Looing Right at It

[Note: This is the second part of a three-part story. The first part was posted exactly two months ago. The third and last part will be posted tomorrow.]

ALAN'S STORY

I knew Julie too well to think that she would actually leave me alone for two months, and I was right. The phone calls began within hours. I could have predicted what she wanted to say, but I don't actually know because I let the machine pick up (adjusted to silent mode, so I couldn't hear her) and I deleted every one of her messages without listening.

It was the same at work. She left message after message the first week—either on my voicemail (which I deleted) or with Mariel, the office manager. I had already told Mariel that I wouldn't answer any of Julie's calls, so she just came to me at the end of the day, an ironic smile on her face, and said, "six more calls today!", or whatever the number was. And I nodded and thanked her.

I could tell on Monday after work that Julie had come home for more of her clothes and things. In fact, I was mildly surprised that she hadn't come back over the weekend and tried to talk her way in—but perhaps the depth of my anger when I confronted her Friday night had frightened her too much.

In any event, on Monday night her side of the bedroom closet was bare, and several of her dresser drawers had been emptied. Her cosmetics were gone from the bathroom, and she'd taken a framed picture of the kids from our dresser.

And—of course—there was an envelope in the middle of the dining room table, addressed just to "My husband Alan". I tore it in half and tossed it into the trash.

I figured it would be her sister next. Either her or Julie's dad—but that would mean confessing to him what she had done, so it seemed unlikely. Sister Sarah was far more likely to have given Julie a sympathetic ear, while Dad would have ripped her a new one for cheating on me. I knew he liked me, and I liked him a lot too.

Sure enough, an hour after I got home from work on Thursday there was Sarah ringing the bell. She began, "Alan, I know that you ...."

I raised my hand in her face, cutting her off before she could go any further.

"Hello, Sarah, it's nice to see you," I said cordially. "Let me make this as plain as possible: I am not having any conversation with you that has anything to do with Julie, or in which her name is mentioned. Is that clear?

"If you've come for any other reason, by all means come in and we can visit. Have you had dinner?"

Looking a bit shocked by my firmness, she just blinked at me. Then she said, "no, Alan, you know what I came to speak to you about. It's just that she's so ..."

Again I interrupted her. "No more, Sarah! I'm not kidding. I will not speak to you about her, and I won't listen to you about her."

She looked hard at me for a minute, then sighed. "Okay, Alan, have it your way. I'm sorry you're doing this, but it's your decision."

I didn't reply to that. I watched as she walked back to her car, shaking her head, and drove away.

The kids were tougher. Knowing Julie, she would have called both of them; then Brian and Bethany together would have decided that she, my little girl, would be the one to speak to me. She always had a way of getting me to do pretty much what she wanted!

But when the call came Bethany got an unpleasant surprise. "Dad, it's me," she began. "What on earth is going on with you and Mom?"

"Hi, sweetheart," I replied. "How is everything at school? It's nice to hear your voice!"

"Dad, Mom called me and Brian, and she's . . ."

"Beth, stop!" I interrupted her forcefully. "Your mom and I are going through a difficult period right now, and that's all I'm going to say to you and Brian about it. We both love you very much, and we will always be there for you. Beyond that, sweetie, I don't want you or your brother in the middle of it, and I'm not going to discuss it with you."

She started sniffling a little bit. "But daddy, she's so upset, and I ..."

"Bethany, that's enough! We can talk about something else, or we can get off the phone. Is that clear?"

There was a longish silence. I could just see my daughter's face, as she wondered how she was going to get around me.

"Okay, dad—I guess I understand." She spoke to me for a few minutes about school, and her friends. Then she said, suddenly, "dad, mom said that you ..."

I interrupted her again. "That's enough, Bethany! Nice talking to you! Bye, sweetie, I love you!" I hung up the phone.

Somehow the message finally got through, and when Brian called a couple of days later he complied with my prohibition on conversation about Julie—for which I was grateful.

The next few weeks were empty, and lonely. Given the alternative, that's how I wanted it. I spent a lot of time by myself. I didn't feel much like seeing friends, so I had an occasional beer with my co-workers at the end of the day, then went home. I read a lot. I worked in the yard, getting caught up on some of what I had fallen behind on.

