Jim bit his lip as he leaned against the door frame. He watched his wife open her suitcase and start packing her possessions into it. He knew that he hadn’t been a perfect husband, and he also knew that they’d been having problems for a while. There had been frequent arguments, slammed doors and the revving of engines as one of them drove off into the night, furiously wiping tear-filled eyes. It had been hard to bear, but he still loved her in spite of all that.
He watched as she packed the long, red dress she had bought on their last trip to Rio; her favourite scarf that he had given her for their first anniversary; his Dexy’s Midnight Runners t-shirt that she liked to wear in bed… these items that were so her were being packed up and he didn’t know when he would see them again – if he would see them again. ‘Please, don’t go,’ he said. His voice sounded smaller than he’d expected.
She stood up and looked at him. “I am going. You can’t talk me out of it; I’ve had enough, Jim. You have pushed and pushed and now I’m backed up against the wall and this is my only option.” She stared at him for a second and then resumed packing.
He glanced around the purple bedroom, remembering how they had decorated it together. It was the first job they’d done after moving into the house. They had started off earnestly working at first, but that had quickly dissolved into giggles as they indulged in a paint fight. The whole house was the same; every corner was filled with memories of happier times.
How had it all gone so wrong? She glanced up and met his gaze. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s a lot of history to walk away from. He swallowed hard. She always knew what he was thinking, but the fact that she did so now hurt for reasons he couldn’t explain. He didn’t respond.
She sighed and looked away. Reaching into her underwear drawer, she took out the lingerie that he had bought her for Valentine’s Day. He remembered how excited she’d been when he’d given it to her. She’d been hinting about that particular set for months, and when she’d opened the box she’d thrown her arms around him. Then he remembered the row they’d had later that night, after he’d taken her to ‘Big Al’s Rib House’ to meet his friends for the evening. Thinking about it made him feel sick with regret.
The slam of the suitcase brought him crashing back to reality.
She turned to him. ‘Okay, Jim,’ she said. ‘I’m going now.’
‘Please, don’t do this,’ he pleaded again.
He could feel that he was close to tears. A small stubborn voice inside of him reared its head, telling him not to cry in front of her. He looked at his wife. She looked tired, and that she was—tired of him. She looked like she had been crying. Her once sparkling eyes were now dull and red, and her beautiful face looked pale and drawn. She looked ten years older than she actually was, and he was to blame. He had never hated himself more than at that moment.
He glanced around the room, unable to look at her anymore. Their bedroom had always been a small room. It was almost a perfect square, and their double bed and few pieces of furniture left just enough room for them to carefully edge their way around. They had often joked about that room, calling it ‘cozy’ and ‘just big enough for the two of them,’ just like their relationship.
However, the room suddenly seemed much bigger. It felt like the Serengeti, like a sweeping and eerie plain, with acres of expanse spreading out between them.
She picked the suitcase up off the bed and stood up straight.
‘Please,’ he managed. ‘Can we at least talk about this?’
She tilted her head to one side. ‘Have you any idea how many times I’ve tried to talk to you?’
He looked down at the ground.
‘So many times, Jim,’ she continued. ‘But you never listen.’
‘But I will this time.’ He stepped towards her. ‘I’ll change. I promise I can change.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s just too late.’ She wiped a tear away from her face, pushed past him and walked out of the room.
He went to the window and waited. He didn’t know why he was torturing himself like this, but he just felt that he had to see this through to the end. He could hear his wife downstairs, moving around in their kitchen.
Jim looked out onto the fields that their house overlooked. It was raining hard. It had been a particularly hot June and the skies were open, like they were crying angry tears. He could see the cows, sheltering under the trees. Once the storm was over they would come out from the cover of the thick leaves and their pasture would feel fresh again. For the first time in his life, Jim envied those cows.
The sudden appearance of his wife on the porch distracted him. She dragged the suitcase to the driveway, opened her car boot and put her luggage inside. He noticed that the boot was empty – she must have cleaned it out in preparation. In preparation for leaving him.
He screwed up his face, fighting tears for the second time that day. The sky could do the crying for him, he decided. After all, the rain on the earth was much more dignified than a grown man weeping.
He forced himself to watch her climb into the driver’s seat and close the door behind her. He heard the familiar sound of the diesel engine turning over, just like it had done almost every day for the past two years. She backed up onto the road and drove away.
Jim felt in his pocket for his phone. He took it out and composed a text message for his wife. There was so much he wanted to tell her, things that he should have told her long ago. He wanted to say that he was sorry, sorry for everything he had done and everything he hadn’t done. He wanted to say that things would be different from now on. He wanted to say that he loved her. He paused when a familiar beep alerted him of an incoming message. Jim saved the draft and opened his inbox.
The message was from his wife. 'Move on, Jim,' it read. Jim stared blankly at the unusual message for a few moments. In the past, their fights had always ended with her having the last word—usually a painful one. This one was unlike any of the others.
He forced himself to sit down, unsure of how to respond. He looked at the rain beating down onto the driveway, slowly covering the dry patch that her car had left. For many years, he had been like that formerly dry patch, and he had unwittingly made his wife into one as well. Perhaps leaving him was the best thing she had done for herself—no, for both of them.
Jim sniffed, silently thanking her for her final act of kindness. He looked up at the sky. The furious downpour started to weaken. Within minutes, it had slowed to a mere drizzle. He watched as the cows left their temporary shelter and went back to grazing again—back to their old life. It was the only they had ever known, and will know. Jim stifled a laugh. The fact that he had envied them only minutes ago felt like utter nonsense to him now.
He took a deep breath and waited until the drizzle stopped. The grieving process of the heavens was now complete. Perhaps it was time to complete his as well.
Jim deleted the message he had composed, slid his phone back into his pocket, turned and walked back into the empty house. I should start packing, he thought.
