The Ring. Yeah, sorry I didn't mean to bomb you with that bit of drama as a closer. Ok, maybe I did. I'll bet you this though, all your shock, it wasn't half as much as my disdain. OK, disdain is strong (also wrong) word, it's more well--I'll call it sorrow. Yeah, I think that's it. I'm a writer at a loss for words. "I'm really sad." Doesn't begin to conjure my feelings right now. Up to BC (2005, that would be "Before Contempt") I always thought of myself as her hero. I know it's stupid, especially when there isn't anyone more self-contained than her, but it's true. I always thought I could protect her from anything. I could see her weaknesses and guard them, just like those old pesticide ads.
I can't protect her from this.
This is one of those Horror movies where the hero is standing outside the window, watching his wife get devoured by a giant bug. Worst of all, she lit it in. My biggest fear? It's that she'll stop hating me right after the divorce. Once this is done, so am I. I won't want anything to do with her. This has been really tough, and I don't know if I can forgive her putting me through it. Especially since she was supposed to be the one who had my back. I know, selfish talk; not the trait of a hero. So I'm a sidekick, I'll toss that in my stack of facts I have to live with.
Even now, if she were to say, "Hey, maybe we should try." I know that it would be a lot of work, and no guarantees, but we were a team once. As a team we could do anything.
As it stands now? No. It's all her: you can drag a decaying horse into the water, but I wouldn't recommend you drink. She's gotta let me in, and she's not going to do that. Her hindsight is infinite, but her pride lights the way forward. I know because I suffer the same blindness.
I just don't want to see her hurt. I really do love her, and watching her march to oblivion is killing me.
This isn't some bitter last minute gasp of "She'll need me! She'll see!" That's not it. I hope I'm wrong. I hope her hatred burns me from her memories, and she forgets I ever existed, but I don't think so. I think she'll have an epiphany later, and I won't be there to hold her.
She did teach me one thing though. I used to feel...entitled. Whenever somebody wronged me I always thought I deserved much better. In terms of my faith that's far from correct, nonetheless, whenever put upon, I upheld a never-ending grudge. My petty list is pretty long. Recently, I've been working on forgiveness, and I look at where she's taking us. I want so badly to learn to forgive. Please God, I love her, but don't let me be her.
So the ring? I'm sorry I was distracted. I actually suspected it about a month or so ago. She's been inviting the four horsemen of marital apocalypse for dinner. Never heard of them? Let me introduce you:
The first is Hatred. Flaming skull, burning horse, you get the idea. Really a vapid cliché, but I won't tell him that.
Second is Isolation. He's invisible, I can't really tell you what he looks like now can I? I could make something up if you like. No? Ok. When he arrived, she stopped touching, or communicating.
The third, Erasure. No, not the 80's synth band, that's a different kind of apocalypse. But he does look like that guy from Flock of Seagulls. He took all the objects that brought memories of me and ran. He ran so far away with them...Sorry, couldn't help it. And that's probably why my picture no longer rests on her nightstand; it's in his bag now.
The fourth is Elimination. I hear he looks like Skeet Ulrich on a moped. My ring is attached to his keychain, and that creeps me out.
She stopped wearing the ring. What bigger metaphor for 7 years wasted time? It's funny because as a writer I'm big on metaphor. Want to hear another? I've lost a lot of weight over the past year; My finger is so small I can send my ring sailing across the room just by flicking my wrist. That metaphor didn't escaped me either. Neither did the time I took out the trash and the ring slipped off into the can.
Like I said, I noticed the ring a month or so ago. What's horrible is I couldn't be sure. She's wearing a ring, it's just not the ring. The first time I saw it, I couldn't get a good look at it. Even when I did, what the ring I gave her look like?
Yes, women, hate me now, I am a typical male. Hear me belch. We buy the ring for you, if you're happy, project complete. That's what we want. It could be a Little Orphan Annie Decoder ring, we wouldn't care. Nor would we remember. As long as ring = happy, we clear the space for other important things. That's where I store her birthday and our anniversary. Looks like I can clear that room out now.
Anyway, I couldn't be sure, but it continued to bother me, so I went where I knew the answer lay. The other night I broke the sacred packing-tape seal and opened the pit of despair: Our wedding box. The answer was on first page in the little picture book given to us by the chapel. To get there though, I had to go through guestbooks, garters, and left over invitations (oh my!). I spent the evening weeping and gnashing my teeth.
You already know the answer I found, just like I already know what comes next. It's time to repent, the end is at hand.
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