The Five Strands of A Sedentary Empress

baby

"baby" 

I read 'The Bridges of Madison County' recently, having bought it for a quarter at the local library sale. I knew the basics of the plotline since I'd seen the movie years ago (Meryl Streep has always interested me), so I decided to give the book a go, even though I knew it was likely going to be heavy on schmaltz. The story of a travelling photographer who is working on a series of bridge photos for National Geographic, happening upon a beleaguered, unappreciated Italian/American housewife, subsequently falling in love, maddeningly so, taking four days to explore one another physically and emotionally, before parting ways, more or less permanently. The reason they didn't run off into the sunset together was because the housewife, Francesca, had a family and she could not leave behind the life she'd built with them and for them, even though she knew that Robert, the photographer, was the person who made her life seem worth living. There's a particularly gruelling scene in the film where Francesca is sitting with her husband in their truck at a stop light, right behind Robert, where she is trying to work up the courage to run from her truck and hop into his, to ride off into a new life together, but, she doesn't. That scene nearly killed me. Now, admittedly, this probably comes off as some kind of formula nonsense, an old story romance which would never happen in real life, to many. But, I have to say, that the reason I liked the movie, and also like the book, and the reason I felt like the truck at the stop light scene was so unbelievably gut-wrenching, is because I feel as though I've lived it; I'm a modern-day Francesca.

I've written about how M. and I met, how we discovered, simultaneously, that we were on the verge of falling in love with one another, and how it happened at a very inconvenient time in our lives. That story never changes, and I don't suppose I want it to, because I learned a lot about myself in that time, how I could be completely selfish, how I could be cold and distant with the one person who had cultivated a steady love for me, finding it to be an irritant, rather than something to cherish. I also learned that I have the ability to love with voracity, that there is always an opportunity for change, and that sometimes I have to allow it.

I fell in love, deeply, completely, and every bit of me was in. I had a life, a house, a dog and a cat, and I shared a bed with someone I rarely let move his legs across the unspoken border. I would sometimes watch him as he lay sleeping, searching his face for traces of the boy I'd been enamoured with, desperately looking for some spark of recognition so that I would be able to go back to a time when things were easier. The new love I had was for someone else, and I was feeling the weight of it all the time. I hated myself as much as I loved myself, stared at my face and body in the mirror for hours, marvelling at how different I seemed to appear, almost newborn and coltish: a baby in love.

How was I supposed to ignore the brilliance of the gorgeous disease which was spreading through my body? I would wake with the idea of someone else in my head, I would go to sleep smiling, feeling grateful to still be smothered with the feeling of newness and lush desire. I would very often find myself on the verge of hysteria wanting to be with the man I had come to regard as my 'soulmate', and didn't even flinch at the cloying sentiment associated with the word. I would look at the man I was living with, straight in the eye, and there was no guilt because I felt like I had a right to be feeling the rapture, and I wouldn't let him take it away from me.

Whatever he may have done wrong, or not done at all, didn't matter. It wasn't about blame, anymore, but was instead about me, and the man I intrinsically felt myself moving toward. I don't think that he could have done anything to stop it, though he tried. It moved along slowly, though. Despite the passion and the feelings of possession, I still had something in me which made me feel like I had to stay where I was. It was not expected of me, this sudden split in reality, and I knew that I was regarded as someone who should be grateful for what I had. How often had I heard that? That the man I had was too good for me, that I'd never find another like him? I would hear it, and though I had initially believed, I wasn't so sure about that, anymore.

I made up my mind to go to my love, just to see if what I was feeling from a distance would thrive when we were together. I decided upon four days, thinking it was short enough to ward off suspicion on my end, but long enough to give me a clearer view of the life I might be giving everything up for. I had come up with a story, a highly implausible one of going away with a friend for a 'girl's long weekend', but even though he looked as though he might have known I was lying, he also looked as though he knew he couldn't stop me. I didn't run off gleefully, though. I was terrified, and sad, because even though I wasn't feeling guilty, yet, I was feeling like there was a strong possibility I might not follow through. I might decide to stay in my life after all, but I was still going to take the four days with my love. They belonged to me, I thought. They belonged to us.

And, the four days were the kind which go on your personal record forever. There was laughter, stolen kisses, shared thoughts, warmth, comfort, certainty, skin, rushes of pleasure, pasta with tomatoes, holding hands by the fire, a walk up a snow-covered mountain, hot chocolate at the peak, nuzzling under an itchy blanket, tea in matching cups, hours of photograph stories, films in the dark and seemingly endless moments where eyes locked together and wouldn't let go. I knew. I knew that this was the kind of thing people read about and don't believe in, except I was in it, this strange and wonderful twist in the book of my life, and I couldn't let it go.

