Post by mimms on May 28, 2005 14:04:28 GMT -5
TITLE: Three Seconds
AUTHOR: Mimms
RATING: PG-13
DISTRIBUTION: Here, or ask!
FEEDBACK: Would be greatly appreciated via PM or this thread
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine but I'm grateful for them anyway
SUMMARY: “I can’t predict him tonight. Something…”
PAIRING: Karl / Susan
CHARACTERS: Susan, Karl
YEAR: 2005
SPOILERS: None
DATE: 1 April 2005
Karl returned almost a fortnight ago and I haven’t yet seen him. He visited China, Japan, Russia, the States – East Coast and West. He must have had experiences that I can’t even begin to imagine. Almost three months away from his home, from his family. Three months to travel and think about the world, and life, and everything…how amazing it must have been. Simply amazing.
He emailed me every week just as he promised.
He didn’t email Isabelle once.
***
Why am I planning this evening? Why am I planning it all in my head? This is Karl. This is my husband of thirty years coming round for a meal, coming to see me, coming to tell me about the last twelve weeks of his life. And I’m nervous and I’m planning every word, every sentence.
But I’m looking forward to this evening. I’m looking forward to the pictures and the video he’s taken of all the places I’d love to go. I’m looking forward to showing him the beautiful pictures of Ben from when I went to stay with Darren and Libby. I’m looking forward to sharing some time with him again.
Is the chicken in the oven? Yes.
Is the wine on the table? Yes.
Is the dessert in the fridge? Yes.
Do I have any idea what I’m going to say to him?
***
The last three months have held the most incredible experiences for me, the likes of which I know I’ll never have again. I thought travelling alone would be easy, I thought backpacking would be fun. Four days into my trip I checked into a luxury 5-star hotel in Hong Kong. I emailed ahead and booked my own private villa in Antigua. I emailed and changed my long-haul flight to first class. I emailed and upgraded my Canada tour to Gold standard.
I almost emailed Susan to ask her to join me.
***
“Hello!”
“Hello you!”
He embraces me warmly as he enters and the hug lasts a little bit longer than it should for friends. We pull away and smile at each other. I touch his face briefly.
Softly.
“Come in, come in.”
“Whatever you’re cooking it smells delicious.”
“It’s a chicken recipe I borrowed from Lyn.”
“I bought some wine with me.”
“Red or white?”
“White.”
“Put it in the fridge – there’s some red already on the table.”
“Okay.”
I watch him as he walks to the fridge. His body is still slightly tanned, and he’s lost some weight. He looks a bit older. He looks…different.
My Karl.
***
“That was really lovely, Susan, thank you.”
“Oh – thank Lyn. Her recipe.”
“Well I shall do that.”
Silence. There’s something not right about tonight.
“You must have so many pictures to show me.”
“I do – I didn’t bring them all, though – I didn’t want to bore you.”
“Death by photograph?”
“Something like that.”
We smile.
“I’ve got some photos of Ben, too – he’s really grown up since you last saw him.”
“I’d love to see them.”
“I’ll get them out later – but there’s one out on the sideboard over there.”
I watch him as he gets up from the table and picks up the frame. Something’s not right.
His voice is too quiet, too soft.
“He’s beautiful. He’s really looking like Drew now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“We did do well with Libby, didn’t we, Susan?”
“Yes. We did.”
Predicting Karl’s next words is something I’ve always been able to do, but tonight…
“Shall we have some coffee and save dessert for later? We could watch your Grand Canyon video first – I’d love to see it.”
“Sure.”
Something….
***
This photo of Ben is beautiful. Black and white, he’s looking up at the camera in that adoring way of his, his arm outstretched as if he wants to grab the hair of the person taking the shot. My beautiful grandson from my beautiful daughter.
From my beautiful wife.
I don’t want to share my photos with her. I don’t want to show her the Grand Canyon video. I don’t want to talk about all these experiences that I’ve had. Wonderful, amazing, life-changing experiences.
I didn’t change my life with her.
***
“I mean, the colours are just amazing, they’re so bright and vivid.”
“They are.”
“How close to the edge were you when you filmed this?”
“Too close.”
