Trade Winds

You are free, and that is why you are lost.

The night air was warm, even hot, but the trade winds brought a breeze and the spray of the ocean waves splashing onto the walkway showering me with a mist of effervescent salt spray ensured I stayed cool. I paused for a moment and took in the scene. It was pure magic, as had been many of the moments of the trip, the lights reflecting across the dim water of Kailua Bay, the soft bustle of tourists and street vendors, the occasional car or moped passing. It was also one of the few moments I had been alone the entire trip. My companion, Brandy, had been wonderful and agreeable for the most part. Though, she had been occasionally mopey when there were setbacks. One of the setbacks was she didn’t do well with walking, which is something I personally relish. Still, she was the opposite of my ex in many ways. When my ex-wife faced a setback, regardless of the cause, I was to blame and all of her frustration had to be taken out on me. Brandy turns inward and takes personal responsibility for any negative emotions she has, but she also then tends to believe that I’ll disapprove of her mopey-ness and it makes her even more mopey. She feels she comes off as a bitch for being particular and having weird pet peeves. Admittedly, I can find them irritating at times, but she is accepting if I don’t cater to her every desire. But, here we were, she didn’t feel up to making the half mile walk back from the restaurant, so I was going to get the car solo. Not a big deal in my mind, but I know it weighed on her a bit. Personally, it was nice to get a little alone time.

The night walk was full of life contemplation. I met thoughts and memories which hadn’t had opportunity to manifest with the continual vacation activities. Every young woman I saw in a bikini with a tight, lithe body brought thoughts of Sierra, and all she represented. The ironic thing, was that I was having the best sex of my life with Brandy. We made love 3-5 times each day, often in a row and had to urge each other to put on clothes or we would never get out of the hotel room. Where we really shined together was without a doubt in the bedroom. I appreciated that she is a beautiful person as well, but, let’s face it, beauty is taken more and more for granted as a relationship goes on. We had hit our six month mark this night. The energy, excitement, and momentum, the newness of our relationship was petering out. The vacation plans had been made almost a full month ago. It was a crazy, spontaneous plan when I found some cheap flights online.

I was beginning to realize that cheating has little to do with actual sex. Often, some of the most thrilling times are just being with someone new and attractive. Getting close to them, feeling the anticipation. And yes, sex is the ultimate culmination of all that, but it isn’t the ‘why’ in many ways. Because, truth is, I was having incredible, wonderful sex, and more than I could handle practically. But, still, I was tempted once more. I was tempted to get on dating apps or strike up conversations with girls at the bar. Brandy was the opposite of my ex-wife, but still I was somehow, someway wanting more. This scared me because I was realizing that I don’t see how I could ever be satisfied. It is like I am doomed to use up a relationship, sucking the life and energy out of it like a vampire then moving on to the next victim. In the game of life and relationships, how do you decide when to hold your hand, and when to fold it? Cheating is a kind of escape. Just like in cards, you think it gives you the edge. You can have your cake and eat it too. Keep the things you love about your venerable, aging relationship, and enjoy the fullness of a new, fresh one on the side. But, it isn’t right. It isn’t true or honest, and it is dangerous for you and them. You are toying with someone’s heart and life, and you find out, your own as well.

I reached the hotel parking lot and opened the door of the white convertible Mustang parked between two palm trees next to the stairs up to our room. With the top down, I rumbled into the restaurant parking lot and picked up Brandy. We kissed and took off through the empty streets, just aimlessly driving. We talked a little. Brandy took off her shoes and massaged her sore feet. We left the little seaside town and drove off into the moonlit night, hearing the chirping sounds of the island wildlife come alive as we drove down the road. We put on the radio and I opened it up and let the engine roar down the hill, Brandy laughed and put her hands up to feel the warm night air rush between her fingertips. This truly was the best vacation I’d ever been on, it was just what I needed. But, how could I be so free, but feel more lost than ever?

Orphan Soul

Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.

“I’m going to hop in the shower, you guys good?” I asked my sister and brother in law.
The small apartment only had one, small half bathroom, so these communications were essential to prevent household consternation. I had found my bathroom routine had started taking longer and longer after my divorce as I had gradually perfected my grooming habits. It wasn’t just to better attract the opposite sex. Now it was a meditative zen ritual. It was a time to focus on myself and explore my inward thoughts and get in touch with my body.

The ethereal steam from the shower soon filled the bathroom. I had the timing down to a science now. I filled the sink with hot water and began soaking my badger hair shave brush while I brought the shower up to temperature and placed my towels strategically. Next, began hair and scalp cleansing. I had finally found a shampoo and conditioner set that worked well for me. The clean pepper-mint scent was off-putting at first, but now I relished it, especially with how it made my hair feel: silky, smooth, flexible, and healthy. Next, I exfoliated and cleaned my body with shea butter black soap and then cleaned my ears and face. Carefully patted dry. My shower takes 7-8 minutes for thorough cleaning.

Out of the shower, I begin shaving procedure. I have to allow an extra 10 minutes today to shave my genitals since it had been over a week at this point. I’d switched to a double edged safety razor 6 months ago and never looked back. The heavy handle and cheap, sharp blades provided me a great, smooth shave with good economics and a nice dose of nostalgia. I usually allowed 20 minutes for my face and beard which require a little more shaping, trimming, and treating. First comes the hot towel, then pre-shave soap, then I create a rich lather with a bowl of citrus and almond scented shave soap and my brush, then 2-4 passes across the face before rinsing and applying witch hazel lotion. Then the beard trimmer comes out and uniforms the beard length.

