A friend and I talked relationships over wine. The topic that evening was not the beauty of a blossoming romance, the passion of first everythings. It was about desperation, the frantic grasping for threads quickly unravelling. About life as you know it falling apart, and the urge to patch things back together no matter how futile the effort. I’ve been there. So had she. We thanked the universe that neither of us had ever caught crazy, had done anything at the ceiling of manipulative to hold onto that which may already have been gone. We were never the girls to stop taking birth control pills, to call his possible new love interest with wild threats.
I didn’t have a child to force togetherness, but I did buy a king bed. We were in a rough patch, more like a rocky several months, and I genuinely believed that the purchase would somehow fix things for a while. That the added plush foot or two of distance would somehow bring us closer. Funny to write it now. The prospect was quite appealing, actually, and the logic of it well developed in my mind. If we slept better, I’d be more pleasant, I wouldn’t pick on his job and his friends and his car and his existence. If we slept better, we’d be more attracted and attractive to one another. There’d be more room to move, to breathe. It would be a joint purchase, of course, which would bind us in some meaningful way. Despite my urge to smother him every time he left the freezer open or used that God forsaken mouthwash, I loved him very much, and this, this would help. We could work things out. It’s what couples do. A bigger bed is part of a future, after all. An investment in us.
Turns out the bed was part of my future alone. We broke up within a month or two of its purchase, separating with little looking back. I paid the bed off, turning down his offers of assistance, and for months slept on the side I had established as mine while part of a couple. I now sleep in it those nights I don’t prefer the couch and the larger television. I’m never quite comfortable in it, and even a few years later I remember the fight we had the day we went to buy it. Not today. Why the hell not? Maybe not at 11, but later this afternoon. I can never get you to do anything. Turns out red flags are always a little brighter in hindsight.
16 Comments
This is a beautiful, sad story. I love the title.
Ah yes, the signs we always chose to ignore. we all have them.
Your story reminds me of my ex-wife and I. She wanted to move into a bigger house. I was satisfied where we were but I thought it would make her happy if I supported the idea. That fall we pursued many, putting in offers and counter offers on a few. They all eluded us. Our kids lived and died dreaming of their new bedrooms. Coming into Christmas, we decided to wait until the new year to attack the market again. Just days before Christmas she told me she had been having affairs for a year and walked out that night for her latest.
I think she felt the same way, trying to make a change that would somehow change our relationship. Of course it was doomed. Fortunately we didn’t make our purchase. A king size bed I could live with, a new house, not so much.
I’m constantly amazed by the delusions we put ourselves through to avoid hurtful realities. I’m doubly amazed to realize the ones that I, myself, do even though I know better.
well said. that story brought back that familiar, awful feeling of the empty, heavy pit in my stomach.
At the risk of offering (yet more) unsolicited advice – this is a lovely seed for a “paper” essay… So much there!
(Also you look nothing like Robert Plant. I think you’re just jealous of the curls.)
I know this place, too. King beds are pretty sweet, though so I would recommend hanging on to it! Maybe some luxe new sheets?!
You bought a king sized bed. I bought a mountain bike. Yup.
I bought the king sized bed too. What I realized later about the bed, was the foundation of it was divided into two parts, two halves if you will. It always seemed symbolic that the bed that was supposed to unite us, was actually divided itself.
Oh, you know I can relate.
Me? I make meatloaf, lasagna, sausage and peppers. I clean my apartment and shave my legs on Fridays – this is how I *invest*.
in hindsight, those red flags wave and flash too. i still missed them myself. my splurge purchase to save us? a wii.
Ah yes, I pushed for buying a condo. He got so into it, he even decided, yes, we should make a permanent commitment! He proposed, then 24 hours later walked out. Next week, he and his mother bought the condo, then she picked out all the furniture. I bought nice Tupperware and an enormous pillowtop mattress as my rebound.
I “caught crazy” in one particular relationship and in hindsight, I should’ve just bought a new bed. :)
Beautiful writing.
Excellent post, one because it’s excellent and two because I think you wrote what’s going on in my head. But I will not buy the King sized bed though it has been thought about many times. I don’t even want to save us, I guess that’s the difference. Yet we continue. I have friends who said babies weren’t the answer to bringing them together. They are now parents of twins born 14 weeks too early. Go figure.
Very poignant thoughts, as always Kris. I, too, have a King bed, and being divorced five years, I’ve discovered that I now require its luxurious span all to myself (well, and the animals). Occasional overnight “guests” always equate to a poor night’s sleep (it’s a bit of a problem).
Listen to the Dixie Chicks Wide Open Spaces and enjoy the sprawl. : )
Man, it’s shameful now to think of the things I did when grasping at those obviously already gone threads.