She looks up at me.
“So how far down did you walk?”
Beautiful.
“Karl?”
So beautiful.
“Karl?”
“Sorry?.”
“I said, how far did you walk?”
“Oh, not too far.”
“And how long after this did you join the group which went round…”
My mind blocks her voice and I can’t do anything but look at her. Please stop talking, Susan. Please stop asking questions.
I have other answers for you now.
***
I’m watching this video, and these experiences which are so far removed from mine and he’s watching me. He’s sitting beside me and I can’t see him, but I know him, and I know he’s watching me. Why do you need to detail my every move, Karl? Why are you savouring my reactions, my responses?
I can’t predict him tonight. Something…
And it takes me less than three seconds to realise.
Softly.
“This was your Africa, wasn’t it?”
***
She’s always been able to predict my words, my thoughts, my feelings, and although she’s a little behind tonight, she knows. Of course she knows.
Susan always knows.
She doesn’t always show it.
***
His Africa.
So what do you know now, Karl, that you didn’t know before? What have you found out? What did this world show to you that I couldn’t?
Did I fail you in that?
Karl?
It’s time, love.
***
So softly.
“What did you learn, Karl?”
Do I really want to know?
“I don’t know where to start. I wanted to plan this so carefully but it never turns out like that, does it?”
“No.”
“I spent a lot of time thinking whilst I was away.”
“About Isabelle?”
Did you dwell on it, Karl? Did you cry again for a child that was never yours?
“Partly Isabelle.”
I cried for you, alone in my bedroom.
“Partly my family.”
I cried for your child, too.
“Partly about my life, about you.”
I even cried for Isabelle.
“Mostly about me.”
Oh, my darling. Self-blame has always been your strength.
“I had the time and space that I’ve never had before, time and space to think and try to understand my life.”
“And?”
“I don’t understand everything and I’m not sure I ever will. But I understand more now. About me, I mean. About us. What happened to us…”
“I know what happened to us.”
Too quickly.
“Do you? Really?”
“I don’t want to go over old ground again, Karl. We’ve tried to talk about this before.”
Don’t break my heart again, Karl.
“This is different, Susan.”
“Why? Why is it different?”
Is it going to hurt less this time, Karl? Can you promise me that?
Sometimes I don’t know who hurts more, me or him.
***
“Because this time I can give you some answers. Not all of them, but I can explain more. Things I never realised before.”
Please, Susan, please let me say these things. I know you, I know that you blame yourself for us. I know that you blame yourself more than you blame me.
I’ve always known.
I don’t always show it.
***
He’s right. It hurts, and we shout and we blame each other, but we need to talk. He needs to talk. He needs to tell me.
He speaks softly tonight.
“I couldn’t tell you exactly when – I can’t pinpoint a date, Susan, but at some point I began to feel that I’d failed you. I’d failed the family.”
So softly.
“That you failed me?”
“Yes.”
“Failed me in what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know.”
Are you sure, Karl?
“It built up so slowly. Every time something happened that was out of my control, every time something went wrong…I felt I’d failed you more and more. And each drink I had made me forget. Each drink made it all go away. And every time I drank I realised I was failing you, and it became like a vicious circle I couldn’t get out of. And I knew I was stuck, and I knew I needed to do something and I was paralysed by it.
“Instead of talking to you, I blamed you. I associated my drinking with you. I associated my unhappiness with you. But it wasn’t you. I need you to know now that it wasn’t you, Susan, it was never you. I drank when we were together because it meant I didn’t have to face you, I didn’t have to face that you wanted to help me sort my problems out.
“Failing meant drinking, and drinking meant distancing myself from you because I was failing you, and I didn’t know how to get out. Isabelle was…”
Do I want to hear this, Karl? Are you sure you want to tell me about Isabelle?
“Isabelle was someone so far removed from our relationship. She wasn’t involved. She didn’t know me when I was a different person, she didn’t know me when I was happy. But she was who I wanted to be at that time.”
I feel sick.
“She was free, free from guilt, free from feeling a failure, free from dependency on drink...and that made her an attractive person to spend time with. When I was with her I didn’t feel guilty anymore and I didn’t feel a failure.”
