Then, Now, Me

Chapter 1: Now

It"s not a good day.

Tristan is going to spend the weekend with his father, and I don"t have any plans. Original plans just fell through, and more often than not these days, I feel as though people invite me out not necessarily due to my shining personality - truth be told, I"m a bit of a wallflower - but because they pity my situation.

This year has been a time of many life changing events, starting with my divorce. I left my husband of five years. To be perfectly honest, I was unsure about the marriage from the start. Weeks before the wedding, I emailed my aunt and shared some of my insecurities; insecurities I didn"t feel comfortable sharing with anyone else, much less to my increasingly unstable fiance at the time. She gave me many insights about her relationship with her own husband, and then told me gently (or as gentle as I could perceive through email) that if I didn"t want to go through with it, people would understand. Needless to say, I went through with it, knowing that people would not understand if I didn"t.

This was made clear with my decision to divorce my husband: nearly every single relationship I had unraveled.

"Beth, do you want to come over and watch the Doctor Who special with us tonight?" my colleague, Evelyn asks me, breaking the flow of my thoughts.

"Um," I say hesitantly, feeling the weight of another weekend alone. "Sure, that sounds great," trying to sound enthusiastic. I have the constant sense of not wanting to be anywhere lately. My newly acquired rental, a townhouse condo less than five minutes from where I lived with my husband, feels less and less exciting the more time I spend in it.

When I first moved into the rental, I was simply thrilled to have a space that I could have all to myself with my two-year-old son. I had been controlled and criticized by my husband for so long that the house we shared ended up feeling like a warzone strewn with unseen land mines that I had to shimmy around every moment of every day. I did not care if I ended up in some hole-in-the-wall, dirty studio apartment in the middle of the city, as long as it meant getting away from my husband - and told my husband as much.

No, I was not perfect. I wasn"t the perfect wife. I didn"t always have dinner ready. The laundry was often left in drying racks in the basement. But I was emotionally and verbally abused, and although I could force myself to accept it for my own sake, I refused to continue to expose my son to such an unhealthy relationship. I had heard too many stories about young boys growing up to copy their abusive fathers, and when I had to remove my son from the house during a particularly explosive episode, I thought the thing all abused people think who are done being a figurative and sometimes literal punching bag for their spouse:

Enough is enough.

"Okay, great!" Evelyn responds cheerfully, in complete contrast to my thoughts. "We"re making fish and a mix of other things, so I hope that"s okay with you."

"Sure, that sounds perfect," I say, vacillating between feelings of gratitude for her kindness and embarrassment for feeling like a charity case. "Let me know when you"d like me over and if you want me to bring anything."

"Just bring yourself and a swimsuit! We"ll lounge in the hot tub later," she says with a smile and as she turns back into her classroom, she adds, "Feel free to stay the night if you don"t want to make the drive back home."

I manage a quick "thanks" and a smile before she disappears. I still cannot manage to muster the enthusiasm a night of DWho and hot tubbing might have incited in another set of circumstances.

OOOOO

"My phone charger won"t work!" I exclaim, a little buzzed from the glass of red wine I had earlier while watching Doctor Who. I"m unusually focused on getting my phone to charge up in one of the outlets at Evelyn"s house in Dennisport, Massachusetts. I hate that I need my phone so much to function.

The night has been fine, and both Evelyn and her husband have been gracious in their endeavor to keep me entertained. The truth of the matter is, I"m feeling depressed and no food, or drink, or clever science fiction TV show can pull me out of the funk I feel myself starting to sink into.

And it"s at the moment of extreme hopelessness that my phone buzzes with a text message:

Hi cute girl

I look up and am shocked at the timing of the message. It"s Jeremias, otherwise known as "Jem," a guy I connected with online a few months ago and exchanged a few random texts with over the summer. I don"t know much about him, except the fact that he"s an artist, owns a successful gallery in Newport, Rhode Island and seems both cute and charming.

Oh, and also, due to a recent break up of a serious relationship, he"s unabashedly and unequivocally unavailable.

Me: Hi sir :-)

Jem: How are you

Me: Okay...you?

Jem: I"m good

Jem: Just over the folks place

Me: U doing anything tomorrow?

Jem: Just showing some pieces

Jem: You hun?

Me: Nothin. My munchkin is not with me this weekend

Jem: Oh so what a nice thing it would be to meet you my sweet friend

Jem: Wanna come down tomorrow and stay over and watch netflix all night? Lol

And with that, we make plans for the following day. I"m to go up to his gallery at 5:00pm, and we"ll go from there. He continues to ensure that I understand this is just two friends meeting up to hang out with no "weird expectations," and I assure him right back that I probably am not in any place to be starting anything anyway, being fresh off of a divorce. It"s a disclaimer leading to a low pressure situation that while offering some relief to me, also feels disappointing. Jem is a cute, engaging, creative guy, and even though I don"t know much more about him other than those things, I still feel disappointed at the lack of possibility in our meeting.

Me: Gnight - see you tomorrow :-)

Jem: Sweetdreams Elizabeth lol

Sweet dreams indeed.