The Path Ahead

     John would always “run-away”, so to speak. It never failed. When I think back, about that day, to my last conversation with him, nothing about it was surprising. Anything unpleasant going on in our lives that should, or could have, been discussed, never was. Avoiding any potential unpleasantry in our conversations was always “the order of the day”.

     Forbidden topics were many:  my desire to change jobs, go on vacation, the fancy electric sportscar John bought but could not afford, our daughter, our failing marriage, and above all , John’s drinking and the verbal abuse that accompanied it. He was no longer the person married, the husband I thought I wanted. As John’s drinking further intensified, my unhappiness with our marriage became despair. 
 

     One day, having arrived drunk and incoherent to his job, it was immediately apparent that John, the lead architect for the firm, would be incapable of making the presentation scheduled for ten o’clock that morning. Half an hour later he was unemployed. Without John’s income we would be unable to pay the mortgage and would lose our house. It was then I decided I had to leave, both for my own well-being and that of Joanna’s, our nine-year-old daughter.

     We would go to live with my mother in Chicago. I would talk to Al, our neighbor three houses away, a divorce  attorney. I remember when the day came. I finally had the courage to tell John “It was over”. It was seven o’clock in the morning. We were in the kitchen. I had packed the car the night before while he was still passed out on the couch.

      I slowly spoke the words I had rehearsed, wondering if, at that moment, John had enough sobriety left to be able to understand them. For several seconds he said nothing then, suddenly, lunged forward, slammed open the screen door, shouting back in slurred words, “Going for a run on the beach”.