You don’t get the irony, do you, Karl?
“And of course now…”
“Now?”
“Now I can see it all rationally, Susan. I can see it how you see it.”
I don’t think so, Karl. Do you see my self-doubt? Do you see the blame I carry? Do you see the ache that never, ever goes away?
“And how do you see it now?”
“I put myself in a relationship with someone who was more guilt-ridden than me. Someone who had more of a sense of failure and more dependencies that I did.”
He whispers.
“I thought I deserved her. I thought I deserved to be with someone who hated themselves as much as I hated me.”
Don’t cry, my love.
“How could I love you and give you everything when I didn’t even like myself? How could I love you the way you deserved to be loved when I never deserved you?”
Oh my darling Karl.
“What caused this?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was it, Karl?”
“Susan, I don’t know.”
I know. I’ve always known.
I don’t always show it.
***
“That’s why you told me you didn’t love me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you left me?”
“Yes.”
Do I want to know the answer to this question?
“And did you love me?”
“Now I know I did.”
My heart won’t keep still and I have to remember to breathe.
Softly.
“Do you still love me?”
Silence.
“Susan.”
He whispers again.
“You’re my heart.”
I get up and walk away. I’m taking it all in, and my heart softens with every word he’s saying to me, but this anger, this anger…
“You left me because of something you can’t even remember, you don’t even know?”
“It’s not like…”
“That’s what you said. You left me, but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why it all started.”
“No, I can’t.”
This anger…
“You left me, you left our family, you left the children…”
“I never left the children, Susan…”
“You left the kids and us, and you broke my heart over something you can’t even remember and you don’t even understand?! Is that what you’re telling me, Karl?”
He stands to meet me but I don’t give him a chance to respond.
“You expect me to what, forgive you? Put my arms round you? Tell you I want you back?”
“No, Susan, please…”
“Please what, Karl?! Please what?!”
Anger hates silence.
“You can tell me how you felt, you can admit that we should have talked and sorted it out, and you admit that you hated yourself, you admit you lost control and you say it wasn’t me but you can’t tell me why?! You say it wasn’t me but you can’t tell me why you did this? You say it wasn’t me?”
Silence.
I cry out in pain as I lunge at him, pushing him onto the sofa, beating him down, down, my Karl, sofa-bound as I punch him and hit him in the chest, shouting, crying, crying…
***
I catch the flash in her eyes just in time. Fury. Anger and pain in her eyes I’ve only ever seen twice before. I defend myself but I don’t fight her off.
How long have you been holding this, Susan? How long have you been feeling this?
She’s almost on the sofa with me, doubled over, hitting me, crying, sobbing, but the anger in her fists and the pain on her face tell me that she doesn’t know what she’s doing any more.
Why do you let your anger and pain hide behind your grace, Susan?
Why do you hide so much of yourself away?
***
I stand with my back to him, my hands over my face, embarrassed, humiliated and angry, still so very, very angry...
“Susan?”
No, Karl. Don’t do this. Just wait this time.
Silence.
I have to know, I have to know why, I have to know how it happened, and I know what caused it but I need him to tell me how, I need to hear it from him…I can’t live like this…I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… I need to remember to breathe.
“What was it Karl?”
Silence.
“What made you go to her?”
“Susan, please...please don’t torture yourself.”
This isn’t torture, Karl. Leaving me was torture. Breaking my heart was un-experienced pain. Having a baby with someone else was…
I just need to know how.
***
Her face is still angry, and she looks tired, and I don’t know if I should stay here or stand up to be on her level.
“How did it happen?”
“How did what happen?”
“How did she seduce you? How did she make you want her?”
“It wasn’t like that, Susan.”
“What was it like, then, Karl?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. Did she stare at you with those big brown eyes and flatter you with pretty words?”
What?
“No. Susan, I promise you I never, ever had an affair with her.”
“Don’t lie to me. She wrecked our marriage, Karl.”
Oh Susan, no.
“She didn’t wreck our marriage, it wasn’t her. It wasn’t you. It was me. I had things I needed to sort out. I had a choice and I made the wrong one.”
