Apr
15
When Angels Fall From Grace
April 15, 2005 | |
Until now my imperfections were charming
and my mistakes, forgivable.
And every tell-tale bit of dissonance,
every foreshadowing of our faltering future
had been decidedly overlooked.
The compromises we made for each other were few and far between
and we rarely barred our teeth in discontent.
Fighting was not our style,
but neither was speaking for that matter.
Instead we argued in hushed tones
like a civilized couple,
allowing for our disagreements
to fade into silences
that kept us safely numb to one another.
We became experts at willing the other invisible.
And it takes great skill, to pretend that your partner, lover and friend does not exist.
Especially when the New York City dwelling you call your happy home,
is reduced to an impossible 550sf of "living space." But we adapted.
And the battle of wills would continue as we worked our way around each other
not speaking, testing who had the greater power to stifle emotion.
He would always give in first. His love for me far greater than maintaining his foolish pride.
And like a good husband, he would eventually see things my way
and swallow his need to be right. (Or so I thought).
Little did I know that his extended olive branch was merely a distraction;
A secret weapon.
Little did I know that P was a stealth collector. And in 6 years time, had since gathered every last one of my misgivings,
flaws and disappointments, and preserved them for a cataclysmic future ambush.
I considered my minor victories trite, and just as easily forgotten. But forgiven they were not–
Instead, my misgivings were saved and neatly packed away–only to be reintroduced on D-day,
that early June morning.
And when our rainy doomsday came to be, he cashed in all his chips in at once. He had nothing left to loose.
At this point, pride was no longer at stake. Neither was the sanctity of our marital bond. After all,
I was gone already.
But P. had many arrows to fire. And he wouldn’t stop until each had penetrated deep and left me begging for mercy.
He went straight for the jugular:
Was he good?
Bigger? Better? More skilled? More of a man?
Where? When? And how did it happen? How did it feel? And how many times? And what position? And for how long?
Did I love him?
His inquisition was relentless.
But my answers to these questions revealed nothing.
I wished so badly this was not the case, and we could chalk our dissolution up to a fleeting wanton impulse. I wished it were that simple. Unfortunately the affair was the effect of a larger, more ugly monster that had been haunting me for years.
Taunting me with nagging uncertainty. Regret of stifled independence. Disenchantment of romance lost.
Little did I know this whispering demon would soon become my saving grace.
The devil seduced me with a getaway plan. Promising that indeed solace could only be found, but only in the comfort of my own embrace.
My sense of self compromised for wedded bliss could certainly be recovered, but only by my stealth escape–
A rocky road ahead that veered far from the clutches of marriage and ended in that eternal light that spelled FREEDOM.
I don’t know. I kept repeating, head in my hands.
I don’t know was not what he wanted to hear as he demanded louder this time:
How could you? You! Of all people!
As if I was somehow above reproach. His angel, that could do no wrong.
And he fired away without mercy. Until all of his past disappointments were shot through. Tiny daggers of guilt that slowly tortured.
If there was indeed a hell, I was in it. And in this desperate state I hastily reconsidered. I wanted to lie some more, I wanted the ease my way out of it. To tell him it is all just a dream, a nightmare in fact, and that he’ll wake up and find me placid and naked beside him. Chest to his spine, in that warm and soft and safe place that a wife provides her husband…
But this was not the case. The scene right now was alarmingly the opposite. And he stood above me raging like a wild animal.
I perched on the couch beneath his accusatory stare, small and shamed. Diverting his rounded eyes. Tears burning my own.
I couldn’t focus and I was glad for this. I couldn’t handle seeing his pain.
It was in this moment that I called for the devil–Cashing in all my chips, so to speak.
I had nothing to lose. I was dead anyway. The fall from grace was a lesser of 2 evils. As a wife I had been buried alive for years.
So I traded in my halo to be saved from my own weakness–which was to give in, and remain forever a phantom wife.
So the devil made due and hand in hand we jumped from the pedestal to my bittersweet fate. A fall from grace I knew would damage,
but wouldn’t kill me. And suddenly I found myself drifting. And the fear subsided.
I transcended the scene and was ushered to that reassuring place that whispered there was truth in my fate–
That I knew this was bound to happen.
That I was only succumbing to my nature–my inner demon.
That little voice that hushed and calmed.
A soothing intuition that whispered :
You’ll be fine now.
This is the pinnacle of your gravest mistake,
When all is said and done
You will be free again.
And this is what you always wanted.
And in my fall from grace my salvation was granted.
Now a mere mortal, my husband no longer recognized me.
He came face to face with a stranger, a broken girl, marred with flaws. Exposed and imperfect. And he and wanted no part of her.
He wanted the angel back: That mythical creature I pretended to be, but had since abandoned for the woman who felt pain, and shed tears, and shouted in anger.
I was human after all.
And in my resurrection, I became unexceptional.
And although no longer a loving wife, I was true to my fate, my ultimate escape.
And this was heaven to me.
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