talking_muses Prompt #3A - What's your most powerful memory?
There's so many I could choose from. The day my uncle died, for instance. He had cancer. He lived with us for the last seven months of his life. He was pretty sick when he came to stay with us, and I watched him get sicker. And when he died, I knew I wanted to be the kind of doctor that helps people with Cancer. It was pretty powerful, yeah. But I'm not sure it's the most powerful memory I have.
What about the look on my first wife's face when I told her I was having an affair? I think she knew, or suspected. But knowing quietly and suspecting what may or may not be true, and having it told to you is completely different. She was crushed. Destroyed. Heartbroken. I remember how her lower jaw squared up and she nodded. She just nodded and kept stirring the spaghetti sauce for our dinner because it was something to do. Something that didn't need to be done, that kept her busy, and kept her glued together. We were divorced three months later.
I didn't cheat on her just because I could. It's hard to explain, really. I'm not sure I even understand it. Because I knew it was wrong when I was doing it. And when I told her, I knew what I was doing then too. Hurting her. Destroying a part of her and the whole of us. I loved her. It wasn't about that. It's a sickness, really. You might think that's a cop out, and in that case I'm going to assume you've never been in the situation. I'm not trying to justify what i did. I know it was wrong. I'm glad, too, that she left me and found someone who is able to love her the way she deserves to be loved. She has two beautiful daughters, and she's really doing well. I wouldn't say we're friends, but we're not arch enemies either. She knows I loved her, and I will always love.
Then there's my second wife. Our marriage went south before it even started. My brother left the day we were married. He showed up at the church. Drunk or high or something. I lit in to him, asked him how the hell he could do this to me on my wedding day. He shot back how I'd already failed one marriage. I yelled back. I don't even know what. He pushed me, I pushed him. He fell, and scrambled up to his feet. I'll never forget the look on his face. It was the same look Beth had when I told her about the affair.
Josh didn't want to hear my apologies. He took off, running, instead. I chased him. In my suit and dress shoes. Dressed for my wedding. He was wearing his high school letter jacket that was three sizes too bog for him by then. He'd lost so much weight. He was all skin and bones. It was the drugs. He'd started using about five years earlier. About the time I went away to school and married Bethie.
I met up with him on a corner. A bad part of town. The buildings were crumbling, the street littered with trash. The stench of sweat and decay hovered thick in the air. "You better get back to the church, JJ," Josh said to me, "before some poor beggar steals your clothes and hides the evidence."
That was the last thing he said to me. I looked down, pushed my hands against my eyes. And when I looked up, my little brother was gone. I wasn't dressed for that part of town. I was dressed for my wedding. I searched the street that I could see, but there was no sign of my brother. I had half an hour before I had to meet my bride at the alter. It would take me that long to get back to the church.
I just knew Josh would show up at home later. I had to believe that, or I never would have left him there. I really believed he'd come home. The guilt, that guilt, is the most powerful memory of all.
What about the look on my first wife's face when I told her I was having an affair? I think she knew, or suspected. But knowing quietly and suspecting what may or may not be true, and having it told to you is completely different. She was crushed. Destroyed. Heartbroken. I remember how her lower jaw squared up and she nodded. She just nodded and kept stirring the spaghetti sauce for our dinner because it was something to do. Something that didn't need to be done, that kept her busy, and kept her glued together. We were divorced three months later.
I didn't cheat on her just because I could. It's hard to explain, really. I'm not sure I even understand it. Because I knew it was wrong when I was doing it. And when I told her, I knew what I was doing then too. Hurting her. Destroying a part of her and the whole of us. I loved her. It wasn't about that. It's a sickness, really. You might think that's a cop out, and in that case I'm going to assume you've never been in the situation. I'm not trying to justify what i did. I know it was wrong. I'm glad, too, that she left me and found someone who is able to love her the way she deserves to be loved. She has two beautiful daughters, and she's really doing well. I wouldn't say we're friends, but we're not arch enemies either. She knows I loved her, and I will always love.
Then there's my second wife. Our marriage went south before it even started. My brother left the day we were married. He showed up at the church. Drunk or high or something. I lit in to him, asked him how the hell he could do this to me on my wedding day. He shot back how I'd already failed one marriage. I yelled back. I don't even know what. He pushed me, I pushed him. He fell, and scrambled up to his feet. I'll never forget the look on his face. It was the same look Beth had when I told her about the affair.
Josh didn't want to hear my apologies. He took off, running, instead. I chased him. In my suit and dress shoes. Dressed for my wedding. He was wearing his high school letter jacket that was three sizes too bog for him by then. He'd lost so much weight. He was all skin and bones. It was the drugs. He'd started using about five years earlier. About the time I went away to school and married Bethie.
I met up with him on a corner. A bad part of town. The buildings were crumbling, the street littered with trash. The stench of sweat and decay hovered thick in the air. "You better get back to the church, JJ," Josh said to me, "before some poor beggar steals your clothes and hides the evidence."
That was the last thing he said to me. I looked down, pushed my hands against my eyes. And when I looked up, my little brother was gone. I wasn't dressed for that part of town. I was dressed for my wedding. I searched the street that I could see, but there was no sign of my brother. I had half an hour before I had to meet my bride at the alter. It would take me that long to get back to the church.
I just knew Josh would show up at home later. I had to believe that, or I never would have left him there. I really believed he'd come home. The guilt, that guilt, is the most powerful memory of all.