You Wandered Down the Lane

You Wandered Down the Lane

If there's a theme here, it's this: There's no longer an expectation of privacy because technology, and there's no longer an expectation of fidelity because boredom.

Honesty compels me to caution potential readers:

—There's an instance of literary theft. Mea culpa.

—Where there's too much detail, I was trying to forestall complaints about insufficient research.

—Because vague rules, I punctuate to emulate how something would sound read aloud.

— Because impatience, I rushed the ending.

--§§§--

"WE NEED TO talk." And so it began.

My wife Shelly and I were sitting at the kitchen table with our cups of Saturday morning coffee. Up to then it had been one of my favorite times of the week. She started by telling me some things I already knew.

"We've been married for 22 years, Luke. Lisa's a junior at Swarthmore, Tanner's a freshman at Brown, you just got promoted to senior engineering manager. I'm just a receptionist answering the phone and getting coffee for the guys with the interesting jobs." I didn't have a good feeling about where she was headed.

"It's gotten to the point that every day is just a replay of yesterday. What's wrong with this picture?" Some of the reasons for the picture she didn't like were due to decisions she'd made herself, but now wasn't the time to point that out. She seemed to be working from a memorized outline. Hell, I could almost see the PowerPoint slides.

We'd been empty-nesters for less than a year. I'd been looking forward to the changes for a long time, thought they were great, but she didn't seem to feel the same way. Maybe I could suggest some changes that would help.

"Umm, maybe we—"

Her script didn't seem to include a speaking role for me, at least not yet. "Just for once, Luke, let me finish. You always interrupt me when I'm trying to explain how I feel."

Damn! She said "always."

This was getting serious. I'd been a bit nervous, but now I was getting worried. Little did I know I should have been scared silly.

"I've started trying to fix that picture. I've let them know I'm not satisfied with my responsibilities. I'm looking for night classes that will add some skills to my resumé, and I've already applied for a better paying job." She looked away, took a deep breath, then looked back at me.

She'd done all these things without telling me? Was this the only reason for our "talk" that sure as hell wasn't a conversation? She leaned forward, started talking faster and louder, shifted from introduction to sales pitch. I had a feeling I wasn't going to like what she was selling.

"That's not all. Things have to change, Luke, things you'll have to accept. I'm 40 years old and my life's been about as exciting as a bucket of warm spit. I got tired of waiting for someone else to bring me some excitement, so I decided it was up to me. I've done it, and it works, and it's time you understood that."

She scooted her chair back with a satisfied smile as if she had spelled everything out and our "talk" was over. I wasn't sure what she thought she had said, but whatever it was it didn't sound good. "What do you mean, Shelly? What have you done? What do I have to accept?"

She looked surprised, as if she hadn't realized that she left out the most important part. "Why, my...my new life, of course. None of my friends were just mine, they were all

our

friends. I decided it was time to make some friends of my own, who appreciated me for what

I

was, not who

we

were."

I had that ugly feeling you get in your stomach when you realize that you've lost your balance and you won't be able to stop falling. "Please tell me what you really mean, Shelly. You're making me really nervous."

She swallowed, then again, with that look you see on your child's face when you catch them in a lie. "I've...I've been seeing someone." The words fell on the table like so much raw liver.

"You've been seeing someone." I couldn't believe this was happening.

"Yes."

"What does that mean...No, let's cut to the chase. Are you

seeing

—" I made air quotes. "another man? How long have you been

seeing

him? Are you

seeing

him a lot? What do you do when you're

seeing

him, Shelly?" I'd been trying to keep my cool, but was fast losing it.

"Do you talk a lot with him? About how your husband doesn't understand you? Do you hold hands? Kiss? Make out?" Then I lost it completely. I dropped my voice to make sure she knew how serious this was. "Tell me, dear, are you having sex with him?" Shocked, she opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, then recovered.

Her face shifted and she narrowed her eyes. "No, Luke, I'm not

fucking

him. Yet. But he's been

seeing

and

touching

every part of this 40-year-old body—" She smoothed both hands down her sides with a satisfied smile, "and seems to think it's pretty hot. We probably will fuck pretty soon. It's exciting just to think about, it's exactly what this 40-year-old woman needs to show her that she isn't just another used-up wife and mother."

