Stages of Grace (6 page)

I feel so overwhelmed by my loneliness
that I cry most of my drive home. Crossing the river is particularly hard today. I miss my parents and want more than anything else to talk to my mother. Not that I want to say anything. I just want to feel her embrace and hear her voice again. I dry my eyes once I park, hopeful Jon won’t notice how red they are.
I’m barely in the door when Jon says, "Were you going to tell me?"

I look to where he
is sitting, confused, not sure what he’s talking about.

"You didn’t think I would figure
it out when they contacted me?"

Someone contacted him. Could it be about one of the resumes I se
nt? "Did you get an interview?"

"So it was you. No, I did not get an interview. What I got was the opportunity to make a complete ass out of myself when they called because I had no idea who they were and why
the fuck they were calling me."

"Oh no."
This was not good. I close my eyes and set my things down as he continues.

"You didn’t think it might help to tell me someone might be calling me? Or did you just want me to sound like a complete
idiot on the phone with them?"

"I was only trying to help."

"Sure you were. Can you do me a favor and let me fucking handle it?"

"I just thought—"

"No, you didn’t fucking think."

Tears cloud my eyes as I rush to our room and shut the door. Jon is close behind me, though, and pushes the door open. "Don’t you ever walk away fro
m me when I am talking to you."

I cover my ears with my hands and look down as I try to block him out. Jon stands over me almost panting with anger. After a few moments, I peer up at where Jon had been standing to find I am now alone. As my heart slowly stops pounding, I pull my legs into my chest and hug them, jerking up at the sound of the front door slamming. Jon has left, and I am grateful for it. My only fear is about my car not being back in time for me to get to work the next day. It’s the first time Jon has left that I can admit I’m not sure if I even want him to come back. I wonder if maybe Jon had been pushing me away on purpo
se. Maybe he didn’t love me anymore but doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

I venture out into the kitchen to make a plate of cheese and crackers before retreating to our bedroom. Jon had scared me and somehow I feel safer in the bedroom. I think about locking the door but don’t want to upset Jon more than I already have. I feel stupid for even hoping that I could have found Jon a job. I had known deep down that it was something he needed to do on his own. I just could not understand why my trying to help him had made him so angry with me. Was it just that the call had caugh
t him off guard or was it more?

I stiffen when I hear the front door open a couple of hours later. Quickly turning off the light, I pretend to be asleep. I hear Jon walk into our room, and then a few moments later, walk back out. I wonder if I should go to him and try and talk about what had happened that day but don’t know what type of mood he’s in so think it safer to talk another time. The next morning, after getting ready for work, I write Jon a note. I tell him that I’m sorry about not telling him I sent his
resumé places. I had honestly thought if he got a call back he would have been happy. I end the note with I love you.

As I sit in the car while it warms up, I see that I need gas.
Again. I stop at a station and have a mild shock when I pull out my wallet and find it empty. I had sixty dollars, and it’s gone. Jon took money from me. I sit immobilized as I process this. I lean my head back against the car seat and stare up at the ceiling.

Anger

a
strong feeling of displeasure and usually of antagonism

-Merriam Webster

Calm down, calm down. I feel the pulse of my blood pounding all over me. I try to catch my breath. How do people calm down? Count to ten? I count, and that doesn’t work. Maybe if I count backwards.
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one…I slowly catch my breath. I'm done with being nice. Now I’m angry. I grab my purse and head into the gas station to use the ATM. I don't plan to take any money out, but I want to check my balance before I try to use my card to pay for gas. I’m relieved when the balance is what I expect. I walk back out to the pump and start fueling up. It’s cold out so I wait in my car. To anyone else fueling at that station that morning, I appear to be having a very heated discussion alone. I scream at myself for being so stupid and letting Jon walk all over me these past months. When had I become such a wuss? My parents had raised me to have a backbone and here I was completely failing at it.

I decide to fill up my tank because there is no way I am going to let Jon take it again. As I sit in my car, I wonder how easy it would be to change the PIN number on my card. If Jon had taken money out of my wallet, what would stop him from trying to use my card at an ATM? Once my tank is full, I continue on to work. As I drive, I think about sending Jon a text to let him know I know what he did and to finally confront him about the dent. I’m angry
I let that go. I finally realize I’m angry about a lot of things. This is just the final straw.

One thing I learn about anger is how energizing it feels. Adrenaline is pumping me up, and it bleeds into my driving. A car rudely, with no signal indication, cuts me off before a red light. I take deep breaths and talk myself out of
ramming the asshole driving the Ford. Instead, I coldly glare at the driver in front of me. I turn right as the other driver continues straight, and after I park, I laugh out loud when I see the same driver pull into my parking lot from a different entrance.

"Serves you right," I mumble. "You drove like an asshole, and I still beat you. Ha!"

That small victory is enough to cheer me up and make me laugh, calming me a bit. I’m setting up the sign-in sheet when Nikita walks in.

"Good morning," I greet her happily.

Nikita looks at me for a beat. "You seem to be chipper this morning. What's going on?"

"I have been in a bit of a funk, haven’t I?"

"A bit…" Nikita deadpans, which makes me laugh.

"Yes, well, I'm done with that."

"I'm happy to hear that."

Nikita asks me a couple of times what has changed or what has been bothering me. I avoid the questions, not wanting to get that personal at work and tell Nikita that with the holidays and being sick I have just been missing my parents more. This isn’
t completely untrue. It just doesn’t include the fact that I had decided I'm not going to let Jon walk all over me anymore. If Jon can’t accept some responsibility and start pulling his own weight, I'm done.