“You don’t get it, do you? She changed things forever, Karl. Forever. Even on her wedding day she was…”
“Susan it was me, it was me. I’m responsible …”
“What did she do then, Karl?”
“At the wedding?”
“Yes, at the wedding. What made you want her then?”
And it takes me less than three seconds to realise.
Softly.
“You’re not talking about Isabelle.”
***
The look on her face tells me I’m right, and I’m not even sure she realised herself until just now. She’s horrified, in shock.
And her face crumples and she covers it with her hands and she cries.
***
It’s never been about Isabelle, has it, Karl?
Your mistake wasn’t thinking you failed, Karl. Your mistake wasn’t drinking. It wasn’t refusing to talk to me about it. It wasn’t Isabelle.
Your mistake was a moment of weakness one day six years ago.
My mistake was never telling you what that really did to me.
And our mistake was never forgiving ourselves for it.
It’s time, love.
***
I can feel him standing next to me and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, closer, closer…
I can’t hear him but his chest is heaving and I know he’s crying. And with each sob I let out he holds me a little tighter, a little closer. I put my hands around his back and hold him.
I won’t let go if you won’t, Karl.
***
I’ve wanted to hold her properly for so long, and I couldn’t let her stand alone and cry. My heart wouldn’t let me. My beautiful, beautiful wife.
I’m glad we talked tonight. I’m glad we had this argument, I’m glad that she shouted, that she screamed, that she cried. And I’m glad I know what really hurt her.
We had a wonderful marriage, didn’t we, Susan? I know we didn’t always share the important things. I know we didn’t always share our feelings, that we didn’t learn how to talk. But we’ve learnt tonight, haven’t we?
Has this been a healing process for us, Susan?
Is this a new beginning for us?
***
We’ve talked for over three hours, now, Karl and I. It’s enough talking for tonight. It’s enough to know we’re ok, to know we’re healing. It’s enough to start again. Thirty years of marriage and I’ve never felt closer to him. Never more intimate than we are now. Never more in love.
Do you know how much I want you, Karl? Do you know how much I want you tonight?
We say goodbye at the door and look at each other, smile, and I reach out and touch his face.
So softly.
My Karl.
He takes my hand in his and kisses it. So real, so soft, so Karl. Touch has always been so important to us, such an important part of our relationship. Touch, reassurance, gentleness, intimacy, roughness. We might not talk well, we might not share our feelings as well as we should but we’ve never mistaken touch.
Never.
Each touch with Karl has its own meaning, each hand, each part of me, and I know them all by heart.
‘I’m here’
‘beautiful’
‘I treasure you’
‘let me touch you’
I know them by heart. I’ve always known.
***
Do you know how beautiful you are to me, Susan? How graceful?
Do you know how much I love the way you touch my face?
Touch has always been so important to you, your reassurance, your need to know how I feel about you. I’ve always known that. I know you have your own interpretation of my touches, and you know them by heart. But do you know that I know your touches by heart, too? That I know exactly what they mean?
Do you know how much I love the way you touch my face? Do you know that I know exactly what that means? That I have my own interpretation of that?
‘let me touch you’
You know my answer.
My Susan.
***
He kisses my hand and holds it to his face and links his fingers with mine. And I know him, I know Karl. We don’t need words.
Karl.
I run my hand through his hair.
‘beautiful’
My other arm against his chest.
‘stay’
Do you know how much I want you tonight, Karl?
He puts both hands on my waist, his thumbs across my stomach.
‘mine’
I remember to breathe.
Do you know how much I want to feel your heart against mine, tonight, Karl?
He kisses me, and I’m floating, I’m falling, I can’t remember, can’t remember, can’t remember how much I love this, love this man, love this feeling…his breath with mine, his lips with mine, his hands with me, his hands against me…
His hand in my hair, his mouth against my neck…
‘you’re so loved’
Do you know how much, Karl? Did I remember to breathe, did I remember, did I…
His hand under my shirt…
‘perfect’
…touching me…
Oh, Karl…
Karl…
…pressing his lips against mine…
‘love you’
…pushing me against the door…
‘want you’
Do you know how much, do you know, do you...
He knows.
He always knows.
THE END.
