Speed of the Sound of Loneliness

This it the first of three parts.

When Molly threw me out of my house four months ago, I didn't know what had hit me. I couldn't figure out why the hell she would want to get rid of me. She said she was bored with me and that I obviously didn't love her any more; if I ever did. Can you imagine a woman you'd been married to for over thirty years saying something like that? I can remember how it all happened as if it was yesterday; as the cliché goes.

We were sitting at the kitchen table one Saturday morning in early June; just like we did every morning. I admit, she was pretty quiet and that wasn't so unusual, but she seemed to have something on her mind. Anyway, just as we finished eating, she got up and went to a drawer in the counter and opened it and pulled out an envelope. She sat down and passed it to me.

"You better look at this." she said.

I looked down at the envelope and saw the neatly printed name and address of a legal firm well known in our town. I had a cold feeling come over me and felt the tightening in my guts. I looked back up at Molly but she was stone-faced; giving away nothing. I picked up the unsealed envelope with dread and pulled out the contents. I unfolded the papers inside and stopped cold when I saw the title of the first page: PETITION FOR DIVORCE

"What the hell is this?" I asked her.

"What does it look like Jack? I want a divorce and I want you to leave this house. It's as simple as that." She said it like it was a comment about the weather or maybe the price of bread.

I admit I was stunned. I couldn't think of anything to say that would sound intelligent. I just sat there stunned. I finally managed something.

"Why?"

"I don't love you any more Jack. My life is a bore and we don't talk to each other. I don't think you love me either. We just got used to living together." she said continuing her matter-of-fact tone. "I don't plan to live the rest of my life with someone who doesn't love me and doesn't have anything to contribute to my life. There isn't enough time left for either of us."

"Jesus, Molly ... this is crazy. You can't just throw me out. I live here too. I'm the only person that earns any money around here. I have something to say about this too." I said. I wasn't sure if that made any sense. I was just rambling and scrambling for anything that would put a stop to this craziness.

"Don't get all bent out of shape, Jack. I don't want your money despite what my lawyer tells me. We'll split the savings and retirement stuff. I'll sell the house and you'll get half of the net. I'm not trying to cheat you." She said this like it was rehearsed. It was still mass confusion in my mind.

I sat there for a while, looking down and the still folded papers and then up at Molly. I was obviously in shock and yet I knew what was happening.

"What are you going to live on, Molly? You know what I earn ... that won't support two households." I said with a sense of control for the first time.

"I have a job. I can look after myself. I don't need you or your money Jack." she said in that flat tone again.

"When the hell did you get a job?" I demanded.

"When I knew I was going to divorce you. I found something I can live on and maybe salvage something of my life for the future."

"Salvage? Is that what you think you need to do?" I asked incredulously.

"When something is wrecked, that's all you can do, Jack. You salvage what you can and you go on from there."

"What about the kids? Our folks? What am I going to tell them?" I asked.

"I've already told them. You can tell them whatever you want. I don't care. They know the truth." She said all this in that now irritating monotone that truly transmitted the fact that she didn't give a damn what I said or what I thought.

The conversation went back and forth for a while longer with her telling me in so many words what a useless asshole I was and me trying to figure out what I was going to do. I didn't get any sense I was going to change her mind. After I while, I got up and went to the back closet where we kept the suitcases and pulled out a couple and took them to our bedroom. I packed my stuff as best I could manage and hauled them out to the car. I threw them in the trunk and went back into the house. I figured I should say something, but I had no idea what it should be. I stood in the kitchen and looked at her for a moment. Her head was in her hands and I couldn't be sure, but I thought she might be crying. I picked up the envelope and walked out the front door, closing it behind me. I never said a word.