I wait to take care of the hair until after I’ve dressed. Today was a lovely warm afternoon, so I laid out a pair of cotton boxer briefs, grey heathered shorts, textured blue short sleeve button up, and leather boat shoes. Before dressing, I doffed my towel and applied eau de toilette to several choice locations. I had chose my signature scent after painstakingly going through dozens of testers, it was fresh and musky but not overpowering with a hint of spice, fragrant of the ocean and salt. It made me imagine being the captain of a merchant vessel returning from an exotic land with a laden ship. My hair has been an ongoing project with my barber, gradually evolving since becoming single. The undercut had become more extreme, sides have gotten shorter, the top got longer, but this last time I had it shorter again, went with a taper in the back per usual. I finally found two hair products I enjoyed, a pomade with strong hold and medium shine for a more formal look, and a matte, medium hold cream for daily use. I used the cream, with a light scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and a styling brush to put my hair into a quiff, and then made made for the door, only pausing to slide a pair of acetate wayfarers on to shield my eyes from the sun’s rays. The air outside was warm, not a cloud in the sky, but a nice light breeze brought the fresh sea air to my nostrils. I looked good, smelled good, felt good. The world was perfectly shaped, and I was going to pick-up my girlfriend for the weekend as had become customary over the past 5 months.

I hadn’t expected to be with this girl as long as I had. I was expecting a Tinder hook-up, and ended up with a girlfriend. She kept me hooked though, and not in a bad way. Things eventually fizzled with Her sadly enough. It was bitter-sweet, but mutual. We realized, it just wasn’t going to happen and we needed to get on with our lives. I got back into the dating game without anything holding me back. At first, I was really only looking for hook-ups to ease back into things. That’s how it seemed to start with this girl, we’ll call her ‘Brandy’. Brandy was a bit older than my ideal. Let’s face it, I am a man-child at this point. I feel like I missed out on so much, so I felt I needed to date younger women while I still could. I was thinking early twenties, like Sierra and Ann. Brandy was on her way out of her mid-twenties at this point. Also, had a bit more weight on her, though not nearly as much as my ex-wife. While I certainly found her attractive, it isn’t just looks that keep me around. And it also isn’t just that sex with her is more mind-blowingly amazing and intense than it had ever been before, and that even 5 months into the relationship less than 5 times a day when we are together is a rarity. It is also her personality and interests. We could do everything together, even those niche things that I never thought I’d find anyone who would be interested in them but me. And she is sweet, overly-polite, caring, kind-hearted, sensitive, and just ever-so-slightly needy. And she possesses a dirty, politically-incorrect, silly, weird sense of humor that I find quite endearing. While some of our tastes didn’t match up just right, they were differences we could at least celebrate. The biggest problem, is that we live far apart, and she doesn’t have a car. So, we try to spend the whole weekend together to cut down on driving.

The drive is a good time for me to enjoy an audio book though. I was working through Moby-Dick or The Whale with fresh ears recently. Having not read the great American novel since high school, it was enlightening to hear with ears that had grown some in the past decade and a half. Though a tale of savagery, carnality, and brutality, it also makes the scenes of beauty and humanity all the more stark and brilliant. In many ways, I felt like I was on a voyage of discovery of my own. But, seeking myself instead of an elusive White Whale.

There was something different about today. Everything seemed fresh and new, I was new as a spring morning in bloom. I realized, this is how I had pictured things would be a year ago when I got divorced. I had made my vision a reality even if I hadn’t been able to picture all the details. I had shaped myself into the man I had always wanted to be: attractive, handsome, clean, cultured, contented, versatile. I balanced my personal life, work life, and parenting life with grace and ease. I loved my son, I loved my job, and loved my friends, relationships, diverse interests and hobbies. As I pulled up to my girlfriend’s place I realized that something didn’t quite fit though: my girlfriend. She just wasn’t what I had pictured. She was pretty, even beautiful, but not the kind of beauty that would turn head’s and make other men green with envy. She wasn’t vain like Sierra. She didn’t have the narcissism. She didn’t have the youthful, crazy, hedonistic immaturity. She was what I hoped to find later: someone with staying power after I’d “sowed my wild oats” so to speak. But, I couldn’t deny that when I was with her I had all the certainty in the world that no pleasure could ever be greater. She really was an amazing lover, and we had loads of fun together. But… in that moment when I pulled up to her house, I had this stark memory of what it felt like to be with Sierra. That pride, that feeling of accomplishment of being with someone so young and beautiful. I had hungered for that ever since I lost it. I still didn’t get that with Brandy. I realized that I still wanted it all, and nothing less. It was so care free, so du jour, of the moment. After having spent my life hoping for heaven and deferring earthly pleasures for things that would last an eternity, I realized how much I craved the short-lived indulgences, and the sweet memories they left. Sierra was still a diamond in my mind. If I could combine Brandy and Sierra into one woman wouldn’t that be perfection? Or is that even possible. Aren’t they oil and water in essence? If you must choose between the two, don’t you choose the relationship that has a shot at lasting? Or is it safer to have planned obsolescence? I realized I was exposing a very uncomfortable part of my soul. It was tender still, and it made me wonder if I was just afraid of the commitment or of just squandering what little youth I had remaining. The truth is, nothing lasts. I’m just chasing after the wind.

