Writer's Cache - Lesson 7

The trees have all lost their leaves. Their bare branches look lost and lonely amidst the dreary gray sky backdrop. I realize there’s a strange symmetry there, between the beginning of the deadness of winter and my current situation. I turn away from the window to face my wife, Vanessa. She stands in the middle of our living room, arms at her sides, a suitcase at her feet. I can’t think of a thing to say.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it’s come to this.” Her eyes look down at her hands. She twists the scarf repeatedly as though it were a Rubik cube puzzle needing an answer.

“Can you at least tell me why?” I ask, angry at the weak, whiny tone in my voice. I clear my throat and look away only to find myself staring at the shelf of knickknacks she had lovingly collected over the years of our marriage.

“I don’t know why. It’s just something I have to do. Face it Ted, we haven’t been happy for years. It’s time we address that.”

I shake my head, refusing to accept it even though my heart protests that her words are true. “I was happy.”

“Maybe you were. But I wasn’t. And now I can do something about it.”

“What about the kids?”

“They’re grown, Ted. They probably realize more about this than we did.”

My shoulders begin to shake. I can’t stop the tears any longer and I turn to face the window again. The first light snowflakes drift to the ground in a slow dance with the wind. I hear the door open and softly close behind me as I watch the snow drift down, falling along with my tears.