-0-

Molly kept her part of the bargain. She set up her own accounts and only took out half of what was in each one. I drove by the house a few days later and I saw the For Sale sign on the lawn. All neat and tidy; nothing for me to do but to start my life over again. I was living in a crummy motel on the edge of town, but two nights in that dump told me I needed to find a better place. I looked in the Classifieds and found several listings for furnished apartments and started my hunt for another place. About a day and a half later I found an affordable, not too disreputable apartment in a quiet part of town and signed the lease. I knew my first priority was to work toward getting the hell out of this jail cell as soon as humanly possible. There's only so much pacing you can do in a six hundred square foot apartment.

At night, I planned to spend my time watching television and little more. The cablevision gave me a choice of at least fifty channels, one or two of which actually had programs I wanted to watch. I realized I didn't have any choice in my prior life. I watched what Molly wanted to watch and that was that. Now, I could watch what I wanted, when I wanted. I could also drink beer and eat Cheetos whenever I felt like it. I didn't have to get permission or feel guilty. I was free and for a few days, it was a good feeling.

A couple of things changed my thinking fairly early on in my new bachelorhood. First, I wasn't sleeping well. I was able to get to sleep, but I was waking up at all hours of the night with my mind operating at full speed. I tried to find things to think about that would put me back to sleep, but I was mired in all kinds of weird thoughts that were tumbling around in my mind. I was trying to decide the difference between loneliness and being alone. A philosophical debate would take place for hours at a time as I tried to untie this Gordian Knot. I tried to dream of beautiful women except I didn't know any and they wouldn't want much to do with me either. I think the thing that caused the change in my lifestyle after Molly chucked me out was one Sunday morning when I got out of the shower and walked into the bedroom to find some clothes for the day. The back of the closet door had a full length mirror and I guess I stopped and looked at myself critically for the first time in quite awhile.

What I saw was a 5 foot 9 inch, overweight, white skinned 54 year old male with a beer gut and more hair on his chest than he had on his head. In short, I looked like shit. I couldn't think of a single thing that would attract a woman and I began to see what Molly might have seen. She never said I was ugly, but she beat all around that bush. Now, I could see it for myself. I needed to do something about it if I wanted more out of my life than a heart attack and a lonely funeral.

What got me going was a TV commercial for some pharmaceutical or other and the tag line they all used: "Consult your doctor if you plan to use ..." My doctor was Dr. Vic Chapman, M.D. and G.P. He was a good guy and since he was in his mid thirties and pretty fit, I thought I would go to him and get a checkup and some advice about losing weight. Sometimes I do the right thing even when I don't realize it. Vic was a cool guy and he laid it on the line pretty straight after giving me the usual physical and having me provide some blood and urine. His office called me a few days later and set up an appointment for me.

"Well, congratulations Jack. You've finally made it into the 'club'. You've been working hard to get there and now you've made it." he said sarcastically. "You have managed to combine Hypertension; also known as high blood pressure, with elevated cholesterol levels and topped it all off with Type 2 Diabetes. That's quite an achievement."

I looked at him like he'd handed me a death sentence. "What the hell does that mean? Do I have to have an operation?" I asked, completely thrown by his blunt comment.

"No ... no operation ... at least not yet. The club you've joined isn't exclusive; over half the men over forty belong to it in one form or another. It comes from bad diet, no exercise, stress and an assortment of other things including a genetic predisposition from your parents." he said in a more conciliatory voice. "You asked me what it means. It means you're headed in a dangerous direction and if you want to live a reasonably long life, you need to make some changes and you need to make them now!" he stated emphatically.

"What kind of changes ... can't you just give me some pills?" I asked.

"Sure, I can prescribe pills to manage your blood pressure and help with your cholesterol. For the time being, you can probably control your Diabetes with diet. But none of it will be worth a damn if you keep going the way you've been going."

I looked at him and I could see that he was deadly serious.

"Jack, what made you come to see me? Have you not been feeling well?"

"No ... nothing like that. I guess I saw myself in the mirror the other day and I didn't like what I saw." I said truthfully.

"Good ... sounds like you're motivated to fix that. I can give you some suggestions." he offered and he did.

