Open letter to ex
Hey ex-wife,
I met you a lifetime ago in the cluttered aisles of Kmart. I hated that job. One needs a certain amount of love for people at their worst to enjoy retail. I wanted to quit before they hired me.
I bought a manual type writer, and I was going to write “the novel.” It smelled like magic, and the hard staccato clicks banged words into existence with efficiency. I was going to be too famous for retail.
I am not sure what you fell in love with back then or what you saw from over your register. You were dating a heavy set hairy guy from sporting goods at the time and you were not happy.
I left Kmart to find my life in the islands of Key West. In a shitty apartment, surrounded by cats, whose descendants were the pets of pirates, I set my fingers to bang out the words. I didn’t know we were writing love letters, but somehow the black lines flowed into the life we became.
It ended on our bed when you rather calmly asked for a divorce. You were pissed when I smiled.
There is so much that I don’t understand about what happened in between. I don’t know when you stopped loving me. I don’t know why we never had a real conversation, one where we connected. We never talked, and when we did, it wasn’t honest.
I know that something was broken with us from the start.
The sex sucked.
I worked so hard, twelve hour days, cooking dinner when I got home, and cleaning. There were times when I thought your only job was to anchor the couch into the living room floor.
I didn’t cheat on you a little. I cheated on you a whole lot. I wish I could tell you that I regret it. I can tell you that it is not as much fun as a healthy relationship.
Do you remember when you had your family empty our house, took the kids, and accused me of domestic violence, so you could get a personal protection order? I do. Do you remember ever apologizing? Yeah, I don’t either.
I took you back, because I realized that every other weekend isn’t a way see your kids grow up. I stayed with you for over decade, because our kids were that important.
You made out pretty good in the divorce. You got alimony, child support and a nice check. Your parachute has been golden.
I was angry at you for a long time. I hated you even. I could list out the reasons why, rank them by rage level, and include a brief justification. But my rage has cooled to a hard dead little ball, and empathy isn’t a strong trait of yours anyway. There is little value in bringing it all up.
In two and a half years I won’t be supporting you, and our house will be sold. The rock we rolled downhill will finally come to a rest and sink quietly into the past. I count the days sometimes.
Most days I just wake up, smile, hug my cats, and smile again. I am living the dream I had when we were together, only I am awake and this is real.
I guess what I want to say is thanks for letting me go.
Mirrored from Theater of JP's Mind.