AUTHOR: Mimms
RATING: PG-13
DISTRIBUTION: Here, or ask!
FEEDBACK: Would be greatly appreciated via PM or this thread
DISCLAIMER: These characters are not mine but I'm grateful for them anyway
SUMMARY: “I can’t predict him tonight. Something…”
PAIRING: Karl / Susan
CHARACTERS: Susan, Karl
YEAR: 2005
SPOILERS: None
DATE: 1 April 2005
Karl returned almost a fortnight ago and I haven’t yet seen him. He visited China, Japan, Russia, the States – East Coast and West. He must have had experiences that I can’t even begin to imagine. Almost three months away from his home, from his family. Three months to travel and think about the world, and life, and everything…how amazing it must have been. Simply amazing.
He emailed me every week just as he promised.
He didn’t email Isabelle once.
***
Why am I planning this evening? Why am I planning it all in my head? This is Karl. This is my husband of thirty years coming round for a meal, coming to see me, coming to tell me about the last twelve weeks of his life. And I’m nervous and I’m planning every word, every sentence.
But I’m looking forward to this evening. I’m looking forward to the pictures and the video he’s taken of all the places I’d love to go. I’m looking forward to showing him the beautiful pictures of Ben from when I went to stay with Darren and Libby. I’m looking forward to sharing some time with him again.
Is the chicken in the oven? Yes.
Is the wine on the table? Yes.
Is the dessert in the fridge? Yes.
Do I have any idea what I’m going to say to him?
***
The last three months have held the most incredible experiences for me, the likes of which I know I’ll never have again. I thought travelling alone would be easy, I thought backpacking would be fun. Four days into my trip I checked into a luxury 5-star hotel in Hong Kong. I emailed ahead and booked my own private villa in Antigua. I emailed and changed my long-haul flight to first class. I emailed and upgraded my Canada tour to Gold standard.
I almost emailed Susan to ask her to join me.
***
“Hello!”
“Hello you!”
He embraces me warmly as he enters and the hug lasts a little bit longer than it should for friends. We pull away and smile at each other. I touch his face briefly.
Softly.
“Come in, come in.”
“Whatever you’re cooking it smells delicious.”
“It’s a chicken recipe I borrowed from Lyn.”
“I bought some wine with me.”
“Red or white?”
“White.”
“Put it in the fridge – there’s some red already on the table.”
“Okay.”
I watch him as he walks to the fridge. His body is still slightly tanned, and he’s lost some weight. He looks a bit older. He looks…different.
My Karl.
***
“That was really lovely, Susan, thank you.”
“Oh – thank Lyn. Her recipe.”
“Well I shall do that.”
Silence. There’s something not right about tonight.
“You must have so many pictures to show me.”
“I do – I didn’t bring them all, though – I didn’t want to bore you.”
“Death by photograph?”
“Something like that.”
We smile.
“I’ve got some photos of Ben, too – he’s really grown up since you last saw him.”
“I’d love to see them.”
“I’ll get them out later – but there’s one out on the sideboard over there.”
I watch him as he gets up from the table and picks up the frame. Something’s not right.
His voice is too quiet, too soft.
“He’s beautiful. He’s really looking like Drew now, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“We did do well with Libby, didn’t we, Susan?”
“Yes. We did.”
Predicting Karl’s next words is something I’ve always been able to do, but tonight…
“Shall we have some coffee and save dessert for later? We could watch your Grand Canyon video first – I’d love to see it.”
“Sure.”
Something….
***
This photo of Ben is beautiful. Black and white, he’s looking up at the camera in that adoring way of his, his arm outstretched as if he wants to grab the hair of the person taking the shot. My beautiful grandson from my beautiful daughter.
From my beautiful wife.
I don’t want to share my photos with her. I don’t want to show her the Grand Canyon video. I don’t want to talk about all these experiences that I’ve had. Wonderful, amazing, life-changing experiences.
I didn’t change my life with her.
***
“I mean, the colours are just amazing, they’re so bright and vivid.”
“They are.”
“How close to the edge were you when you filmed this?”
“Too close.”
She looks up at me.
“So how far down did you walk?”
Beautiful.
“Karl?”
So beautiful.
“Karl?”