For exercise, he suggested walking, biking or swimming but not running; too hard on the joints and too little benefit for too much effort. For diet, he gave me a notice from the Diabetes Association and suggested I go to one of their introductory clinics for some diet advice. Basically, he said they would tell me to lay off fats, reduce carbohydrates and balance my meals throughout the day. He was right and their brochure had some suggestions on what a diet plan might look like.

I guess I looked pretty forlorn when he had finished with me and I know he didn't want to discourage me, but I was still upset with Molly and the impending divorce and it was going to be very difficult for me to make a lifestyle change like this and make it stick. That's when Vic came up with a better plan.

"Jack, what you're going through with Molly ... that's one of the most stressful things anyone can face. Now you've got this health issue piled right on top of it. I'm going to make a suggestion to you and I hope you take advantage of it. I'm willing to write a letter to your boss that you are suffering from a serious stress disorder and that you are currently unfit for work. Your insurance will cover you for up to six months, but I suggest we give you three months of leave. The insurance company probably won't protest since it's only your second claim and the first one was for your broken arm ten years ago. That will give you three months to get your life in order without having to worry about your job or how you were going to find the time to make all these changes. In three months, you can do a lot of good things for your health and your future."

I looked at him for a long moment. "You can do that?"

"Yes, and frankly, I think it's a lot closer to the truth than you realize." he said seriously.

"My boss will flip. He'll can my ass the minute he hears about this." I said.

"Nope ... he can't ... it's the law. And, even if he does, that gives you three months to find something better or at least different. You aren't that old, Jack. You can survive this and come out better on the other side."

He was probably right. I hated my job and the asshole boss that made every day miserable. I had tolerated it because I still had two mouths to feed and a mortgage to pay; but all that was over now. I just had myself to look after and I decided right then and there that I was never going back to SandStacker Stone again. The day my medical leave ended was my last day with them, no matter what.

As it turned out, it was an academic decision. As I expected, old man Sandivale flipped his lid when he found out I was off for three months and fired me on the spot. I calmly advised him of the law and suggested he talk to his lawyer brother-in-law and get his facts straight. A day later I got a phone message from him that the day I came off Short Term Disability, I was fired and there would only be a month's salary as severance. If I wanted to fight it, I knew who my lawyer could talk to. Frankly, I had no interest in fighting it unless I couldn't find work by then. I would wait him out, but I was getting what I wanted from the miserable bastard anyway; my freedom after twenty seven years of continuous employment.

I couldn't believe how much better I felt almost immediately. It was like a weight was lifted off my back. I had an income and I had a sense that my future was in my own hands for once. I began my exercise program with walking every morning and after supper. I went to the Community Centre and checked the schedule for public swimming and found two decent times; mixed adult swimming at three on Wednesday afternoons and mixed adult on Sunday evening at seven. I hadn't been swimming since I was in my twenties and I was hoping I wouldn't drown the first time out. It was more difficult and more strenuous than I had remembered; but then I was trying to move a lot more mass through the water than thirty odd years ago. I kept at it and it got a bit easier, but never very easy. It was also a bit of a social time as several women were in the Wednesday class. I at least had someone to talk to and compare my progress with and it was encouraging.

I had begun to extend my walks after the third week and I was feeling a lot more energetic in the mornings. The evening walks were a little less aggressive and more for end-of-the-day relaxation purposes. I got a little bored with my usual routes and began to seek out alternatives to reduce the boredom. One morning I was walking down the main drag and I noticed an office that I hadn't seen before: The State Office of Employment. I made a mental note of its hours and later that day, walked back to the location and went inside. A very pretty young lady in her mid-twenties asked me what she could do for me and I explained my employment situation and what I had been told was my severance. She smiled and said something about being glad I had stopped in.

"Mr. Tompkins, I think I can help you. Under state law, anyone with more than fifteen years of continuous employment with a single employer is entitled to the maximum severance; provided you were not fired for cause. You are entitled to ninety days with full benefits plus any owed vacation; thanks to your long service. What I can do for you is write you a letter with a copy of this regulation. I suggest you send a copy of it to both your former employer and their lawyer and wait and see what happens. If necessary, we can intervene if he fails to live up to his legal obligations. If he decides to fight this, then we can take more decisive action based on a formal complaint from you. Will that help?"