I collapsed back into the kitchen chair and gawped. Was this the same girl I fell in love with, married right out of high school? The same girl who gave birth to our two children while I was in college, struggled with me through our lean years, who pledged her love for me time after time?

Shock and disbelief gave way to anger, a righteous, all-consuming rage. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists, started breathing heavily as if I were running up an endless flight of stairs. My reaction didn't frighten Shelly, in fact she made light of it.

"Oh come on, Luke, don't be such a little boy. I don't plan to fall in love with him. He's not a threat to you, at least not that way. But you're going to have to learn to deal with me fulfilling my sex life, so you'd better start now."

She had no idea how bad I wanted to lash out. She was the only person at hand, though. It just wasn't in me to hit a woman, let alone the one I had loved for more than half my life. I unclenched my fists and concentrated on slowing my breathing for what seemed like an hour, but was probably just a minute or two.

"Luke?" Her voice lacked the confident tone it held a few minutes earlier, but she wasn't about to back down. "Getting mad won't solve anything. Surely you'll adjust to our new...arrangement."

The idea of living without Shelly was frightening, but the idea of living with her while she spread her legs for someone else was unthinkable, unacceptable. Everything I thought of saying would probably cripple our marriage, if not drive a stake through its heart. I needed time to figure things out, time to decide whether to drive that stake. Fight and flight squared off in my mind. Flight won.

I took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. "I don't think you understand that what you've done is terribly wrong, Shelly, or how much you've hurt me. I can't believe it. I need some time alone to try to absorb it. I'll pack a few things and get a motel room." I stood to go get my suitcase.

"Don't be so dramatic, Luke. No one else will know about this, it shouldn't have any effect on us. Who knows? If it helps my self-confidence, things would most likely get better for us. Now calm down, get a beer, and go watch some football or something. I've got some shopping to do."

She stood up, looked at me across the table for a moment, then grabbed her purse and headed for the kitchen door. "I'll only be gone a couple of hours. Why don't you barbecue something?" And just like that she went out to her car and drove off to do some shopping. Or something.

I got my suitcase, packed a few changes of clothes and my toiletries, then went out the kitchen door. I started to open the door of my pickup, then put down the suitcase. I went back into the master bath, took off my wedding ring and taped it on the front of the toilet seat with a band-aid. I was pretty sure she couldn't miss it.

Back outside, I tossed my suitcase in the pickup and drove off. I found a motel I could afford that didn't look like I'd have to fight off bedbugs and roaches, and flopped on the bed. I kept replaying the video of Shelly's "talk" and finally dozed off.

When my phone rang an hour or so later, I woke up confused, but everything came back when I saw it was Shelly. Talking to her—well, listening to her—was the last thing in the world I wanted to do, so I let it go to voice mail. It rang again right away, so I turned it off and rolled over.

Your body usually wants to recover after an adrenalin rush fades. I went right back to sleep.

--§--

I WASN'T CONFUSED, just depressed when I woke up again shortly after 5:00, and hungry as hell. Shelly had left six messages on my phone, each some variation on "Where are you? Why did you leave? When are you coming home? You're blowing this all out of proportion." I listened to them all, then deleted them.

I hit the bathroom and had an early dinner at La Cocina, the Mexican restaurant next door. The enchilada/tamale combo and a Dos Equis filled my belly and lifted my spirits a bit. Just as I got back to the room, my phone rang. This time it was Lisa.

"Hi, Pops. Mom asked me to call you."

Uh oh

.

What did Shelly tell her?

She was talking like a worried little girl who'd heard her folks arguing. "We've always been able to talk, so I'm sure you'll let me explain what's hap—"

What the hell?

"Wait... what? You want to explain to me why your mother thinks she can have an affair just because she wants to and to hell with what I think? Seems to me that's what's happening."