I sat, paralyzed in the drivers seat. I was tempted to just drive away. But, I knew I’d be turning my back on the best relationship I’d ever had. How good is “good enough” for a relationship. When you decide that enough of your needs and wants are met? When you have zero doubts? I doubt that. I’ve never had zero doubt or no reservations about anything in my life, even Sierra. I realize, I am just beginning my voyage. Every time I think I see the mist of a whale spout in the far distance and arrive at its place I realize how much farther yet I have to go.

I didn’t drive away. I used the key she had given me just last week, and I went inside, and just as I imagined it would be, being with Brandy was pure, unbridled bliss. But, why do these fleeting longings still torture my mind and make me uneasy when I’ve never been happier?

The Rainbow’s End

Last night, Her and I talked. I feel she and I are both at a crossroads in our lives. We are traveling blindly, following our hearts. Both of us free to seek new companions, and after all, we are both very sensual people, we’ve both had ‘meaningless’ sex before. We both agreed that sex is never meaningless, but it can feel so empty when the other person you are having it with doesn’t connect with you; you don’t know what they are feeling, in the moment and sometimes even later on. Free of my wife I should be out picking up girls on a nightly basis. But, here I am alone again tonight. In some ways I’m frustrated with myself.

I left work late today after a long video chat with Her. We keep coming down to it, both of us baffled by our feelings for each other, how they can be so strong when we haven’t met.
“I love you baby.”
“Love you,” she smiled a sweet smile that melts my heart every time, I feel so connected to Her when I look into her eyes, even if it is only through a pixelated screen.
“Talk to you later.”
“Ok.”
I started the car and put my playlist on shuffle. This playlist is kind of the playlist of my life, I try not to play it too often, but it is my go-to when I’m not sure what to listen to. I don’t necessarily put songs that I’m entirely in love with on it, just songs with meaning for whatever reason. If my life was the film, these were the soundtracks that were played to punctuate the major events. There’s a bit of my childhood, and high school, and my friends, good times, bad times. I just keep adding to it, there are songs that my wife and I shared, ‘our songs’, songs of love, romance, and plenty of old Swing standards. For example, Polka Dots and Moonbeams is on there.

I pulled out of the parking garage.
“Think I can fly, think I can fly when I’m with you, my arms are wide, catching fire as the wind blows,” came the song over the stereo from my phone, accompanied by a cascading synth melody.
Yes, Sierra is in the playlist too, how could she not be? This was a song that twenty-year-old girl played for me on a particular late night drive, befitting her youthful exuberance. It isn’t a great song per se, Galantis is somewhat too gaudy and overproduced for my tastes, but one particular lyric always sticks with me,
“Even if we’re strangers til we die…”
Sometimes I wonder if Sierra thought about that lyric as I did when we were together. That our relationship was never meant to last, and we would share an intimate physical relationship for a time, and then return to being strangers until we die. Seemed like that was the plan. I have trouble regretting it; it had its time and place.

As I drove, I thought about Sierra for a time, picturing her smiling there beside me. Thinking about her betrayal and how it all ended. Another song came on.
“Can you find the time to let your lover love you? He only wants to show you…” Christina Perri sang.
This was one of Her’s favorites, and it meant a lot to me since she’d sung it to me herself. The song’s infectious idealism of the love of soulmates (and seabirds that mate for life) is almost bordering on the sappy side, but, somehow it works so well, but only if sung with such genuine heart as Christina and Her sing it with. I felt so warm inside hearing it on the drive home, hearing Her’s lovely voice in my head.
“Baby we’re fate, baby it’s fate… not luck.”

After dinner, I walked with my sister and her dog to the liquor store to get her cigarettes and a bottle so we could make some cocktails. I was texting some more with Her, she was watching Breakfast at Tiffany’s, one of my favorite movies, I was a bit sad I was missing it. It made me think of a post I’d made a long time ago now. Her and I talked some more. It was a continuing theme with us, we both never wanted to be trapped again, we wanted to be free, yet we kept coming back to how empty the idea of sex with other people seemed to the both of us at this time, we had become… monogamous, yet we’d never met one another nor were we tied together by any vow or expectation. We admitted our love freely enough to one another, but we were both very much aware it likely wouldn’t be forever.
“‘People don’t belong to people. I won’t be put in a cage…'” She quotes Holly to me in a text.
That final scene in that film, it all comes together so beautifully. Holly has a point, after a manner she is right, no person should ‘own’ another and put them in a cage. She is terrified of commitment, of falling in love, of losing. She won’t even name her own cat and call it hers. In some ways, that’s how Her and I were being, and perhaps it is some wise caution for two people thousands of miles away who’ve never met. But, Paul’s monologue, as he stands out in the rain leaning into the cab, perfectly delivering Capote’s immortal words that cut to the heart:

You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say, ‘Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.’ You call yourself a free spirit, a ‘wild thing,’ and you’re terrified somebody’s gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.

You have to have courage to belong to someone else because that’s life, people do it, they fall in love and sometimes they fall out of love, or they hurt and cheat each other as Her and I have done to others and had done to us. It’s all a risk, it’s scary, and people get hurt, but good still comes of it, we pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and the memories and music and meaning remain. We’re after the same rainbow’s end, Her and I, why not seek it together?

