Utter Emptiness, Complete Chaos

I didn't know what day it was...because every day seemed so endlessly dull. My mind was a swirling pool of confusion and sorrow. As i lay under my duvet, nothing mattered to me - nothing except my 2 year old daughter, Rosie.

There was a knock on the door. I didn't even bother to answer anymore.

“Roy, I made you something to eat.” my mother put the tray on the dresser, "Toast with peanut butter and syrup."

“Thanks.” I mumbled from under the covers.

“Are you planning to spend time with Rosie today?” she asked as she ripped the curtains open to let the blinding daylight in.

I sighed. I guess I wanted to, but my mind and my body couldn’t.

She groaned and left the room; closing the door behind her.

I peeked out from under the blanket into the brightness of the afternoon sun.

It was her fiery red hair glimmering in the morning light that caught my eye. She was reading a book while sipping her coffee. I was about to leave with my skinny latte and bran muffin to-go, but something about the sight of her left me lingering.

Then, completely out of my comfort zone, I walked over to her. I had no control over my actions, my heart just took over, “Excuse me.” I said boldly.

 She looked up, her eyes focused on a place far away as I drew her attention to reality.

“Are you actually reading that?” I asked, heart pounding.

“Uh yes...i am.” she smiled amused, "Why do you ask?"
I frowned, "I don't know really...I guess I don't see a lot of people reading anymore...these days." 

She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I know a lot of people say that, but I’ve never said it before. Porcelain white skin, rosy cheeks, sky blue eyes...“It’s profound." I tried hard not to stare at her full luscious red lips moving gracefully as she spoke.

“I can’t imagine a life without books…or trees…” she started, “...but then again you can plant trees to make books. So I guess you don’t have to imagine life without either…” she suddenly chuckled, “I’m sorry, don’t mind me, I’m just a bit...it's early. Would you like to sit?” she gestured to the seat opposite her and closed her book.

I gently sat down, “Where the Wild Things Are…is it a good book?”

“You haven't read it?” she stared at me with those big, beautiful blue eyes.

I shook my head, "I've only seen the movie.” I took a bite from my bran muffin so I won't seem as nervous as I really felt.

"Almost no one I know have read this book...and it's absolutely worth it.” she clutched her cup of coffee between her hands and smiled.

“I probably agree because the movie was so unique and maybe people just don’t know about it - I mean I didn't know about the book until I saw it in an episode of Southland.” I shrugged – it was a possibility. 
She chuckled, "Very possible."
"You know it wasn't my intention, initially, to join you." I smiled warily, "I was just impressed that you're reading in a coffee shop. Something nobody does anymore." I took a sip of my coffee.

"I know it's not a common sight these days." she pursed her lips.

I realised then, that I might’ve started something that I didn’t necessarily want. At the same time, maybe it was meant to be? Either way, I couldn’t stop myself from talking to her.

“So what music do you listen to?” I asked as she took another sip from her lipstick-stained mug. This was vital information for me. I would never be able to understand someone who listens to One Direction or Britney Spears.

Luckily her taste in music turned out to almost mirror mine. If there was one reason to pursue this relationship, it was that.

“Do you want to go on a date with me?” This was a question I never asked women and when I walked into the coffee shop that morning I was certainly not planning to utter such idiocy. I seldom felt the need to meet people – never mind dating someone.

“We could, if you want?” she blushed, "I mean, sure, when?"

"Is tonight too soon?" I wanted to do it as soon as possible so I would be sure I'm not wasting my time.

She was the first person that I let into my personal space; into my life. People in general never made sense to me. They just brought along issues that I didn't want. The fewer people I knew, the better.

“I have to warn you.” I said on our date that night, “I am a musician. So if this turns out to be something, then I don't want you to be the last to know.” 

She sniggered, “That would’ve made sense if you’d confessed to being a serial killer.”

“Oh yes that’s true, what I meant to say is I’m a signed musician.” I tried to clarify without bragging that I’m actually famous. 

“You mean you’ve released albums?” she raised her eyebrows.

I gave a reserved nod, “One so far, I’m going on a national tour soon.”

“Well you should know that it doesn't matter." she said. I was glad she didn’t care if I was famous. If she had started gushing, I would've walked out of there, for sure. I remembered how I felt around her – enlightened and loved. I could’ve been content if she was the only person in my life, ever.

As I lay under the covers of my despair, I remembered what it felt like to open my heart to someone – how it felt to live. I wanted to forget that night when my phone rang with the news: my wife had been in a car accident. I rushed to the hospital four o’clock that morning. She was in ciritcal condition, which meant one thing to me: death.

She was covered in blood – so much blood. I held her hand as she closed her eyes for the last time and I was sure that's what hell must feel like. Pain ripped my heart to pieces as the life I loved, vanished.

I felt an overwhelming need for isolation when I got home that morning. I wanted to be alone and away from everyone. All my life I've kept people at a distance for a reason. I didn't want drama and I didn't want heartache. What happened with Nadine was the epitome of that.

I knew my daughter needed me – I was her only parent – but how could I be what she needed me to be? I was an empty vessel with nothing to give.