"Boy, will it ever. I can't thank you enough. You just made my day ... hell, you just made my summer!" I leaned over the counter and gave her a big, wet, smacking kiss on the cheek and watched her blush a crimson red. I left the office floating on air. I now had six months of that bastard's money and plenty of time to find another job. I couldn't remember feeling this good and I began to think my luck had changed.

When I stepped on the scales at the end of the month, I knew I had lost weight but I didn't know how much. Eleven pounds! From 207 down to 196 in just over four weeks. I couldn't believe it. More than I thought possible. I was on a high and I was more committed than ever to my new lifestyle. I began to push myself a little harder in the walking and swimming. I was going to be in the best shape of my life when this summer was over and it was only going to get better from there.

At the end of the second month, I had only lost another seven pounds and I was disappointed. I talked to a couple of people at the pool that Sunday night and they both said the same thing; the first pounds are the easiest and every month after that it gets a little harder and they don't come off as quickly. After all, it took me years to put on the gut I'd been packing around and now it was going to take some time and effort to get rid of it. On the other hand, when I looked in the mirror on my closet door, it could see the difference. I kept putting off buying new clothes until fall. I could live with pants that were a bit baggy in the ass and shirts that were a bit loose. It was kind of a badge of progress in a way.

At the end of the third month, a week after Labor Day, I had lost another six pounds and I now weighed 183. I definitely needed new clothes and decided that thanks to the generosity of SandStacker, I could afford it. I had sent the letter from the State Employment Office to Sandivale and a copy to his shyster brother-in-law and bided my time. It took them six weeks to get around to acknowledging my letter and I had to laugh out loud when I read the double-talk bullshit those slimy bastards used to admit they couldn't get out of paying me the three month severance. Another banner day in the resurrection of Jack Tompkins!

When I walked out of the men's store in the local mall, I felt like a new man all over again. I had three pairs of khaki slacks, stain resistant and stretch fit. I had bought three oxford cotton button-down no-iron shirts in solid colours and three more pattern sport shirts in the same material. I put the bags in the trunk of my car and returned to the mall and headed for the shoe store. I spent over a hundred dollars on a pair of Rockport dress shoes and almost $75 on a pair of Bridgeport boat shoes that were too comfortable not to buy. I had already bought a pair of Columbia all-weather walking shoes when I had started my exercise program and I would never go back to ordinary shoes again. I took my dress-black Bostonian's into the shoe repair and had them re-soled and re-heeled to complete my shoe wardrobe. I had spent nearly three hundred dollars on foot ware in the last few weeks; more that I had probably spent totally in my adult life and I didn't regret one dime of it.

My final trip that day was to the J.C. Penny store for new underwear, socks and some cotton polo shirts. I also picked up a couple of simple cotton pullovers for cooler weather walking and I was set for the fall. I looked in the mirror in my new ensemble and I smiled at what I saw. The newly improved Jack Tompkins was looking a lot better. I had cut my hair short; leaving nothing on the sides and back but a half inch and it seemed to make me look younger. The beer gut was gone and when I called Vic to make an appointment for my examination at the end of my three month stress leave, I was pretty sure he would be satisfied.

"Jack, you look terrific. I'm impressed! I'm also really happy for you. I've got your blood tests back and you're doing fine controlling your Diabetes. Your weight is down to 179 and that's a huge improvement. Your blood pressure is normal and you cholesterol is better, but still a bit high in one area. We'll have to see if we can come up with a plan for that. Otherwise, you've worked wonders in the last three months. Congratulations!"

"Thanks. I feel a lot better and strangely enough, I have a lot more confidence in myself. I've got another three months to look for a new job and I've got a couple of leads that I want to follow up, so there's hope for this old guy yet." I smiled.