Maps

Love is a striking example of how little reality means to us.

The party wasn’t quite going as I’d hoped. I’d brought Abigail that evening, picked her up as usual and driven to my friend’s place in the city. It seems we were sliding inevitably into the friend’s zone after a few dates. That night, she met Karen’s ex, Tom who was in town visiting. Tom was tall, he towered over me at 6 foot 3, handsome, very clean cut, and dumb. I generally give people the benefit of the doubt, but Tom really wasn’t the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but he was a pretty boy. We sat in the atrium and smoked sweet and spicy prickly-pear flavored hookah, Abigail cuddled with me on the couch at first, but gradually moved away from me and hung on Tom’s every word. The ass was clumsy and was screwing with the smoking circle by hogging the hose and pulling on it so three times the hookah tipped over while he sat there holding the hose and not puffing, and not passing. Several times I had to grab burning coals before they landed on a pillow or someone’s legs. I wasn’t looking good, I felt like an uptight asshole, and I probably was given I was highly irritated with Tom and Abigail. At least Karen and her current boyfriend were annoyed at them equally.

We finished smoking, and made some midnight quesadillas and opened another bottle of wine. Abigail was still all about Tom. Karen finally looked at me and asked me if I’d help her and Max beat the last stage on Expert that was giving them trouble on Rock Band on their Xbox, we left Tom and Abigail to it in the atrium and went to the living room. I usually do guitar, but I took drums this time, I prefer drums since it seems easier to me to play real guitar than Rock Band guitar in some ways. At least with the drums I could work on my rhythm. Max took guitar and executed the opening picado riff before I came in on the snares and kick, Karen took vocal. She really had the perfect voice for this song, smooth and bittersweet, drenched in far off longing.
“Pack up, don’t stray, oh say say say oh say say say…”
I held the beat steady as Max wailed through the solo and Karen’s voice rose, crashing through the crescendo.
“Aaaaaahhahh aaaaaahhahh, wait, they don’t love you like I love you!”
We nailed it with a near perfect score. I threw the sticks as Max cheered and pretended to smash the guitar controller, Karen hugged me as I got up.
“She’s not worth it, find someone who loves you,” she whispered to me.
“I know,” I replied and grinned.

After that point, Abigail was really only hanging around me to get to Tom since I was her connection to that circle. In the end, nobody liked Abigail, except me. Tom couldn’t care for her, Karen didn’t much either, none of my other friends were a fan. But, here I was head over heels for this girl that clearly didn’t care much for me. I was jealous of Tom, even a bit mad at him for stealing my girl, but how could I hate the guy? I had nothing against him, and it wasn’t him anyways, it was her, and it was me.

Polka Dots & Moonbeams

The atmosphere was splendid. White table clothes, the clink and clang of silver and glassware, conversation and laughter. Most everyone seemed happy at the family event. My wife was putting on a good face and trying not too be overly perturbed by my sister’s impertinent comments. The band was good, I recognized a few of them from the open-mic jazz night at the small hole-in-the-wall hipster cafe downtown, and they had been running through old swing standards as folks danced across the floor in the middle of the room. I was certainly enjoying myself. It was moments like these that I thought that marriage and family life wasn’t half bad. My wife and I had our problems, but each day was another day to start again. We’d had our arguments and issues the last few days, but tonight perhaps we could put it behind us, right?

As the band finished another number, I got up, and straightening my dinner jacket, excused myself to the restroom. Walking by the stage I gestured to the vocalist who’d been crooning away all night and whispered to him, he nodded and I strode back around to our table. The rhythm section took off, I caught my wife’s eye. She gave me a knowing look when she recognized the song (we only had two songs she and I, and this was one of them), I just smiled back and held out my hand, after a moment she got up and took it as I led her to the dance floor.
“A country dance was being held in a garden, I felt a bump and heard an ‘oh beg your pardon’, suddenly I saw, polka dots and moonbeams all around a pug nosed dream…”
My wife put her hand on my shoulder as I put my arm around her waist and we twirled off across the floor. I’ll admit, I’m a terrible dancer, so was my wife to be fair. But it hardly mattered what anyone else thought, my wife and I just spun and floated across the room, off into moonlit clouds above the restaurant.

I sat and let the memory wash over me as the song played on the car radio. I smiled at the poignancy, though a grimace formed at the line,
“Now in a cottage built of lilacs and laughter, I know the meaning of the words ‘ever after’…”
But, it had all had meaning, at least to me, it hadn’t been a waste, despite the horrible things I did in the end. It didn’t matter if everyone from the outside saw two average-bordering-on-terrible dancers, that hardly mattered those moments when it was just the two of us dancing on the clouds. I hope at least one day, those moments will mean something to her as they do to me.

Somebody to Love

It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.