The first time I held her was surreal. Everything was so tiny - her fingers, hands, feet, nose. At that moment I realised she would forever be a part of me and the only other person in my life who had residence in my heart. And there I was rejecting her – a beautiful, innocent child – my own creation. 

For the first time in two weeks, I took a shower and got dressed in fresh clothes. Then when I saw her, my own flesh and blood, I slowly gained a sense of purpose.

"Daddy!" She jumped into my arms.

"Hey sweetheart." I kissed her soft, shiny blonde hair.

"Play?" she held her little pony up to show me.

"Sure." suddenly I felt guilty for missing two weeks of her life and every second felt precious.

"Let's show mommy." she uttered in the middle of grooming her purple pony.

For some reason I wasn't prepared for that. I knew my wife was gone, but her saying those words was unexpected.

I stared at her, stunned.

Finally my mother intervened, "Mommy's in heaven Rosie, remember what Nona told you?"

Rosie stared at her pony in silence, "Yes." she mumbled as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Maybe meeting Nadine and having a child wasn't the right choice." I told my mother later that night, "If I never did, if I just stuck to my rule, Nadine wouldn't have died and Rosie wouldn't have to live without a mother." I've never been so honest about my real feelings.

The concern on my mother's face was disconcerting, “You don’t mean that. Then Rosie wouldn’t be here.” she said in a soft voice.

“Mom, I do. You never wanted to listen to me when I told you these things. Now you can see I was serious.” I was slowly starting to lose control.

Being a parent to Rosie made no sense to me.

What my mother did, I realised later, was the right thing for me. I needed therapy because I was different. Other people might’ve been able to deal with the trauma of losing a wife and being a single parent. I wasn’t one of them. I had to go through hours of counseling to realise that Rosie could in some ways fulfill the void that Nadine had left.

Some time later, I was sorting through Nadine’s belongings – clothes and stuff – as part of the healing process.

I stumbled upon a diary she kept which I never knew about. I read through it all; I wept through it all. There was one specifically interesting entry, about a week before her accident:

18 May 2012

Right at this moment, I am afraid. When I married Leroy, I knew what I got myself into, but lately I’m overwhelmed with guilt and fear. I did something I’m not particularly proud of. I can’t ever tell Leroy, but I have to tell someone, even if it’s just this piece of paper…I’ve met someone else. His name is Dave. We met at a friend’s birthday dinner one night when Leroy had a gig.

The better I got to know Leroy, the more I realised how emotionally unavailable he really is, but I can’t blame him for my affair. It’s entirely my decision and Dave is there for me in every way I need. I bet I could talk to Leroy about my issue, but I don’t want to hurt him – he can’t help who he is. I don’t want to push him over the edge. And I can’t bear to ask for a divorce – that would be unfair towards Rosie.

I would never have thought I’d be that woman – the one having an affair - but I just feel so lonely…and so drained. I wonder if I died today, if he would be able to take care of Rosie. I don’t doubt him as a parent, but I know how much he depends on me.

Sometimes he locks himself in his music room for hours without making a sound. When I ask him about it, he would say that he’s writing, but I know he relishes the quiet. Because that’s what he enjoys most – silence. I know him so well and I would love him no matter what. This is just something that I don’t know how to solve.

I’m scared that one day he decides that it’s all too much and walks out. Or that he wants to be alone – forever. Or even worse, that he turns out to be some or other serial killer or mass murderer. I know these thoughts are silly, but they are honest. If only I could talk to him…

Maybe the problem will go away if I ignore it? But he can never find out.

I sat on the bed with the journal in my hands trying to grasp what I just read. It all seemed so fickle since she was gone. Then it dawned on me – my whole marriage was…a lie? I tried to think back – were there signs of unhappiness? I can’t recall. She was always such a ray of sunshine; always smiling. Was it all just pretend?

I chucked the book aside and slumped to the floor, my head in my hands. For hours, it seemed, I just sat staring into space – my mind and my heart empty.

Finally I got up off the floor, took a deep breath and ferociously continued packing.

I needed to come to terms with the facts of the situation. What if, in fact, her crash was suicide? I couldn’t disregard the possibility after everything I read and at that point, anything was probable. How could she do this to Rosie? It wasn’t just about the two of us, a child was involved. Was she so afraid of me that she couldn’t – for the sake of our daughter – talk to me? No. I didn’t believe that. She was just selfish in every way. 

I clenched my teeth and irritably rubbed my eyes. The person I loved believed that I might be incompetent as a parent because of my personality issues. Well I would prove her wrong and be the best father to Rosie. She’s going to look down – or probably up – at me and see how mistaken she was.

After I discovered she stopped loving me somewhere along the way, the months of mourning her death felt like a waste of emotion and time. 

I pulled myself together and marched to Rosie’s room. She was sleeping. A beautiful, innocent girl who didn’t deserve the mess her mother had made. Maybe she’s better off without Nadine anyway.

So I made a promise to her that night: I will love and take care of her until the day I die; and I made a pledge that I would learn to at least endure people. 

The End