Despite being a software engineer, I loved analog. Software engineering paid me well and allowed me to work at home with flexible hours. My watch was analog and not some fancy name. Most of my music was on vinyl and I had a great turntable set up in my home office. I also liked old fashioned calendars, the kind where you can see the whole month. There's a large one on the upstairs fridge, which was critical when the boys were growing up, trying to keep track of practices, games, concerts and who was working.
The large calendar on my office wall was also used to keep track of all that stuff. But this month, specifically June 18, was marked D-day. That was the day my youngest would turn 18 and I had been looking forward to it for about ten years now.
Ten years ago I went barging into the upstairs bath because I really needed to pee. I thought my wife Sarah was still in the shower but she was just stepping out as I came in. Of course she gave me shit for letting the hot air out. While she was complaining, I was staring at the hickeys on her tits. Sarah saw where I was looking and her jaw dropped. Actually it continued to move up and down but no words came out. I stumbled out of the bathroom and was in my office down in the basement before I remembered I was going to pee myself. Fortunately I made it to the basement bath in time.
My mind was still going in circles, my wife cheated on me. The choices of how to react were overwhelming. My darling wife was sitting on the futon in my office, wearing her bathrobe waiting for me when I got back from the bathroom. I collapsed into my desk chair.
"I'm sorry Jack, it was a mistake," Sarah started with. "But if you think you're going to divorce me, let me remind you that I'm a lawyer, I come from a family of lawyers. We will crucify you, you'll be lucky to see your kids a couple of hours a month with court supervision required. And you'll be lucky to afford a room over some dive bar."
Then she got up and left.
Before she started talking, I don't think divorce ever entered my mind. Fuck, my boys had always been my priority, I coached their teams, paid for every lesson possible and there were enough musical instruments upstairs that I could start my own store.
A review of divorce laws in my state would require me to support my children until they were 18 and I would have to pay support to the custodial parent. It didn't matter if the custodial parent, in this case Sarah, made more than me, and the amount would be decided by the court. Basically Sarah wasn't making empty threats. I didn't respond.
I had to figure out a way to stay alive for ten years, it was a prison sentence with a woman I loved only a few hours ago and now despised. I wish I could say I came up with a great plan that day, or that week, or that month. It took months.
And that's when I started writing D-day on my calendars, the day my youngest would turn 18.
On day one, I moved my stuff out of our master bedroom and into a storage room next to my office in the basement. Sarah said I was being childish. I didn't respond. I cancelled our joint credit cards and Sarah said I was being an asshole, I didn't respond. I stopped sleeping in our bed and Sarah said thank you, I didn't respond.
My primary goal was never to have to speak to Sarah again, whatever the topic. If dishes needed to be washed or the dishwasher emptied, I took care of it. General laundry or the boys stuff or mine, I washed, dried and folded it. Trash cans full, I took care of it. I hired a cleaning lady to come in once a week to take care of the house and landscapers to take care of the yard.
Generally I made dinner since I was home and continued to do so whenever the boys were home. At the dinner table I tried to pretend everything was normal although I'm certain that the boys were smart enough to figure out things were anything but normal. I really loved my boys and was fascinated by their lives and with my help, their talk dominated the dinner conversation.
If the boys weren't going to be home, I went out to eat. One night Sarah asked me to pick her up something, I didn't respond and I didn't get her anything.
About a year after finding the hickey on Sarah's breast, she came into my office late in the evening wearing a see through night gown over a sexy bra and panty set. She had been drinking.
"How long are you going to punish me Jack, I told you it was a mistake and I was sorry."
"Sarah, if that was all you said, maybe our lives would have been different. I don't know, maybe you could have helped me understand how you made a mistake, helped me believe there wouldn't be another one. Maybe we could have gone to counseling to work through it. Maybe you could have asked me to forgive you. But that's not what you said. I case you forgot let me remind you:
"But if you think you're going to divorce me, let me remind you that I'm a lawyer, I come from a family of lawyers. We will crucify you, you'll be lucky to see your kids a couple of hours a month with court supervision required. And you'll be lucky to afford a room over some dive bar."
"Í remember them well, you threatened to take away the most important people in my life, those words are burned into my mind, the same fire that burned away anything that was left of us and the ashes have long grown cold."
"I also remember that until you said the word divorce, it had never entered my mind."
As she left my office, Sarah said, "fuck you Jack." I didn't respond.
It was the second anniversary of finding the hickey and Sarah came into my office again. She was dressed in a casual t-shirt and shorts with glass of wine in her hand. The way she was wobbling, it wasn't her first glass. Sarah had started hitting the wine bottle heavily over the last year and our recycling can was usually full of empty wine bottles or more recently empty boxes of wine. She stood there, swaying and not saying anything. Then she turned and left. I felt relieved.
Life went on as it did before, as much as possible I avoided any conversations with Sarah who was usually well on her way to being inebriated by early evening. The boys needed at least one sober parent available so I rarely drank and that was usually one glass of scotch late in the evening.
A month before the third anniversary, my oldest came into my office and sat down across from me. Jason was fucking smart, scary smart, nothing less than straight A's since kindergarten. And he was also very astute for a 15 year old.
"Mom cheated on you three years ago, that's why you moved in here and hardly speak to her since then."
"Is that a question Jason or an accusation. Either way it is inappropriate to pry into our affairs which are much more complicated then you can imagine."
"But you're not denying it."
"It's a baseless accusation Jase, whether it's true or not is not your business."
"Joey's parents acted the same way because his mom cheated on their father. He moved into their guestroom and now they are getting a divorce."
"Have you heard your mother and I discuss divorce?"
"The only thing I've heard you say to mom in the last three years is pass the butter."
"Jason, have you been feeling neglected? Have either me or your mom failed you in some way. If not, please let this drop."
Jason didn't say anything, I could see the wheels turning in his head and I knew he wasn't going to let it drop. He never let an unanswered question drop in his life.
I sent a text to Sarah, "Jason has convinced himself that you cheated on me and that's why I'm living in my office. I did not confirm or deny his accusation and told him the world is much more complicated then he thinks. I also asked him to drop it. Knowing Jason, I doubt if he will. Be prepared."
She texted me back, "What should I tell him?"
My original thought was to say, you created this fucking mess, you figure out what to say. But I deleted that and didn't respond.
The morning of the third anniversary, Jason came flying into my office, "Mom won't wake up, she's always up by now and getting ready to walk out the door."
His brother Justin, the sensitive one, was standing behind him and he was on the edge of a full blown panic. The three of us went flying up the steps and into the master bedroom. It had been three years since the last time I was in there.
Sarah was a mess, she was in a pair of pajamas but most of the buttons were undone. She had obviously vomited on herself. There was an empty wine glass on the nightstand and an open bottle of prescription sleeping pills. There were still some left in the bottle. I ordered Justin to turn on the shower and put on a pot of coffee. I told Jason to help me get his mother in the shower. When we lifted Sarah up we realized she had also pissed herself.
Sarah came to as we got her to stand up, she was complaining she wanted to sleep a little longer. At least she was breathing.
Jason and I got Sarah into the shower, she was not happy. I told Jason to count the pills left, try and figure how many she may have taken and see if there's any information on the web regarding accidental overdose.
Sarah was still bitching about the shower as I began to strip her clothes off and then she was complaining because I was stripping her. I used the shower wand to get the vomit out of her hair. By then she was able to stand up leaning against the wall and I washed the rest of her.
Jason came back and said, "The prescription was only filled two days ago and my best guess is she took six, eight tops. But there's all kinds of warnings about mixing with alcohol and she drank a bottle of wine last night."
