Finding Veronica, Ch. 1

What is the reason for living? Why do we do what we do and go through what we go through each day? Why do we punish ourselves? Is there some reason that answers all of these questions, and others? I'd like to believe it's for companionship. Finding the right someone who completes you. We live to find a reason to keep on living. With whatever we find to define a companion. With whatever makes us complete. Where do I begin? Where could I possibly even start? Should I start at the beginning?



Sure. Let's do that.



I'm married and I'm miserable. But who isn't when you're married, right? So I’ve heard. A year and half ago I got out of this job for my wife. Not just for her, but for myself as well. I left a job that gave us everything. Money, healthcare, insurance, a house, security. But what it didn't give us was a life together. There were moments, sure. But only just. The job was government and I was always doing it. Weeks at a time, always away. Few and far between were special nights and a vacation here and there. But it wasn't enough for me. Or for us.



Today, at around 7 pm, I decided I was going to leave my wife. The face-to-face pitch, once she came home from work later, was going to sound something like this:



"Listen, I'm leaving. This isn’t working for me. Not since our last big fight. We're just too different anymore. Too far apart from each other." To which she'd not let me get a word in before starting to cry uncontrollably, hands clasped to her face in disbelief, pleading with me, 'No, no, please, no, don’t, please. Please don’t do this. What do you mean? I don’t understand what you're saying. Do you even know what you're saying?' My heart tears and stomach knots as I rip hers out. I am an awful man. I do know what I’m saying.



In response to which I would continue, "I know. I know it’s not fair. But it’s not fair we continue to go like this, opposites of each other, when for months now we just haven’t been good with each other, always fighting. Always crying. Always apologizing. And I need you to know," I would say, trying to get across to her, "that I just can’t change. And I’ve been asking you to change for far too long. We can’t continue this way. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m going."



And I would leave, hoping she wouldn't follow, but knowing she would. Crying behind me to 'stop, please, please don’t go.'



But I would go. Into my pre-packed, small SUV, full of all I believed I needed to have with me from our little one bedroom, three room apartment. Into the last thing I believe I have that is truly mine, my car. And she would still follow. Pleading, trying to open the door. Begging me to stay as I drove off. Dialing her best girlfriend from my cell. I would tell her best friend everything. The whole truth. And having work early the next morning, she would be pissed and hate me instantly, but would also understand. But instead of herself, she would send her boyfriend to comfort my now separated wife. He would do well. He's a real piece of shit, but he comforts well. And that would be it.



That would be it.



There would beyond that only be a mindless sense of.... of nothing. I would continue to drive for a while. For several hours, in fact. I'd drive to everywhere I love in the city. Everywhere that helps me feel good about the life I live. Mick and the boys would be singing to me, about the Good Lord and how he shines his light. There'd be shining lights everywhere, as I would drive to Center City and drive the streets for a while. Past City Hall. Past Independence Mall and the Liberty Bell. Past the Schuylkill and the universities of University City. Past the people and past the businesses and past the air and past myself, place after place, until finally stopping at the Art Museum stairs, looking out at the city. Just looking. Staying for a while. Forgetting the world. Forgetting the past couple hours. Forgetting the next few days. Forgetting nine years of my life.



And then, remembering it. As it was. Great at times. Better at others. Savannah. The great life we had there while I was working with the government. College. The years of absolutely adoring each other. The movies, the music, the love, the passion. The growing of a relationship that was legendary among our friends.



Ultimately, what grows, dies. So would have been the way of our relationship. Had I said that tonight. Had I been brave enough. Had I been strong enough. Had I been tough enough. Confident enough. Sure enough. Had I been ready.



I wasn’t ready. I’m not ready.



After some time at the Art Museum stairs, I would have called my mom and given her the full story. The whole truth. Nothing short of it. As it is now, she knows everything anyway. I tell my parents everything. They're not perfect by a long shot, but they're good people and deserve nothing less from me than the truth.



Mom would have been sad and apologetic and wishing I was home with her so she could hug me and make me feel better. I'd tell her I love her and thanks for always being there through the years. She would insist she could have done better. But the way I see it, you only get one mom, and if she's a good one, you tell her she did a good job. You make her feel good.



Then, assuring her I was good, and good enough to drive, I would call a buddy and ask to stay with him, to which he'd easily approve. I’d tell him I’ll explain it all when I get there. He'd tell me to take my time and make sure my mind was straight. He's good people, too.



For common understanding purposes, I would have to call a few more friends. Buddies, really, from college. The kind of guys you can always call. It'd be late and they'd be pissy, but they'd be glad I called. Wouldn't have had it any other way, offering a place to stay if needed.



Friends like that are irreplaceable. But I would have to call my uncle, too. Good man, he is. A mentor for me. But he wouldn't approve. His faith teaches otherwise, he would say, and I should have worked harder for my marriage. I should have done more.



What more could I have done? What more can I do?



Meanwhile, my mind would wander to her. What was she doing? What was she up to? Was her best friend's boyfriend with her? Was anyone with her? Was she all alone? God, please, don’t let her be alone.



My phone, I forgot, would have dozens of missed calls from her. And maybe from her friends. I would have to check my voice mail. I'd have to. To make sure she was okay. Safe.



And I'd continue to drive. Drive and drive and drive. Wondering what tomorrow would bring. Wondering if I'd done the right thing. Asking, was this the right thing?



All of that would be so, if I did the right thing. But tonight isn't the right night. I just can’t. Not yet.



Tonight was not the night. But what night will be?