I’m still young, and while I currently do everything in my power to downplay my looks, I know I'm pretty. If Jon can’t handle being civil to me, I’m sure som
eone else will. Not that I want that, because even though I’m furious with Jon, I still love him and am hopeful that we can get past this. If we can’t get past it, I know that I won’t be happy walking on eggshells the rest of my life. I would rather die alone than accept the way Jon makes me feel any longer. Things are going to change. How much, depends on Jon.

Jon had never really seen me angry. With the exception of the last year, he had never given me a reason to be really angry. I spend most of the day wondering why I had not stood up to him from the start. That first morning he had yelled at me for waking him up, I should have gotten right in his f
ace and screamed back. I think of the story of Ferdinand The Bull. I am a Taurus, born the end of April. I had always related to Ferdinand because it did take a lot to make me angry. Jon will get his first taste tonight.

I watch the clock more than norma
l, I used to lament going home but, now I cannot wait. In my mind I think of everything I have not said over the past year. When it’s time to go, I practically fly to my car. Crossing the river, I ask my parents to give me strength. I focus all of my attention on just how angry I am, not wanting to lose any momentum. After parking I race up the stairs. They’re slick as usual so after almost tumbling down them. I take a moment to relax and continue up them with more care.

After turning the lock, I fling open the door, making Jon jump as he sits in his armchair.

"What the hell?" he sputters.

"Yes! What the hell!"

Jon looks at me like I have grown two heads and doesn’t say anything.

I slam
the door shut and drop my things next to it. I'm pleased that he's still sitting, and I'm standing. It makes me feel bigger than him. I also feel like I need to move around.

"What happened to the sixty dollars that was in my wallet, Jon?"

"That's what all of this is about?"

"Oh, I haven’t even started. Do you admit it? Did you take money out of my wallet?"

Jon doesn’t say anything, but his whole body is tense, and his fingers are flexing open and shut on the arms of the chair.

"Since you have nothing to say
, I can only assume that, yes, you did take it."

Jon stands up now. "So you're throwing it in my face that you have money, and I don’t?

Is that what this is?"

I was not having it. "Don’t even go there. This is about you taking money without asking.

That's a big difference, because face it, we have bills to pay that I have to budget for."

"So I'm like a child getting an allowance. You want to control me."

"You have got to be freaking kidding me. I'm asking for two adults to have a conversation."

"Whatever." Jon makes to go pick up the car keys, but I grab them first and hold them behind my back. "Not going to happen. Let me be crystal clear about this. From this moment on, the
only time you will be driving
my
car is when I say so."

"Is that so?"

"I'm done."

"You're done? What the fuck does that mean?"

"I can't do this anymore."

"Can't do what?
Us? That's real fucking nice after everything we've been through."

"You don’t even act like you like me. Do you even want to be here?"

"Can you even understand the amount of stress I'm under?"

"The stress you're under? The stress
you're under
? What do you
do
all day? When was the last time you applied anywhere? I got my head bit off because I sent your resume someplace."

"I was only mad because you didn’t tell me about it."

"And how much sense does that make? To get mad at someone for trying to help you?"

"I don’t have to listen to this." Jon grabs his coat and keys then walks out the door.

I stand there panting, my chest rising and falling as I breathe out my nose. Finally, speaking up for myself feels so liberating. So why do I feel like crying? The whole exchange had just been so overwhelmingly emotional. For a moment I pity him, out there in the cold. That feeling lasts only long enough for me to remind myself that I have to sit out there in the cold every morning while my car warms up. There is no way I will ever do that again. In fact, I have every intention of being as loud as humanly possible the next morning.

What if he doesn’t come back? I sit at our small table and wonder how I'll feel if that happens. As angry as I am, I do still love him
. It’s clear that I have been denying that there was anything wrong with his behavior for a long time. What scares me about the whole situation is it’s out of my hands to a certain extent. It's Jon who needs to change, not me. Not that I'm innocent. I had knowingly enabled Jon. I thought it would help, but it's clear that it hasn't.

On the off chance Jon will try and take my wallet or keys, I hide them in a kitchen cabinet where I store my mother's old
Kitchenaid mixer. My stomach is too messed up to eat anything. I go back and forth between relief in blowing up to being nervous that I may have gone too far. The adrenaline wears off, and I go to sleep. At some point overnight, I hear Jon come home and climb into bed. When my alarm clock goes off the next morning, I get ready for work. I’m not being loud on purpose, but I’m also not trying to be very quiet either. Part of me stays coiled like a cobra, waiting to strike, willing Jon to say something. He doesn’t.

It almost feels like a missed opportunity to release more of my pent up aggression on him. There is so much that remains unsaid. Most importantly, him saying he's sorry. Retrieving my keys and wallet from the cabinet, I hurry down the stairs to warm up my car. I loudly come back into the apartment. Jon is either still asleep or pretending to be. If he keeps taking off, we will never fix what’s wrong, and our conversation from last night is not over.

I’m irritable on my drive in. It's like every person on the road is driving like an idiot. I'm tired of it, tired of everything. I am tired of the cars that pull out even though they see me coming. How do they know I will slow down? What if I don't slow down? I hate the cars that drive five miles under the speed limit until you try to pass them. I hate the cars that don’t use their turn signals. What am I? Psychic?