I heard the crickets tonight.
They welcomed me home.
Tonight was my writers' group. It's a small group; we meet at Barnes and Nobel every first and third Wednesday. If you're ever near us, drop in, we like new people, and we don't get annoying until after about an hour or so.
My wife travels for her job. Tonight, she's in Sacramento; tomorrow night she flies home. It used to be that she'd call me after her meetings, once she'd settled into her hotel. Used to be.
Tonight, my group went a little long. We wrapped up shortly after 9pm. It was a great time though, I even brought a blog entry (June 2). They liked it. It was a good night; hell, look to the left, I had to reset my touch calendar. Afterwards, I helped one of the guys with some person issues (no, not a typo. "person issue" first person vs. third). It's what we do. We help each other; making our work stronger for publication, or whatever writing goals we're striving to achieve. There's strength, comfort, and camaraderie in numbers. In myself, I only find an empty weakness.
I came home, and you already know what I found. Yeah, I knew that's what I'd find too. I'd have had a heart attack if somebody had been here. But it is so unusual with nobody here. She's always here. Even when we're having our petty battles, physically, she's always here. It's like a picture you become familiar with. You enter a room, there it is. You come back, there it is. Then somebody moves it, it isn't there. That's how I feel.
The house was silent. And that was my first thought, "nobody's home." The second thought was more depressing, "I'm gonna have to get used to this."
So I did all the things I do after a meeting and before work, but I don't know how I'm going to do this. I mean, I know I can, but this is going to be tough, I'm not good at the alone thing. I can do it, before I met my wife I was a trained professional, but that doesn’t make it a job I enjoy doing. It's a chore, worse than laundry, dishes, and even bathrooms. It's unending, and when you're alone it's something you have to do every day. That's what bugs me.
I suppose that would be the worst of it, except it's not. I already mentioned the coup de gras: She didn't even call to tell me she was ok. Oh I know she's OK. She always has been OK, and I'm sure even without me she'll continue to be just fine. She's better at alone, she doesn't need that tap, that touch, that "Hey I'm here."
Me, I'm having trouble. Maybe it's my birthday next Monday, I think she's flying out of town then too. Maybe I see this as a precursor for what's to come. I don't know, but it sucks.
When we first got married, I used to have an upstairs office. When I went to work, she'd stay up for a bit, and then go to bed. Because I was upstairs, she never came up to say goodnight. It was the hardest thing for me. I tried to tell her, but she never did anything to change it. She'd say "I don't want to climb all the way upstairs just to climb back down." She did work out a compromise after a while. She'd kiss me goodnight as I went up to work. It wasn't perfect, but it was a compromise, and we both got something we wanted. It still allowed me to know that she cared.
Now, I know that she doesn't care, and that makes the silence even worse. It's the resounding cheer of all who support me.
I heard the crickets tonight...
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