I steadied the rifle on the wooden rail, the telescopic sight swaying slightly, held my breath for a moment then exhaled slowly and squeezed the trigger.
“Nice!” Saul cried.
A small puff of smoke rose from the impact of the small pellet from the air rifle, but seconds later the small battery pack was billowing smoke and scorching the dirt and concrete around it. We’d spent all afternoon trying to blow up these battery packs. After all the hullabaloo regarding lithium-ion batteries exploding in phones, we thought these massive cell packs used to power small electric bike motors should give a good fireworks show, but after overcharging them up the wazoo with a 6 volt charger, then plugging them into a 12 volt car battery we could only make them puff and grow hot (while we hid safely behind a wall 30 feet away) but no explosions or smoke. Finally, we’d taken the puffing overcharged packs and put them against the concrete wall in Saul’s backyard and taken turns with the air rifle putting pellet after pellet into them before I finally caught one on fire.

This scene would have made perfect sense 10+ years ago, but Saul and I were in our thirties. The days of dry ice bombs, roman candles, bottle rockets, potato canons, home made explosives and flamethrowers were supposed to be behind us, right? But, here we were, spending a Saturday afternoon smoking hookah, drinking tea, and trying to blow things up again. Not to say it isn’t just as much fun as it always was, but I’m still having difficulty finding fulfillment in my life. I’m realizing that the most fulfilling times, the times I felt satisfied and happy were the times when I felt love. When I was a kid and I was with my family and everyone was happy to be together. When my future wife and I were laying on the grass in the park holding each others’ hands. When I was holding my son on my lap and my wife was next to me on the couch. To be honest, even when I was laying with Sierra and she was sharing her heart with me, which only happened two, maybe three times that she really opened up to me. I know I still have love in my life. I have Saul, I have my sister and brother in law. I have my son, but the times that I do see him make my heart burn for the times I can’t see him. I have Her, but the fact that she is so far also makes my heart burn in much the same way. And my heart breaks every time I think of my soon to be ex-wife. I can see so clearly what I’d given up now. Having a son and a wife to care for every day was one of the best things that I’d ever had going for me. Sure, it wasn’t the most fun sometimes, sometimes it could be exhausting, sometimes it could be a prison, sometimes it was exacerbating dealing with my wife, especially her indifference to me, but at the end of the day I felt happy. Granted, I felt happier still when I was in the arms of another woman, but that portion turned out to be unsustainable and cost me the rest. Despite my immoral behavior, the overall good I was able to do in my life outweighed it. I could be a good husband (arguably) and father. I could care for the needs of my family, I could sacrifice my time and energy and resources and love. In the end, I couldn’t have both. I couldn’t satisfy my desire for romantic and erotic love and keep my family.

On Sunday, it seemed like a no-brainer to me that I should give my wife flowers and a card for Mother’s Day. It turned into an emotional roller coaster I wasn’t prepared for. I picked out a bouquet in a vase with a red bow, and a card with a photo of the sun setting over the pier where my wife and I had gone on some early dates. I thought carefully about what I should say before putting ink to the card. An apology seemed natural, but I kept my focus on her good traits as a mother and how appreciative I was of those, and how much of a positive effect she had had on my life. I dropped off the card and flowers while I knew she’d be gone with the baby at Church. I expected a text later, it would either be a curt ‘thank you’ or indignation that I would dare to give her a gift. Turned out to be the latter. My tears had all been cried while writing the card, so there was nothing left when she told me she had thrown the card and flowers in the trash. I still just feel empty. I feel I have all this love to share, and no one to share it with. Even though I know that’s not entirely the case. The real case is that I have love to share but the people I want to share it with, I can’t, either because I’ve burned the bridge or they are too far away. I remember this very discussion would be had by folks at church whenever someone ‘fell away’ from God and returned to the world of sin as I had. Anytime the fallen fall on hard times, or became unhappy, or got mixed up in something, the answer was always the same “they no longer have God in their lives, so they had to fill up their empty life with something,” you could fill in the blank, whether it was alcohol, drugs, women/men, joining a cult, etc. I knew what people would be saying about me. It is tempting to go back, to try to get my wife to take me back, to get my church to take me back. I know repenting of my wicked behavior is one thing, but professing beliefs about God I’m not sure are warranted and wanting back into a marriage which was clearly toxic are other things entirely. I have to remember this is all a process, and much as I want to take the quick and easy path and return to the familiar, I know that I have to forge ahead into the unknown, moving forward through the shadows of uncertainty and doubt. Maybe they are all right. Maybe my life is now empty because God and family are gone. And my life will never be whole again until I realize that and come back. But, I have to find out for myself. I want people in my life I can love and that love me for who I am, however long it takes to find them. Especially that one person I can share my life with.

Man In A Shed

“The lieutenant took my bike and my trailer last week, and I’ve been trying to get them back, he said he’d get back to me several times and hasn’t,” the young man pleaded, he was dressed in a patchwork black hoody, ripped jeans, and sandals, a guitar slung over his back.
“Well, I can have him give you a call, do you have a phone?” The lady behind the counter and bullet proof glass responded.
“I don’t have a phone, I’m poor and my bike is how I get around,” the man continued his pleas.
“Ok, I understand…” said the lady with a tinge of sympathy.
I had been indignant yesterday when I discovered that my car had been towed away in the middle of the night. At first I had suspected thievery, but then recalled my expired tags and the fact that the city police were oft compared to the gestapo by the locals. I had been on the phone with the police and the tow company, and been back and forth to the station and the DMV several times already. Finally, after those trips and almost $300 in office fees and fines, the police were preparing the release I could take to the tow company to get the car out, of course, after I’d paid their fee for the tow and the day in storage. But, as I sat in the waiting room at the police station I couldn’t help but count my blessings as I saw shabby transients shuffle up to the counter and plead their case. I was there with paid time off from my job, a sister with a car to drive me around, and I was armed with a cell phone and credit card to get me out of this mess, others were not so fortunate.