And I spent a lot of time at the gym. I had always worked out a couple of times a week, but I was no fanatic. It was mainly to keep encroaching middle-age at bay a little; as I approached 44, I didn't want to look as flabby and sagging as some of the guys on my block.

Now, however, I began to work out enthusiastically, almost eagerly. I went to the gym 5-6 times a week, sometimes to run, other times to work out with weights or on the machines. After a few weeks, my 3 miles on the treadmill in about 30 minutes had become 4 miles in less than 34 minutes; my 120-lb bench press and my 210-lb leg press were getting up around 180 and 300.

It was the running I liked the best, because it hurt. I would set the machine to throw some unexpectedly steep hills at me, and I'd storm up them, feeling the burning in my hamstrings and in my lungs. I think I liked the pain because it was so intense that it temporarily drove out the other pain, the one I had with me all the time—the pain about Julie. Somehow it felt as though each time I upped my speed in the final half-mile, I was overcoming the helpless rage and frustration I carried around me every day and night.

To tell the truth, I also liked the way I was starting to look and feel. I lost about eight pounds, and my legs and arms and chest got firmer. I had to go out and buy some pants with a smaller waist, while my T-shirts started to look tight around the arms and shoulders. I even noticed an occasional approving glance from one or another of the ladies at the gym.

But while that was flattering, it was the hard work, the pain, that did more for me. I needed to stop feeling like a helpless victim and more like a guy in control of his life. And of course, I wasn't in control of my life, yet—but I was while I was running.

I had sent Julie away for two months because I knew I'd need some time to figure out what I wanted. No decision made in the blind fury of those first days would have made any sense. At first my fantasies were of killing her, of humiliating her publicly, of beating her boyfriend to death with a tire iron. Perfectly justifiable feelings, but not the wisest alternatives!

As the end of the two months approached, I was calmer. I hadn't stopped being angry, or hurt—and images of my Julie with another guy's cock in her mouth, or poised on her hands and knees on our bed while he plowed her from behind, still tormented me all the time. But I was past the white-hot anger, the helpless desperate rage, and a bit more able to think clearly.

And I'd found out I could live without Julie. I was lonely, and very sad, but I wasn't falling to pieces. I was still going to work and doing my job; I was coming home and making myself decent meals; I was taking care of the house and paying the bills. I could even imagine myself going out with friends, starting to date again, though I wasn't nearly ready to do it yet.

I had a nice visit with Bethany at her school's visiting day—after I made sure Julie was going a different day—and several good phone conversations with Brian. They both left me alone about Julie, and I felt close to them—still in touch despite the problems in my marriage.

Those glances from women at the gym really did help—they reassured me that Julie wasn't the only woman who could ever be attracted to me. 43 wasn't 26, that was for sure, but it wasn't 83 either.

One Saturday one of the women came over and asked me to help her use the weight machines. I was pretty sure she already knew how to use them, but I didn't mind playing along. She was cute—about 5'2" and pretty, with blonde curls and a nice tight figure. She was probably in her mid-30s.

After I'd "helped her" for a while, she rested and we chatted a bit; then she invited me into the health club's Snack Bar for a quick bite. Why not? I thought, and off we went. We had a nice chat for a few minutes about this and that. Then there was a silence, and Denise said, "I've been divorced for about two years. How about you?"

I was a little taken aback by her directness, but I replied, "separated. Only a few weeks now. I don't really know what's going to happen."

She smiled in a genuinely nice way, and said, "it gets easier after awhile. I'm a little surprised by your answer, though—I noticed you weren't wearing a ring."

"I took it off the day I ... the day my wife and I separated. It's at home, on the dresser, and I see it every day. Just didn't feel like having it on my finger right about now."

We finished our lunch, and I said, "thanks for the invitation, Denise. I really enjoyed this."

She gave me another big smile and said, "well, it was a pleasure for me too, Alan. Depending on what 'separated' turns out to mean, maybe we can do it again sometime."