She took a deep breath before responding. Now she sounded like more like a teenager trying to educate an ignorant parental unit. "No, no, see, that's the problem. You're looking at this from your own point of view without considering how the rest of the world views—"

"I don't give a good goddam how the rest of the world views it! All I know is your mother told me that she wants to have sex with—no, that she

will

have sex with some guy she works with because he makes her feel so young and desirable despite her promise before God and everybody else over 25 years ago that she was going to forsake all others until death do us part." I had to gasp for breath after getting all that out.

I could hear Lisa set her jaw. "Now calm down, Pop, and quit interrupting me. Jeezus, you'll never fix those medieval notions of yours if you don't let me finish—"

"Medieval? It's medieval to think that someone who's married shouldn't... have sex with someone else?"

She tried to mollify me—or thought she was. "Okay, okay, maybe not medieval, but really, majorly old-fashioned. You're like that dude who fell asleep in the woods for 25 years—" She sucked in her breath angrily when I interrupted yet again.

"Rip van Winkle, and it was only 20 years—"

"God! Way to go, Dad, for missing the point. Again. She didn't say she was going to have sex with some random guy, she just said she was seeing one of her co-workers. You're so out of touch with—"

"You're damn right I'm old-fashioned, but out of touch? What am I out of touch with? Just because I believe in old-fashioned notions like love and respect, not to mention honesty and fidelity, doesn't mean—"

"That's the problem! You lump love and respect like they have something to do with each other. You think honesty and fidelity are absolutes. That's just bullshit! They don't! They aren't! It all depends. Times change. People change. Why won't you?"

Her anger got the best of her and she started crying. "You'd make everyone's life better if you'd just embrace the changes instead of fighting them. But no, you're my fucking father and you've always got to be right."

In the blink of an eye I'd gone from

Pops

to

Pop

to

Dad

to

My Fucking Father

. Lisa'd lost her temper with me before, but she'd never dropped an f-bomb. What happened to my little girl who cried when her dolly's head fell off, then hugged me and told me she'd love me forever when I glued it back on? Where did she go?

Everything I wanted to say was cruel, so for the first time in my life I hung up on her. It rang almost immediately, so once again I turned it off and let the call go to voice mail.

Despite the unpleasant conversation with Lisa, I decided I might as well get it all over with and call Tanner, even though his call would probably be even more unpleasant. Lisa and I used to get along fairly well, but the relationship between Tanner and me had been... problematic, at best. Something—the young bull-old bull syndrome?—had pushed us apart years ago.

By the time he was 12, he'd decided that I was beyond the pale, that I didn't understand or respect him, wasn't even interested in him, and certainly didn't love him. By the time he was 16, we'd had dozens of loud and bitter arguments. If Lisa was anywhere in the house, she'd start crying, run to wherever we were, and beg me to stop being mean to Tanner.

Shelly had to break up our worst arguments, because Tanner and I were such stubborn hotheads. We never came to blows, but each of us blustered a threat or two. During his last two years of high school we were usually civil, but neither of us tried to be loving or friendly. He didn't hide his relief when we drove him to Providence to enroll in Brown.

Both kids were excellent students, with an impressive array of extracurricular accomplishments. They each earned enough scholarships and grants to make college affordable. I wasn't thrilled with either of their school choices, though, and not just because both were absurdly expensive.

I had this old-fashioned notion—probably medieval—that the main purpose of higher education was to give students the opportunity to learn enough about the arts and sciences so they could venture into the world prepared to be responsible, contributing adults. Or something like that.

Both schools were highly regarded—at least in academic circles—and boasted a few world-class faculty scholars, but launching responsible, contributing adults didn't seem to be high on their agenda. Shelly, of course, fully supported both kids. She thought both schools were just great and dismissed all my objections.

The kids weren't impressed with my opinions either, but that didn't keep them from cashing my checks.

--§--

MY PHONE RANG immediately when I turned it on to call Tanner. I blocked Lisa's number, but it turned out to be Shelly calling, so I blocked hers, too. Then, even though I wasn't in the right frame of mind for a difficult conversation with him, I called. As I feared, it started badly and went downhill.

He didn't even say hello. "Why're you calling me, Dad? Isn't Mom the one you should be apologizing to?"