“Ok, Jason, sign here, and take this over to the tow company.” the lady behind the counter called for me.
I handed her the signed paper, took the release, smiled and said “thank you” before walking out into the daylight.

I was over the battle of trying to get my car road legal, it was costing me more than it was worth at this point, so after retrieving it from the tow company, I called Saul up and went into town to do some car shopping. With my wife’s and my finances now legally separated, I could finally take care of this. When I go car shopping I never seem to be able to stick exactly to my budget. Happens every time, still I felt I got a great deal for the money, and it won’t break the bank. Dropped the tired old car off at the junk yard to lay her to rest along with the memories. Sierra and I had had many a good time in that car, we’d dented the front end, damaged a shock mount, shredded tires, and busted the fog lamps, but it had all been worth it.

My wife was still furious when she found out I’d purchased a new set of wheels when I came over later for visitation with my son. I know at this time just about anything will upset her, and there is no getting around that. As far as she’s concerned, I’ve moved on easily enough, transitioning happily into bachelorhood complete with a new car and girlfriend. Not quite, the girl I am in love with is on the opposite side of the continent, and this transition wasn’t as happy for me as she was making it out to be. I feel it more than ever that my life has lost its purpose. It was all so clear before, I was a Godly Christian man, my wife’s husband, and my son’s father. I had purpose, I was somebody, there were people who needed me. Now what was I? I was living for myself for the first time in how long? While life is easier now, it is less fulfilling. It feels vain and hollow. Every aspect of my life used to be dedicated to others, whether they be my wife, my son, family, my friends, my church, my community, or my God. All that was gone. Sure, I paid child support and alimony, but that was taken with grudging acceptance from the recipient. Now I got up for myself, went to work for myself, made car payments for myself, planned my evening for myself, went to bed for myself. All this, more than anything, made me want to crawl back to my wife and beg her to take me back. Beg her to let me be her strength once again, to be admitted back to the family and care for her and my son day in and day out. Could I do that? Would she even consider it? In the end, I feel things would just end up for the worst. It is me that is broken. I was the one who did this after all. I fucked up the plan. Was it worth it? Sometimes I think it was, sometimes not. Do I try to step back into the role I used to take? Is that the adult, manly, noble thing to do? Maybe, but I think the most responsible thing I can do right now is to stay the course, give it more time, sort out my thoughts. Try to make a clear headed decision for once. But, how can I do this when I’m in love with another woman? I want to be with Her and I can’t just ignore my feelings.

For Richer or Poorer

The grass was covered in dew and the fog hung low on an early spring morning. The people wore mismatched, sometimes dingy secondhand clothes. Old sweatshirts from long forgotten county or music festivals and events, old cargo pants and jeans, the occasional ugly patterned long skirt. I did my best to fit in, being clean cut, wearing a high end leather jacket, and selvedge denim, typing thoughtfully on a smartphone with a flip out keyboard (all the rage those days as some people, like myself, still held off making the dive to a fully touch keyboard). My text editor open,

class Display
{ static void Main()

I typed away with my thumbs, always filling in snippets of a class or method to include in my code base when they came to me. My wife had been gracious as I worked on these projects, taking a couple of half days every week to dedicate to them.

A man in a knitted beanie staggered down the line, cursing at some imaginary entity that it seemed only he could see. My wife hugged me close as he passed, I stroked her long auburn hair.

“Some interesting characters today,” I whispered once he was gone.
“I know, honey, some of these people just scare me, a few of them you never know what they’ll do,” she whispered back.
“Hehe, don’t worry, most of ’em are harmless.”
“That guy used to come into my work, sipping out of a gas can full of bathtub gin, we finally had to have the sheriffs come and remove him after he threatened my coworker.”
We’d started coming to the local food bank’s weekly distribution at the town community center to relieve some of our financial stresses. As a newly wed couple, we just couldn’t hardly afford the one bedroom place we’d started out in, even though it was a family property and had very reasonable rent for the area. We both worked full time, my wife at a dead end job, and me for the family business, and as a freelance programmer while going to community college. Neither of us had careers, jobs were scarce, cost of living was high, and we were up to our eyeballs in debt. My wife had a degree, but I kept switching majors, now starting my 8th year at community college. I would never complete a degree.

The bread line reminded me of church in some ways. The regulars at the bread line would share the stories of their weeks, talk about members not in attendance that day. There were your alcoholics and druggies, and just your average perpetually homeless and impoverished, elderly who’s Social Security checks weren’t cutting it, single mothers stuck with five or so kids from five or so different fathers, and mentally ill that society and family had failed. My wife and I seemed out of place, dressing in clean, half-decent clothes, but every week there was an excess of food being thrown away, so we figured that our income was low enough (just barely) to qualify for the assistance, so why not?