“Sorry?.”
“I said, how far did you walk?”
“Oh, not too far.”
“And how long after this did you join the group which went round…”
My mind blocks her voice and I can’t do anything but look at her. Please stop talking, Susan. Please stop asking questions.
I have other answers for you now.
***
I’m watching this video, and these experiences which are so far removed from mine and he’s watching me. He’s sitting beside me and I can’t see him, but I know him, and I know he’s watching me. Why do you need to detail my every move, Karl? Why are you savouring my reactions, my responses?
I can’t predict him tonight. Something…
And it takes me less than three seconds to realise.
Softly.
“This was your Africa, wasn’t it?”
***
She’s always been able to predict my words, my thoughts, my feelings, and although she’s a little behind tonight, she knows. Of course she knows.
Susan always knows.
She doesn’t always show it.
***
His Africa.
So what do you know now, Karl, that you didn’t know before? What have you found out? What did this world show to you that I couldn’t?
Did I fail you in that?
Karl?
It’s time, love.
***
So softly.
“What did you learn, Karl?”
Do I really want to know?
“I don’t know where to start. I wanted to plan this so carefully but it never turns out like that, does it?”
“No.”
“I spent a lot of time thinking whilst I was away.”
“About Isabelle?”
Did you dwell on it, Karl? Did you cry again for a child that was never yours?
“Partly Isabelle.”
I cried for you, alone in my bedroom.
“Partly my family.”
I cried for your child, too.
“Partly about my life, about you.”
I even cried for Isabelle.
“Mostly about me.”
Oh, my darling. Self-blame has always been your strength.
“I had the time and space that I’ve never had before, time and space to think and try to understand my life.”
“And?”
“I don’t understand everything and I’m not sure I ever will. But I understand more now. About me, I mean. About us. What happened to us…”
“I know what happened to us.”
Too quickly.
“Do you? Really?”
“I don’t want to go over old ground again, Karl. We’ve tried to talk about this before.”
Don’t break my heart again, Karl.
“This is different, Susan.”
“Why? Why is it different?”
Is it going to hurt less this time, Karl? Can you promise me that?
Sometimes I don’t know who hurts more, me or him.
***
“Because this time I can give you some answers. Not all of them, but I can explain more. Things I never realised before.”
Please, Susan, please let me say these things. I know you, I know that you blame yourself for us. I know that you blame yourself more than you blame me.
I’ve always known.
I don’t always show it.
***
He’s right. It hurts, and we shout and we blame each other, but we need to talk. He needs to talk. He needs to tell me.
He speaks softly tonight.
“I couldn’t tell you exactly when – I can’t pinpoint a date, Susan, but at some point I began to feel that I’d failed you. I’d failed the family.”
So softly.
“That you failed me?”
“Yes.”
“Failed me in what?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know where it came from. I don’t know what caused it. I don’t know.”
Are you sure, Karl?
“It built up so slowly. Every time something happened that was out of my control, every time something went wrong…I felt I’d failed you more and more. And each drink I had made me forget. Each drink made it all go away. And every time I drank I realised I was failing you, and it became like a vicious circle I couldn’t get out of. And I knew I was stuck, and I knew I needed to do something and I was paralysed by it.
“Instead of talking to you, I blamed you. I associated my drinking with you. I associated my unhappiness with you. But it wasn’t you. I need you to know now that it wasn’t you, Susan, it was never you. I drank when we were together because it meant I didn’t have to face you, I didn’t have to face that you wanted to help me sort my problems out.
“Failing meant drinking, and drinking meant distancing myself from you because I was failing you, and I didn’t know how to get out. Isabelle was…”
Do I want to hear this, Karl? Are you sure you want to tell me about Isabelle?
“Isabelle was someone so far removed from our relationship. She wasn’t involved. She didn’t know me when I was a different person, she didn’t know me when I was happy. But she was who I wanted to be at that time.”
I feel sick.
“She was free, free from guilt, free from feeling a failure, free from dependency on drink...and that made her an attractive person to spend time with. When I was with her I didn’t feel guilty anymore and I didn’t feel a failure.”
You don’t get the irony, do you, Karl?