She called him, too!

Shelly probably didn't ask Tanner to call me because she figured—correctly, as it happened—that it would just mean a fight. But he was my son and I still loved him, I just wasn't sure whether he still loved me. He sure as hell didn't like me. Come to think of it, he probably figured that I didn't like him, either. I hoped we'd both outgrow it.

"What do I owe your mother an apology for, Tanner? Did she say?"

"For being such a judgmental old pri...parent."

Nice catch there, son.

"She told me how you got all piss...bent out of shape just because she told you that she made some new friends at her job. What gives you the right to pick her friends?"

"Uh, that's not exactly what she said. Would you like to hear the facts and what piss...made me angry?"

Yeah, that was childish. Shouldn't have.

"Facts are meaningless. They can be used to prove anything."

"Oh come on, Tanner, Homer Simpson's your expert witness?" He sounded so shocked I knew the quote that I had to cover my laugh with a phony cough. "I shouldn't have made fun of your almost saying 'pissed off,' but can't we talk about this civilly, without losing our temper?"

"Mom said you lost your temper with her, and I can't remember how many times you lost your temper with me. Have you considered the possibility that you might need some anger management?"

He was getting too smartass, but I fought to keep my voice down. "Tanner, your mother didn't tell me she'd made some new friends at work, she told me that she was dating another man and I had to live with it."

He corrected me. "She didn't say she was dating, she just said she was seeing some guy she works with. So what if they act friendly? Don't you have any female friends? Why do you think you can judge—"

Dammit!

She'd lied to him, just like she tried to lie to me, and he'd bought it. I couldn't let her get away with it. "They aren't just acting friendly, Tanner. She told me that they've been making out, he's been feeling her up inside her clothes, and they're going to have sex whether I like it or not."

You dumb shit, Luke!

As soon as I said it I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I was supposed to be the adult here, the father. My responsibility was to protect my children, not try to hurt them. Unfortunately, my second thoughts came too late.

"Well fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Dad! What a fucked-up thing to say! You act like an asshole, then try to cover it up by claiming Mom is a...a slut! You're like one of those shitty fundamentalist preachers who tells everybody they're going to hell because they won't follow his stupid fucking rules!"

He was crying now, raging out of control, and it was all my fault. "You just don't get it, do you? You act like it's the fucking 19th Century! I don't know you! You're not my father, not anymore! I don't have a father!"

Closing the circle, he hung up on me. When I tried to call back, he blocked me.

--§--

IT WAS A LONG night with little sleep. The next morning over breakfast at Denny's, I realized that I needed to see if I could learn what my family was trying to tell me about the modern world. If that meant I had to go away for a while, so be it. In fact, I definitely would go away for a while. If Shelly didn't like it, tough shit. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

It was time I channeled my inner asshole. After reflecting a bit, I decided I shouldn't tell anyone that.

Now all I had to figure out was how to do it. Where did a 40-year-old guy with a dad bod and only a few close friends go to learn about today's world? I hadn't made many friends at work, engineers are better at quantizing than socializing. I didn't go to a gym or church, belong to any clubs, my only sibling lived in a women's commune in Big Sur, my father was dead and my mother was in a home for the memory-challenged.

First thing to do was to make lists of what I needed to learn and who could teach me. The first list seemed endless, but each item seemed to be a different way of saying that I needed to find out if I really was out of step with modern moral standards, especially as held by younger people like my kids. I had no idea what their values were, what guided their choices, what they really believed.

The second list was discouragingly short, but had a few interesting possibilities. An old friend was a high school guidance counselor in Easton, Pennsylvania, and a cousin I hadn't seen for nearly 10 years was the youth minister at a Catholic church in Fort Wayne. Conventional wisdom said bartenders were wise students of the human condition, and there were bars everywhere. Finally, my old girlfriend still lived in York, Pennsylvania, where I was born and raised.

It was obvious I needed time and money, more than a little of each. I gave my boss the Twitter version of my problems, but he'd been around that block and filled in most of the blanks. I ended up with a week of vacation and a week of sick leave, starting next Monday. That meant I could leave on Saturday, three days away.