My heart aches; anguish now courses through my veins just as steadily as blood. I’m really not sure at this point how or why I am still feeling pain. If I’m honest with myself, I can’t really be surprised my marriage has ended this way. I mean, I got married in Vegas for god sakes; at a drive up chapel after a drunken late night proposal that I can barely remember. Spring Break during our senior year, a bunch of us had the brilliant idea to spend the week in Vegas. One night during our stay we did the traditional walk up and down the strip drinking the whole way. I vaguely remember Deacon making a production on the sidewalk, getting down on one knee and asking me to marry him, a rose he had bought from a street vendor in hand. Amongst the hoots and hollers of our friends, I impulsively accepted and we flagged down a taxi cab to take us to the closest chapel.
This bizarre wedding was only the beginning of what ended up being a marriage full of questions and contradictions. I spent years wondering what I had gotten myself into and questioning why I stayed as long as I did. So the question remains, why then am I still struggling? I’ve cried until I heaved from it over and over again and had nothing left. I’ve been so angry, that it felt like my insides were burning, and I was sure I was going to combust from the intensity of my fury. How my heart can still ache at a loss that frankly has been coming for a while, is unfathomable to me.
I stare again at the papers, and while the whole document is in the same font, the words Dissolution of Marriage seem to be screaming at me, taunting me with their meaning.
Dissolution of Marriage.
Divorced at twenty – five.
Single and just another statistic to add to the divorce rate.
Admitting I never thought this would happen to me is a gigantic understatement. My life wasn’t supposed to go this way. At one time I had a plan, a dream, but little by little it all fell apart.
I briefly close my eyes and see myself on my wedding day, well what I remember of it anyway. Wearing my favorite designer jeans and Madonna t-shirt, giggling, with a cocktail in my hand; and while it may have been a crazy and an impulsive thing to do, I was actually elated and excited. When I woke up the next morning and realized what I had done, I knew things would never be the same. I had a brief sense of uncertainty and I wondered how I could have been so impulsive to make such a huge, life-altering decision but at the same time all I could see was the life I had always envisioned, more exciting and fuller because instead of just me… there would be an us. I wouldn’t have to be alone, vulnerable and looking for an escape again. Maybe I could even resurrect the real me and get my life back on track. I would have a husband that would support me no matter what. Right? Any and all naysayers be damned, my life was about to start, and I would prove them all wrong. The world was mine! What a fool I was.
Now, just four years after saying I do, I realize my life is nothing but a horrible cliché. I remember the day it all came crashing down and the reality of what my marriage had become was laid out before me, refusing to be ignored.
With the eagerness of a child returning home after their long anticipated first day of school, delighted to have gotten off of work early and excited to see my husband, I exited the car. Bottle of wine in my hand and a sack of just-purchased groceries in the other arm, I intended on making Deacon a pasta dinner by candlelight. I opened the door and walked into our apartment, immediately overcome with the stench of pot. As I walked to the kitchen and placed my packages on the counter, I saw a trail of clothing leading to the closed door of my bedroom. I froze. Doom and dread instantly ran through my body and I felt a burning from my neck to the top of my head making me feel dizzy; sick. I knew without a doubt what I was going to find. I slowly started walking into my bedroom…
“Olivia...? Olivia?”
Blinking quickly and shaking my head trying to rid myself of the awful picture in my mind I look up at my attorney and attempt a smile. “I’m sorry, Clive. My mind wandered. You were saying?”
“That’s okay, Olivia. I was just asking if you got everything signed? I am going to have my assistant make you a copy of the documents for your records.”
Clive, whom I’m guessing is in his early 60s, has a pot belly, receding hair line and rather large ears. His kind and gentle personality never made me uncomfortable or feel stupid during this entire nightmare of a process. Once, during our conversation, he divulged he’s been happily married for 30 years and has three grown children. I imagine seeing the ugly side of marriages and divorces up-close and personal has made him realize how lucky he is. I never doubted for a second that he would get my divorce done quickly and accurately.
“Thanks, Clive. That would be great.” I tell him as I hand him the documents I’ve signed for copying.
Clive leaves his office and I’m left there with nothing but my thoughts once again. My mind flashes back to my apartment six months ago.
I picked up the articles of clothing littering my apartment floor as I walked closer to my bedroom --- a man’s shirt with buttons missing, with lipstick in a shade I don’t wear, on the collar. A woman’s shirt in a very pale yellow, a color I didn’t own. Given my skin tone, it would wash me out; my complexion is too pale to pull off such colors. Dark haired women like me should stick to bold colors.