The volunteers who worked the line were sweet people, many of them clearly Christians and Jews, giving blessings to the parishioners as we passed through accepting the food they’d hand out. They knew most of us by name, could inquire about our lives, health, and families. We would go through the line, gratefully filling our canvas totes with old bruised vegetables and fruits, overstocked baked goods, and at the end of the line: table after table of overstocked breads the grocery stores would donate as a tax write off. The last week of the month would be ‘meat week’ when there would be coolers full of donated frozen meats. There was always more than enough for everyone, and my wife and I would fill our bags to overflowing with enough food to last us the week and beyond. With the excess we’d invite our friends and family over for meals. My wife was upset one time when I shared where the meal came from, they never would have known that a roast leg of lamb dinner with seasonal root vegetables had been provided free of charge otherwise. But, my wife never wanted people to know our financial state, it was too embarrassing for her.

We’d stuff our full bags of groceries into the trunk of our aging luxury sports car and drive off towards the coast. Our little place lay on a little forgotten peninsula, almost like the real estate agents had failed to notice this small section of beach front property, so the housing prices remained low. My memory of those days was it was always overcast when we’d get back from the bread line. We’d carry our plunder up the steps, looking out over the little bay as we walked. We’d fill the counters of the small kitchen, unloading our food and laughing and talking, we’d come up with meal ideas for the week. After that, and before work, we’d brew our morning coffee and sit by the window and look out at the sea together, and think how fortunate we were to have what we had, our little slice of paradise, and to have each other.

Never Belonged to You

You’re under no obligation to be the same person you were 5 minutes ago

I think Dewy was right:

It’s not too bad being the black sheep. It gives you space To be the golden child is much harder. Always having to live up to expectations .

I was once a youth group leader, teacher, and worship leader. I used to lead prayer services on Wednesday. Bible classes on Monday. I was being groomed by the Elders to become a deacon in the next year or two. I managed the Church website, social media, technology, and audio/video systems. My wife and I held fellowship and hospitality events monthly.

Now, I stay home and sleep in Sundays. I awake in the morning light to the sound of my son’s little toddler stomping with my wife’s softer steps following close behind upstairs. For some reason, she doesn’t like it when I help with the baby on Sundays. I think it is because seeing me disturbs her mindset as she’s preparing to attend church and worship God.

The Elders, in tears, announced my defection from all that is good and holy last Sunday and asked the congregation to encourage and care for my wife, and to encourage me if they could. My phone gets filled with text messages from concerned members on a regular basis. Honestly, I’m burned out. I can’t do it anymore, I’m so tired of telling people that I’ve had five affairs (my wife won’t allow me to say ‘I’ve cheated’ or ‘I’ve had an affair’, the number is important to her), I’m sorry for hurting my wife and son, and that we are likely headed towards divorce.

Sunday mornings seem to be my rare moment of peace. The house is empty except for me and the dogs. Just about all my non-secular friends have gathered to worship God. But, I get up lethargically. Turn up the stereo and put on some tunes while I prepare myself some breakfast. Just having this rare opportunity to do what I wish without concern for others. I never really had this before unless my wife and son were out of town. Time to myself was almost non-existent before, I was either at work, on my way home (my wife kept continual tabs on me, 15 minutes late and guaranteed she wouldn’t let me hear the end of her suspicions of me cheating all that evening), when I was at home, it was chores or baby, or a few solitary minutes downstairs in the shared living room with our renter. The only times I was ever alone is if I was driving to or from work. I didn’t realize how regulated, regimented, and scheduled my life was. I didn’t defer to my wife for every activity, but believe me, when I didn’t defer to her there would always be hell to pay, she would tell me how lazy and unhelpful I was if she wanted me doing chores or working on a project and I decided to do my own thing, or if I wanted to go see a friend or read a book I was preferring those things to spending time with her. Besides all that, there were the expectations of people at Church, the heavy responsibilities I’d piled on myself over the years.

Now I had Sunday mornings free, the first taste of regular freedom I’d had in a long time. I almost remembered what a day off felt like, even if it wasn’t a whole day off. I know I don’t deserve it, I have a child now, and parents are never supposed to get a day off, or so I was told. In many ways, I feel guilty for having this time, or any time now. Feeling like a bachelor again while my wife is stuck taking care of our child. She has been emphatic though, she would like sole custody of our son. Much as it tugs on my heart strings, but I have to agree that that is what is best for him, to be with his mother everyday. Besides, the way this is going I won’t have my own place for a long time, no way I could afford it, and especially not with over two-thirds of my income going to support my future ex-wife and child. But, it should be enough for her to remain a stay at home mom, which is what we wanted for our son anyways: to never have to be in day care. I’ll still get to visit him on weekends and a night or two during the week, but the thought of not seeing him every day breaks my heart.

Unstructured free time is amazing. No expectations, no one to be annoyed by my loud music and rocking out while I fry up some eggs, bacon, papas, and beans to make a breakfast burrito. I spend the morning chatting with Her. We keep finding ourselves deeper and deeper in our relationship. We are both going through major upheavals in our lives, and we’ve been able to lean on each other for support. I don’t know what I’d do without Her at times. Our desire for one another is unreal, but the space between us seems insurmountable at times. I dream of Her at night, and wish she was lying next to me in bed each morning. Still, as long as I have my phone she can touch my heart and I can touch her’s. In some ways, some of my first impressions of Her was that she was prickly, wild, uncouth, and even a tad pretentious, but as I’ve gotten to know her better I can see she is really quite the sweetheart, a caged free-spirit waiting to be released.  She is not a simple girl by any means, a woman of contradictions much like I am a man of contradictions. The more I get to know Her, the more I love her. Perhaps it is unwise, if I’m headed for divorce should I be seeking a new relationship so soon? I suppose, but if I just passed this up because of the timing, I could regret it forever.

