Goodbye

This week’s selection is another very short fiction and will be a bit softer in nature than some of Sam’s other work. Truth doesn’t always have to be ugly. It just has to be true.

Goodbye

            Charly sat in his favorite chair and looked at the wall across the room. He stared at the empty spot on the wall and tried to smile, but couldn't. He felt relief – he was certain of that – but not joy, not today. Not for either of them. He could hear Lindsay putting the last of her things into a box in the other room. She would be gone soon and he would be free, but that stupid feeling in his stomach just wouldn't go away.

            It had finally happened. It was no shock to anyone, really; they had been performing half-ass CPR on a dead marriage for years. They had taken all the necessary steps to save it – couples' therapy, romantic getaways, the Works – but it was dead. God, was it dead. They were just another statistic in American culture now.

            Charly glanced down at the floor where Lindsay's coffee table had been only two days ago. He reminded himself of what a pain in the ass she had become over the last years; reminded himself of those resentful looks of scorn she would pierce him with. This was for the best. They had hurt each other so deeply and so often, it was a miracle they had not killed each other by now. It was finally being buried, this rotting corpse of a marriage. They were immeasurably better off without each other. Charly looked back up at that empty spot on the wall. Maybe he should see a doctor about his stomach problem.

            Fresh air, that's what he needed. The chair creaked as he got to his feet and slowly walked towards the porch door. No need to carefully avoid Lindsay's precious, mahogany coffee and end tables anymore. He reached the door and slipped outside into the cool, spring breeze; the cement sidewalk felt redeeming on his bare feet. He had built this home with his own two hands. The country air smelled of freshly cut grass and honey locust. He would die here someday – a long time from now, since the ball-and-chain was mercifully leaving him in peace. He had lived here for over twenty years, tending the land and––

            Raising a family. Good Lord, what was wrong with his stomach? The rich, green yard took on a strange emptiness. Empty like that spot on the wall. He walked on as if distancing himself from the empty spot. There was no escaping it though. Everything was emptier. Lindsay had been his other half for a quarter of a century, the only memories he had of this home were with her. Focus on the kids, he thought, they would clear his mind and make the emptiness go away. He had four children, although “children” was now something of a misnomer. His youngest, Johnny, would be graduating from high school next year and going on to college. Oh, but when they were children this yard was alive! Soccer and baseballs littered the yard in the summer while snow forts and angels covered it in winter. This yard held great memories of his kids.

            Their kids. Stupid stomach.

            Charly was in the grass now and he heard the front door open as Lindsay struggled to walk outside with the last, big cardboard box in her arms. He turned, hesitated, then went to help her carry her burden. As he approached his now ex-wife he suddenly realized this was not the first time he had felt this unsettling chaos in his stomach. Instead of walking barefoot through the grass, he saw himself walking down the aisle of a church, towards a minister by an altar; Lindsay, his beautiful young bride, would follow shortly after him. The feeling's meaning stabbed him with painful clarity: to feel so incredibly unsure about such an inevitable, life-changing decision, to believe that it's so right and to worry that it's so wrong. In that moment – walking down the aisle and marching through the grass – Charly felt the weight of death and birth come crashing down on his heart. This was the beginning and the end.

            “Let me help you carry that,” he said and she handed him the large cardboard box. They walked side by side towards her car; slowly, silently, and almost in step. Side by side they walked; a rite; a procession. It felt like the procession after a wedding – or a funeral. That familiar scent wafted into his nose; the scent of the woman he'd built a life with and made children with; the scent of the woman he couldn't stand to live with yet was having an unexpectedly hard time imagining living without. For the first time in years he wondered about her thoughts and, with clairvoyance, knew she shared his. There was a bittersweet comfort in that.

            They were at the car now. The end of that long walk had finally come. There was no need for long goodbyes, silently putting the box in her backseat. He shut the door and turned around only to find himself staring into the big brown eyes of a woman torn between emotions he knew too well. How long had it been since they'd shared a connection like this? They stared at each other for close to a minute, both wanting one last thing but neither wanting to feel the rejection that had been mutually given for years.

            It ended, and it ended the way it had all began: with a kiss. They didn't plan it and it said everything that needed to be said. The kiss goodbye.

            As she drove away, Charly walked back into the house – his house. He walked into the empty room where his favorite chair sat. He looked up at the empty spot on the wall and stared at the lonely nail that once held the picture. It had been a good picture. It had been their picture.

            “Goodbye,” he whispered.