I continued to see Denise in the gym after that, and we had two or three more lunches on Saturdays. It was so great to be around an attractive woman, one who didn't mind making clear she was interested in me. But it never went any further than conversation. I wasn't nearly ready for a new woman in my life—I wasn't sure I was done with Julie—and she clearly understood at least some of what I was going through.

Two months from the day I'd thrown Julie out fell on a Wednesday. My prediction was that she'd call during the morning and leave me a message. When I came home there it was, her first call in several weeks, and the first one I listened to. In a quiet voice she said she'd come over to see me after dinner, and hoped I would talk with her.

As I sat in my kitchen on Wednesday evening, I wondered what Julie would have to say. I had not made any final decisions about what I wanted. But I realized that I was looking forward to listening.

*** *** *** ***

JULIE'S STORY

In retrospect Alan was entirely right—we both needed the two months. I certainly found out that I did, although it took several weeks before I stopped being too upset to realize it.

Not having any idea what else to do, I drove straight to my sister Sarah. She lives alone in a big apartment, and when she found me sobbing on her doorstep of course she took me in.

Sarah is a couple of years older than I, always the logical, calm member of the family, while I was the impulsive one. She fed me soup and let me cry and made up her guest room bed for me and let me talk and talk and talk to her, all weekend long.

But even Sarah couldn't make me really see what I had done. Oh, I knew I had broken my vows, and hurt Alan's feelings, and it was wrong ... blah blah blah. But Sarah could see that I didn't really get it, and after about a week she let me have it.

"Jesus, Julie, will you listen to yourself? You sound like you ruined Alan's favorite shirt in the wash, or crashed his car into a fire hydrant, or forgot to pay the water bill! If I have to hear you say one more time how 'unreasonable' he's being, I'll throw you out myself!"

I was shocked into momentary silence, and she went on.

"You have absolutely NO idea how serious this is, or how much danger your marriage is in!"

I just blinked. I had those nightmares, when I imagined Alan divorcing me, but I somehow couldn't really believe he would do it. We'd been married for more than 20 years, and had two wonderful kids. I'd only slept with Bobby twice! Surely he was going to give me another chance....

"I called a friend of mine and got the number of a terrific therapist she saw when she and her husband split up," Sarah went on. "Here it is. Go call her this instant and make an appointment."

Darlene Wysocki seemed way too small and pretty to be a real therapist, but she was a tough cookie. At our first appointment she let me ramble on and on, giving the background of Alan's and my marriage, then the circumstances of my "flirtation" with Bobby (I couldn't bring myself to call it an "affair"), and finally my complaints about how Alan wouldn't answer my calls and so on.

Near the end of the session she interrupted me. "Julie, aside from your kids, who's the person you love most in the world?"

"Alan," I said simply.

"What is the absolute worst thing he could possibly do to you—aside from something ridiculous, like killing you or your children?"

I just stared at her. The answer was obvious, but I hesitated to say it. "I guess ... cheat on me. Have an affair. Fall in love with another woman, and leave me."

I sat there, shaken by the obvious implications of what I had just said.

"And why would his having an affair be so painful?" Darlene persisted.

"Because ..." I stopped, confused. There were so many reasons, I needed a minute to sort them all out.

"Because ... it would be stealing from me one of the most important parts of our relationship: my trust that he belonged only to me. Because it would destroy my confidence that he was attracted to me. Because ... Jesus, Darlene! Because a million things!"

By then I was crying, but Darlene just sat calmly and watched me. After several minutes she gently said, "Julie, we need to stop for today. But between now and next time I want you to think about why Alan cheating on you would be so painful—all the reasons why it would hurt. That's what we need to be talking about."

As I opened the door to go out, she said, "and Julie? We need to talk about your job, too."

I saw Darlene twice a week for the next eight weeks. With her help, I began to see how utterly devastating Alan's cheating on me would have been—and how devastated he must be feeling about what I had done. After our third session I went back to my office and quit my job. I had been at that insurance agency for 11 years—I loved the people and I loved working there.