The Rise & Fall of Naive Adulterer: Part 4

The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.

“My wife can’t wait till 7 so we do it as soon as I get home. So, just got to my car, here we go. Whatever happens, I love you.” I texted as I unlocked the car.
“I love you too baby. I’ll be thinking of you.” came the final reply.
She had been an amazing comfort throughout the last few days as the threads of my life began to unravel, and it became clear that I’d have to come clean. She’d shared the whole day with me, but from here I had to continue into the gathering darkness alone, and hoped there would be a dawn. I was about to blow over the whole stack of cards, send the whole world crashing down around myself and everyone I loved. I had gotten off the phone with my pastor moments earlier, it was too late to go back now, I’d confessed to him already, and he would be there when I got home to confess to my wife. I’d spent the last few days in damage control since my wife had seen that fateful message window. I’d tried to say that the blog was just me dealing with some feelings and it had some very personal things, and some embarrassing things about my wife that I didn’t feel comfortable sharing. I said I’d developed some friendships with those in the blogging community and communicated with some of them privately, and that was the message window my wife had seen. Try as my wife did to get me to show her all of this, I refused. She finally gave me an ultimatum: show her everything, or she can’t go on with me. I still wouldn’t show her everything, but I would tell her all. Part of me thought I shouldn’t even do that. Part of me said, ‘write a fake blog with fake posts and share that with her, or just show her the messages and say you were having an emotional affair.’ But, I was mentally exhausted, completely spent, tired of the lies. It was time to give up Naive Adulterer. He and Jason would need to become one man. My wife deserved to know the truth after all this, much as I knew it would shatter her world.

It was the longest drive home ever. I finally pulled up to the driveway, and walked inside. My wife was at the bottom of the stairs, a friend had taken the baby for a few hours so the house was empty, the pastor pulled up just then, I was glad he was there. We sat down at the dining table, my wife’s face painted with concern, the pastor’s with a stern grimace from the severe pain he was trying to hide of the boy he’d known since birth that had destroyed his life, and the life of his wife and child.
“What’s this about, Jason?” She asked.
I stared at the table, unable to begin.
“Have you been unfaithful?”
I finally managed, “Yes.”
My wife breathed out heavily, her face drooped with disappointment.
“How could you.” She whispered, holding back tears, finally she asked “Who was she?”
“Her name… was Anne.” I choked, trying to hold back my own tears, I knew the tremendous hurt each word inflicted upon my wife’s soul.
My wife’s face was a mixture of anger, sadness, disappointment, and heartbreak, she’d turned bright red. The pastor just stared off into space, in utter disbelief.
“Did you see her more than once?” She asked.
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
“I’m not sure, six, seven times, I think.”
“How could you, you bastard.” Tears streamed down my wife’s face as we cried for a few moments.
Finally, the pastor broke in. “Jason, you need to tell her about the rest.”
“There was another?” My wife asked, surprised.
“Yes.” I breathed deeply between the tears.
“Who was she?”
“Her name was Sierra.”
The words struck my wife like bullets, wounding her deeply.
“How many times were you with Sierra? When did it start, and when did it end?”
“I’m not sure, I think about six or seven times as well, maybe more, it started in October and ended in mid-December.” I spoke more evenly now, just letting the tears come and stream down my face and onto my shirt and tie, and rolled up sleeves lying limp across the table.
“You bastard, how could you. Was that it?”
I paused, not wishing to go on, but I knew I had to. “No.”
The word hit her like a freight train.
“Jason! Three? Three women? All behind my back? While I was at home caring for your son?” She cried, her voice full of indignation, “Who was this third girl?”
“Lisa.”
“How many times were you with Lisa?”
“Twice.”
“Are there any more?”
“Yes… Nancy.”
“How many times with Nancy?”
“Three times.”
“Is that it?”
“No, there is one more.”
My wife was exhausted at this point, in utter disbelief as her world crashed around her.
“Tell me.” She whispered.
“Her name is ——, but I’ve never met her in person, she’s the one you saw messages from.”
“Ok, so, she was supposed to be the next girl.”
“I don’t know, she is different than the others. I don’t know what will happen.”
“What will happen? Do you want to be with this girl instead of me? To run away with her? Do you love her?”
“I don’t know… yes, I love her.”

I had come clean. We sat around that table, tears drying in the setting sun over the sea in the distance, stares of disbelief as our minds refused to make sense of what I had done. We wrestled with the double life, the constant deception that I had lived for over six months. More would come out. I had lost my faith, it had eroded away to nothing. Perhaps it had been ill founded, or Satan had entered my heart and sin had seared it till it was dead and black. The pastor promised my wife his full support, and the church’s support, and as he got up to leave, told me he’d pray for my soul, that the little boy he once knew and trusted would come back to God. Nothing more could be decided then. My wife was in complete shock, we all were. I knew in the coming days many people would find out, people at church, our families, many of our friends, they would know the truth about me. The hurt and pain wouldn’t stop here.

This was never supposed to happen like this, I am the destroyer of lives and dreams. What kind of monster am I, that I’d be capable of this?