Knowing better than to tell him that he never shut up long enough for me to get a word in, I literally bit my tongue. Not really wanting to fight, I explained that my silence was attributed to the migraine.

As soon as the last bite was consumed, Mark pushed his chair back and said he had promised a friend he would come over and watch the game. He left after a quick goodbye kiss, leaving me alone at the table.

While staring at the mess left over from dinner, loneliness crept in. Call Nan? No, our relationship had not been the same since she had gone off on me. It was not like I did not know other people, but they were all friends of both me and Mark. There was no one that was truly there for just me.