“And of course now…”
“Now?”
“Now I can see it all rationally, Susan. I can see it how you see it.”
I don’t think so, Karl. Do you see my self-doubt? Do you see the blame I carry? Do you see the ache that never, ever goes away?
“And how do you see it now?”
“I put myself in a relationship with someone who was more guilt-ridden than me. Someone who had more of a sense of failure and more dependencies that I did.”
He whispers.
“I thought I deserved her. I thought I deserved to be with someone who hated themselves as much as I hated me.”
Don’t cry, my love.
“How could I love you and give you everything when I didn’t even like myself? How could I love you the way you deserved to be loved when I never deserved you?”
Oh my darling Karl.
“What caused this?”
“I don’t know.”
“What was it, Karl?”
“Susan, I don’t know.”
I know. I’ve always known.
I don’t always show it.
***
“That’s why you told me you didn’t love me?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you left me?”
“Yes.”
Do I want to know the answer to this question?
“And did you love me?”
“Now I know I did.”
My heart won’t keep still and I have to remember to breathe.
Softly.
“Do you still love me?”
Silence.
“Susan.”
He whispers again.
“You’re my heart.”
I get up and walk away. I’m taking it all in, and my heart softens with every word he’s saying to me, but this anger, this anger…
“You left me because of something you can’t even remember, you don’t even know?”
“It’s not like…”
“That’s what you said. You left me, but you can’t pinpoint the exact reason why it all started.”
“No, I can’t.”
This anger…
“You left me, you left our family, you left the children…”
“I never left the children, Susan…”
“You left the kids and us, and you broke my heart over something you can’t even remember and you don’t even understand?! Is that what you’re telling me, Karl?”
He stands to meet me but I don’t give him a chance to respond.
“You expect me to what, forgive you? Put my arms round you? Tell you I want you back?”
“No, Susan, please…”
“Please what, Karl?! Please what?!”
Anger hates silence.
“You can tell me how you felt, you can admit that we should have talked and sorted it out, and you admit that you hated yourself, you admit you lost control and you say it wasn’t me but you can’t tell me why?! You say it wasn’t me but you can’t tell me why you did this? You say it wasn’t me?”
Silence.
I cry out in pain as I lunge at him, pushing him onto the sofa, beating him down, down, my Karl, sofa-bound as I punch him and hit him in the chest, shouting, crying, crying…
***
I catch the flash in her eyes just in time. Fury. Anger and pain in her eyes I’ve only ever seen twice before. I defend myself but I don’t fight her off.
How long have you been holding this, Susan? How long have you been feeling this?
She’s almost on the sofa with me, doubled over, hitting me, crying, sobbing, but the anger in her fists and the pain on her face tell me that she doesn’t know what she’s doing any more.
Why do you let your anger and pain hide behind your grace, Susan?
Why do you hide so much of yourself away?
***
I stand with my back to him, my hands over my face, embarrassed, humiliated and angry, still so very, very angry...
“Susan?”
No, Karl. Don’t do this. Just wait this time.
Silence.
I have to know, I have to know why, I have to know how it happened, and I know what caused it but I need him to tell me how, I need to hear it from him…I can’t live like this…I can’t, I can’t, I can’t… I need to remember to breathe.
“What was it Karl?”
Silence.
“What made you go to her?”
“Susan, please...please don’t torture yourself.”
This isn’t torture, Karl. Leaving me was torture. Breaking my heart was un-experienced pain. Having a baby with someone else was…
I just need to know how.
***
Her face is still angry, and she looks tired, and I don’t know if I should stay here or stand up to be on her level.
“How did it happen?”
“How did what happen?”
“How did she seduce you? How did she make you want her?”
“It wasn’t like that, Susan.”
“What was it like, then, Karl?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. Did she stare at you with those big brown eyes and flatter you with pretty words?”
What?
“No. Susan, I promise you I never, ever had an affair with her.”
“Don’t lie to me. She wrecked our marriage, Karl.”
Oh Susan, no.
“She didn’t wreck our marriage, it wasn’t her. It wasn’t you. It was me. I had things I needed to sort out. I had a choice and I made the wrong one.”