I got on the train after those four days to return to the life I was wanting to forget. I didn't want the tearful breakup, the long, difficult conversations in which he would ask me what he did wrong when he wasn't accusing me of being a sneaky, unworthy person, or the tears of sorrow I would most certainly shed when I realized I'd done it, broken the life and trust of the best friend I'd had since I was eighteen, the one person I had always thought I'd know forever. What I wanted was to stay where I was, with the man I had unwittingly discovered to be my future, and to close eyes to make all the histrionics go away. I took my seat, on the aisle, and I felt a warm gush of tears in my eyes, wondering how I was going to hide my sobbing from all the weary looking strangers who were struggling to adjust their coats and carry-on bags. I could not believe how I was feeling, like I was being punished somehow, having to leave the man who made me feel so brand new while at the same making me feel more like the version of myself I'd known when I was younger and happier.

Just as the train started to pull out, the woman next to me tapped my shoulder.

'I think that this is for you," she smiled.

I looked out the window, and there was M., following alongside the train in his car, waving and smiling, until the train gained momentum and left him behind. That was when the tears let loose, rolling down my face, taking my mascara with them. The woman next to me offered me a tissue (why is it that kind strangers always have tissues handy?), and asked if I was okay. I'm not sure what compelled me to do it, but I let it all out, felt as though someone else other than me had to know that this situation was real, that it was actuallly happening. I had to hear it out loud.

'I just feel like that man in the car is my future, and leaving him today is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I've never loved anyone so completely like this before, ashamed as I am to admit it.' I was blubbering now, but in a soft, controlled kind of way. 'I don't want to be apart from him for one minute, much less months, maybe years.'

'Why would you need to be apart from him for that long?', she asked, surprisingly interested.

'Because the man I live with might try to convince me to stay," I sobbed. 'I owe it to him to listen to him. He's been good to me, and I do love him. I am just really, really confused.'

'Look,' she said, kindly, patting my hand, 'you know what you have to do. That man is clearly in love with you. I've never seen anyone chase a train before, not outside of a movie or something like that, and the way you're feeling right now...well, it's obvious that what you two have is special.'

I smiled. I needed to hear someone root for the relationship that would most certainly have less support.

'I just can't believe this is happening to me. I never thought I'd be the kind of person who would do this to someone, lie to them, betray them. I am having a hard time understanding how I could do it. It's so...cold.'

'I think you're just human,' she shrugged simply. 'You know, love is a weird, weird thing. Incredibly difficult to identify. People tend to think they're in love when all they're really feeling is safe, maybe grateful. If this feels different to you, enough so that you'd be willing to give up your life in order to pursue it, then maybe it's the real deal.'

I cried some more. Softly, mercifully. It felt good.

'I'm such a baby,' I laughed while my face dripped onto my lap. 'It's not like this is a huge problem when you look at what's going on in the rest of the world.'

'It's a big deal for you,' she smiled. 'Don't worry so much about what other people think. It's your life. You seem like a decent person, and if what you feel for that man is enough to make you want to give up the things you know, then it's probably the right thing to do.' She opened her purse and fished out another clean tissue, offering it to me. 'It'll be fine.'

I think that was when I really looked at her, this stranger with the tissues and the reassuring smile. Forty-ish, blonde, glasses, with a pretty, approachable face. I looked at her hand and noticed she was wearing a wedding ring.

'You're married,' I said, matter-of-factly.

'Yes,' she smiled weakly. 'He's a good man.'

I don't know what her tone implied, couldn't discern if her comment of her husband was a fact or a justification. I didn't see any trace of real sadness though, just acceptance, maybe.

The rest of train ride consisted of her talking about her job, her small son, and the books we both liked. My stop came before hers did, and we parted ways without ever knowing one another's name. I left her in the window seat with my sad and wonderful story, and she waved at me as the train pulled from the station, a comforting smile on her face.

I returned to the house I'd known for five and a half years and felt like a stranger. I walked in, saw him sitting on the couch looking angry, expectant, and I retreated to my room, wordlessly. I weighed the facts: there were no children, no promise of marriage, no real clear vision of the future ahead, only thirteen years and a man who felt as though I was the one who had failed.

A week later, it was done.

I think when it comes down to it, a decision like that, if made by someone with character and integrity, will always take time. For me, it took eleven months, in total. I couldn't have left straight away, even though M. wanted me to. Things on his end were less complicated. His wife had left, moved to Milan, and he had an empty house and zero responsibilities. I took my time because my partner hadn't left, had made an attempt to revive the dead in me, our families were meshed like one, and I had that old world belief in honour. It couldn't stand up against authentic love, though. I was surprised as anyone to discover that that kind of love actually exists, the sort of excrutiating, gnawing love that grabs on works its way to the bone. Not just for books it seems. These things do happen.

I was reborn, in a way. I shed the heavy weight of disappointment and complacency I'd gained in my early adult years and emerged as bright as butterfly. Oh, there are still a lot of issues inside which are woven into the framework, but they're all mine, no one else's. What I got was a new life, a partner who I adore, even on the days when I don't, and something as simple as smelling his skin or hair makes me weepy with delight, because I know this is where I'm supposed to be.

I hopped in the truck at the stop light and have not regretted it for a single minute.