The course of a marriage

The Wings of a Bird

            Terry woke up to the sound of chiming church bells as she did most Sunday mornings, and without having to look at the alarm clock that sat on the nightstand next to the bed, she instinctively knew it was eight o’clock.  It was her one day to sleep late.  She glanced over at Brad as he lay next to her, pretending to be asleep.  She placed her hand on his forearm, gently running her fingers across it, yet he didn’t stir.  But when she reached out and touched his hair and the side of his face, he opened his eyes and looked at her briefly before closing them again.  A tear slid from the corner of her eye as she watched a bird fly through the sky, and she wished that she was a bird so she could fly far away from where she was now. 

            She waited a few minutes before sitting up and as she pulled off her nightgown and reached for her t-shirt, she remembered a time not too long ago when he would reach out and touch her and they would end up making love.  But things had changed.  The last time that they had made love wasn’t all that long ago…maybe ten days before…but things were different between them, and they had been for quite some time.  There was a time when they had made love every Sunday morning, usually at Brad’s initiation…but even that had changed.  And she now no longer initiated the act, as he would sometimes reject her, making her feel foolish.  He never seemed to be interested in anything that she did…not her work, her family, how she felt, or even her day.  They rarely talked, and when they did, he said very little.  At one time, they had been on the same team, but now, it was as though Brad put them in competition against one another.  He always seemed jealous or indifferent to whatever success Terry achieved.  It didn’t matter how big or small it might have been.  At least that was how it seemed to Terry.

            Without lingering another minute, she got out of bed, and before going into the bathroom to shower, she fed Millie, their Golden Retriever.  After showering, she wrapped herself in a towel, and then opened the bathroom door for some air.  Although it was early October and the weather had turned somewhat cooler, she was now in the midst of menopause, and often times suffered from hot flashes. 

            At fifty-four years old, she was still very attractive and looked much younger than her years.  She was a petite woman with shoulder length brown hair who always had a smile on her face…at least for the outside world to see. 

            As Terry applied cream to her shoulders, Brad came out of the bedroom dressed and ready to take Mille out, and paused briefly to give her a kiss…but that was all…there was nothing more.  She had learned over the past year that wrapping her arms around him for a hug or a kiss was out of the question, as he rarely responded…but today…for whatever reason…she tried again.  As she held him tightly, he patted her back.

             “I have a headache this morning,” he said.  Without saying a word, she released him and went back to what she was doing as he headed downstairs and out the kitchen door.

            Sundays were difficult, because as much as she once loved them, she now approached them with anxiety.  It had once been a day where they did odd jobs around the house together, and then they would find time to relax.  She would often work on the newest piece she was writing for the magazine she worked for, or on the novel she had leisurely been writing for the past four years, while he surfed the net or played the keyboard, writing music he had composed in his head while out walking the dog.  Sometimes they’d take a trip for the day and then have dinner out at a restaurant that they found along the way, but now even these things had changed.  Although they still did them, they no longer were the same.  They now spent most of the day in silence, while she sat at her laptop and he played his keyboard trying to compose a new piece of music while wearing headphones…yet another way for him to shut her out.  If they did happen to go away for the day, the radio in the car filled in the silence that existed between them.  Eating dinner out proved to be yet another challenge.  In order to fill the uncomfortable quiet that existed between them as they ate dinner, she constantly watched others, using people and instances that she observed for perhaps a new story or an idea for her book.

            She quickly got dressed and decided to forgo make up.  Why should she bother?  It was Sunday, and she had no plans other than to do some work around the house and then take a last look at the column she had written for work.  She quickly sped through the house, putting everything in order, while he announced that he was going outside to give the lawn its final mowing until next spring.

            When she was done, she went into the den, sat down at the desk and turned on the computer.  She began reading the column she had written for the magazine, wanting to see if she should make any last minute additions or changes before Friday’s five o’clock deadline, but was unable to concentrate. 

            “How did we get here? How did we get to this place in our lives?”  She said the words aloud.

            She turned off the pc, stood up from her chair, and went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee.  As she reached for the sugar bowl, she caught sight of Brad as he stood behind the lawn mower, guiding it across the back lawn, and for the first time since all of this began, she realized…right at that very moment…that she no longer loved him.  That anything she may have felt for him was gone.  And although she no longer loved him… she didn’t feel hatred toward him either.  Where he was concerned, she was void of feeling…and maybe that was worse than hating him.  At least hate was an identifiable feeling…but indifference meant that she no longer cared. 

            As Brad reached the end of the back lawn, he turned to mow the next section, and as he did, they made eye contact through the kitchen window.  She smiled slightly, lifted her hand, and waved to him.  He neither smiled nor waved in return, but looked away as though he hadn’t seen her. 

            Terry rinsed her cup, placed it in the dishwasher, and then headed upstairs, and changing her mind, decided to put on some make up.  She took two bags out of the hallway closet, filled them with clothes and various toiletries, and carried them downstairs. She took a lightweight jacket from the closet and slipped it on.

            “Mille,” she called.  As Millie came to her side, she patted the top of her head and attached her leash to her collar.  Opening the door to go out into the garage, Terry looked up at the sky and smiled, remembering the bird she had seen earlier that morning.