But I knew that I couldn't possibly continue to work in the same place as Bobby. Even if I lost Alan, which I prayed I wouldn't, I still needed to get away from Bobby. I'd avoided talking or even looking at him since the day Alan threw me out. I was too upset even to tell him I'd been caught, and that I couldn't see him anymore. But I imagine he figured it out. His eyes still followed me around the office, but he never came over to talk to me.

My boss was kind enough to give me a great letter of recommendation, and after three weeks I found a similar job in another agency. I hated being away from all my old friends at work, but I realized I had to do it. And the energy needed for getting familiar with new routines and getting to know a lot of new people made it a little easier not to obsess about Alan, what I had done to him, and what would happen to us.

Once Darlene and I had been over and over all the ways in which my affair had hurt Alan—that is, once I finally it got it into my thick skull what I had done—we began to talk about why I had done it.

There weren't a lot of good reasons—at least, not good enough to make me feel like any less of an idiot. But I did learn some things about myself, things that I could think about and work on in the future.

And Darlene gave me one other thing, which felt like an honest-to-God gift. She told me that people don't always act logically—that sometimes even smart and reasonable people go off the track and do something crazy, or stupid, or self-destructive.

But one bad deed doesn't make you a bad person. It just makes you a person who did something bad. What matters more is how you deal with what you've done—how you atone for it, how you do whatever you can to make it right.

By the end of two months I felt like a very different person from the one who had jumped into bed with Bobby, and let him teach her how to suck his cock. I was sadder for sure, and more serious. I probably laughed a lot less and thought more.

But I also felt like I understood myself better. And I knew that I loved Alan, and wanted to do whatever I could to make up to him for what I had done.

I had a couple of great visits, and a lot of good phone conversations, with my kids during that time. I completely stopped complaining to them about Alan. I told them that he and I had separated temporarily, that we were going through some tough times, and that it was my fault. I requested that they not ask either Alan or me about any of the details.

I asked them to remember that we both loved them more than anything, and we would always be their devoted parents, whether or not we stayed together. Both Brian and Bethany were just terrific—patient, loving, and supportive. I was so proud of the young adults they have grown into!

My sister had generously let me stay with her for the whole two months. I promised her that if Alan didn't let me go back home within one more week, I'd face the unhappy task of finding myself an apartment.

*** *** *** ***

ALAN'S STORY

When Julie came up the walk I was standing at the open doorway, gazing at her. My throat was tight, and my heart was pounding in my chest. I didn't know whether it was anger, hurt, or the love that I still felt for her.

"Hello, Alan," she said softly, looking directly at me. She appeared to want to hug me, but stopped herself.

"Hi, Julie. Come on in. Would you like some coffee?"

We sat with our cups in the living room, and she looked around at the familiar walls, the furniture and the pictures. I realized how strange it must have felt for her, to have been exiled from her home of more than 20 years.

"Alan, I have so many things I want to say to you. Would it be all right if I just came right out and said them? I guess you must have things to say to me too, or questions to ask, and I will tell you anything you want to know. But could I start?"

I just nodded.

"The first, and most important thing I have to say is: I am so sorry. Sorry for the thoughtless, selfish, stupid thing I did by having sex with Bobby. At the time I didn't have the slightest understanding of how deeply I had hurt you. But I've been seeing a therapist for the last eight weeks, talking about this over and over.

"And now I think I really do understand what I did. I understand that I took the person I love most in the world, aside from the children, and hurt him in about the worst way I possibly could."

She was speaking calmly, quietly, looking right at me, though tears were sliding down her cheeks.

"Darlene, the therapist, made me think about how I would feel if you had done this to me, and I really had to look at it—look right at it—and feel those feelings for myself. I won't presume to say that I know how you feel, but I can tell you that I've spent an awful lot of time thinking about it and imagining it."

I said before that I've always been sensitive to Julie's moods, and pretty much able to tell what she was feeling. But I had never seen her like this before. She was speaking with a seriousness and forthrightness that was brand-new to me.

"I betrayed you so horribly. And I'm never going to try to minimize it, or pretend it was less than it was. I know what I did, and how awful it was. I ... I had sex with another man. I initiated it. I did it with him in our bed."