“You don’t get it, do you? She changed things forever, Karl. Forever. Even on her wedding day she was…”
“Susan it was me, it was me. I’m responsible …”
“What did she do then, Karl?”
“At the wedding?”
“Yes, at the wedding. What made you want her then?”
And it takes me less than three seconds to realise.
Softly.
“You’re not talking about Isabelle.”
***
The look on her face tells me I’m right, and I’m not even sure she realised herself until just now. She’s horrified, in shock.
And her face crumples and she covers it with her hands and she cries.
***
It’s never been about Isabelle, has it, Karl?
Your mistake wasn’t thinking you failed, Karl. Your mistake wasn’t drinking. It wasn’t refusing to talk to me about it. It wasn’t Isabelle.
Your mistake was a moment of weakness one day six years ago.
My mistake was never telling you what that really did to me.
And our mistake was never forgiving ourselves for it.
It’s time, love.
***
I can feel him standing next to me and he wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, closer, closer…
I can’t hear him but his chest is heaving and I know he’s crying. And with each sob I let out he holds me a little tighter, a little closer. I put my hands around his back and hold him.
I won’t let go if you won’t, Karl.
***
I’ve wanted to hold her properly for so long, and I couldn’t let her stand alone and cry. My heart wouldn’t let me. My beautiful, beautiful wife.
I’m glad we talked tonight. I’m glad we had this argument, I’m glad that she shouted, that she screamed, that she cried. And I’m glad I know what really hurt her.
We had a wonderful marriage, didn’t we, Susan? I know we didn’t always share the important things. I know we didn’t always share our feelings, that we didn’t learn how to talk. But we’ve learnt tonight, haven’t we?
Has this been a healing process for us, Susan?
Is this a new beginning for us?
***
We’ve talked for over three hours, now, Karl and I. It’s enough talking for tonight. It’s enough to know we’re ok, to know we’re healing. It’s enough to start again. Thirty years of marriage and I’ve never felt closer to him. Never more intimate than we are now. Never more in love.
Do you know how much I want you, Karl? Do you know how much I want you tonight?
We say goodbye at the door and look at each other, smile, and I reach out and touch his face.
So softly.
My Karl.
He takes my hand in his and kisses it. So real, so soft, so Karl. Touch has always been so important to us, such an important part of our relationship. Touch, reassurance, gentleness, intimacy, roughness. We might not talk well, we might not share our feelings as well as we should but we’ve never mistaken touch.
Never.
Each touch with Karl has its own meaning, each hand, each part of me, and I know them all by heart.
‘I’m here’
‘beautiful’
‘I treasure you’
‘let me touch you’
I know them by heart. I’ve always known.
***
Do you know how beautiful you are to me, Susan? How graceful?
Do you know how much I love the way you touch my face?
Touch has always been so important to you, your reassurance, your need to know how I feel about you. I’ve always known that. I know you have your own interpretation of my touches, and you know them by heart. But do you know that I know your touches by heart, too? That I know exactly what they mean?
Do you know how much I love the way you touch my face? Do you know that I know exactly what that means? That I have my own interpretation of that?
‘let me touch you’
You know my answer.
My Susan.
***
He kisses my hand and holds it to his face and links his fingers with mine. And I know him, I know Karl. We don’t need words.
Karl.
I run my hand through his hair.
‘beautiful’
My other arm against his chest.
‘stay’
Do you know how much I want you tonight, Karl?
He puts both hands on my waist, his thumbs across my stomach.
‘mine’
I remember to breathe.
Do you know how much I want to feel your heart against mine, tonight, Karl?
He kisses me, and I’m floating, I’m falling, I can’t remember, can’t remember, can’t remember how much I love this, love this man, love this feeling…his breath with mine, his lips with mine, his hands with me, his hands against me…
His hand in my hair, his mouth against my neck…
‘you’re so loved’
Do you know how much, Karl? Did I remember to breathe, did I remember, did I…
His hand under my shirt…
‘perfect’
…touching me…
Oh, Karl…
Karl…
…pressing his lips against mine…
‘love you’
…pushing me against the door…
‘want you’
Do you know how much, do you know, do you...
He knows.
He always knows.
THE END.
