“I don’t think that’s the problem,” he said.
It was the worst during the safari. At night, the noises around us made me shiver, and the days made me feel like I was losing my mind. I’d look at the animals—so large, so beautiful, so frightening—and I’d tell myself to pay attention, to appreciate that I was seeing a lion, an elephant, a goddamn hippopotamus. But I was so tired that my eyes pulsed, light danced in my peripheral vision, and all of it felt unreal, like watching a nature documentary on PBS.
Matt wasn’t very sympathetic toward me. If anything, he was irritated that my insomnia was interfering with our trip. “You need to get on schedule,” he’d say, not bothering to hide his impatience. And soon, it wasn’t just at night that I didn’t recognize him. I’d look at him through my foggy eyes as we walked around in a foreign country and think, I don’t know you at all. I married a stranger.
After we were back in New York and sleeping again, I didn’t tell anyone about my jet lag or the thoughts I’d had about Matt. It didn’t seem normal, so when people asked about the trip, I just said, “It was amazing. A once in a lifetime experience.” And after enough time had passed, I almost believed it.
But that year in Texas, it started happening again, and there were times that Matt seemed unfamiliar to me, when even his voice wasn’t his own. I remember once staring at him across the room, an expression on his face that I’d never seen before, his eyes blank and unreadable, and my chest got so tight I could barely breathe, because I didn’t recognize him at all.
—
One morning, we drove four hours to Arlington, Texas, to visit a woman named Angela Kinsey, who’d just been diagnosed with cancer, most likely the result of exposure to the chemicals from the nearby drilling. Angela arranged for a few other women from the neighborhood to join her, so they could share their experiences with Jimmy, tell him about all the health problems they were facing.
We dropped Ash and Viv off at the hotel—it didn’t seem right to bring a healthy, squealing sixteen-month-old along while these women talked about the nosebleeds and headaches that their own children were having—and I went along, supposedly to get pictures, but I knew as soon as we stepped into the house that I wouldn’t even bother taking my phone out. (How crass would it be to snap a photo of Angela crying as she told Jimmy she didn’t know who would care for her children while she started chemo? I didn’t care if Katie got mad at me. Some things weren’t meant to be photographed.)
The house was small and dark, even though it was sunny outside. For a brief moment, the darkness was a relief from the heat, but then almost immediately, the air began to feel stuffy. There was an overpowering mothball smell inside and I figured I’d get used to it, but it seemed to get stronger the longer we were there.
Angela took us into the living room, where a few women were already sitting on a flimsy-looking floral couch. Jimmy sat at one end and I found a seat on a rocking chair in the corner, while Matt sat on an orange recliner.
By this point, Jimmy’s spiel was so polished—he was fluid when he spoke, sure of his words. He was great in front of crowds, could get up in front of fifty people and capture their attention. “These failed policies are hurting us,” he’d say. “I want to be an advocate for all Texans, an advocate for you. We’ve had enough with the insiders, who are only concerned with protecting the oil and gas industries. You deserve someone to protect you. They accuse me of being an outsider, and you know what I say to that?” Here Jimmy would smile and pause and wait for a couple of laughs. “I say, You’re right! I say, Being an outsider is what makes me so qualified for this job. I’m not in bed with oil and gas—I’m just a Texan interested in looking out for other Texans.”