Stories by Ben

Same bumpy roads. Same yields and stop signs. Same subpar drivers unable to merge correctly or keep a steady speed. Same Sunday blues. Same everything, save one thing. They weren’t on a break, but they also hadn’t talked for six days. This was new territory. 

Joan left the interstate and turned right onto 18th Street Expressway, her thoughts on longevity — relationships, parents, patience, cars. Nothing lasted. Everything was on its way out or already gone. Her odometer shuffled digits to read 200,000 just as the car clambered over the railroad tracks. It was a small victory every time a bump was met without the the skeletal sedan loosing one part or another, so she kindly pat the top of the dash in appreciation. At least you haven’t shit out on me yet. She feared a jinx and quickly added,Please don’t shit out on me.

Jacob’s final words before leaving their apartment had been, Since all I do is the wrong thing, I’m gonna go. He left quietly, more hurt than angry. He’d not even had the decency to slam the door, selfishly playing on pity when all he needed to do was acknowledge and try a little harder. Joan pulled into her parking spot along the curb and was now staring blankly at the Life is Good bumper sticker on the back of her neighbor’s new Bronco. She sighed, jealous of not having something — anything — new and exciting. 

Joan assumed Jacob was staying with his folks, but she’d mustered enough resentment to refrain from checking his location. Let that asshat be the one to check in. 

At least two trips would be needed to get all the groceries from the back of her car to the kitchen. She sighed again and began her first trip, grabbing the smallest bag so she could easily unlock her apartment door. 

The argument hadn’t been premeditated. She’d considered bringing up frustrations for months — years — but never managed for fear of hurting his feelings. It’s not like she was mad at him. She was sad, upset with what she had and scared she wanted more. If she was angry at anyone, it was herself for holding the truth in for so long. And with each new season, guilt and resentment grew more gnarled and unsavory. 

It was trash day and the hallways smelled like last week’s leftovers and dog shit. Joan tried to hold her breath as she trekked up two flights of stairs and walked down the long corridor to her — their — apartment. Keys were fumbled but eventually the door was unlocked and she put the first bag on the kitchen counter. 

They’d been drinking when she brought it up. Stupid. Slurred emotions were the wrong tools for a sober topic. It started as a small jab, a half-joke that quickly escalated into everything she’d kept hidden. Why do you have to spend so much time in front of the TV? When did you stop thinking you were responsible for keeping our place clean? Why don’t you ever initiate date nights? Can you even remember the last time you got me a gift, or flowers, or anything that showed that you think about me? Did you know that you’re fading away, receding deep into your own head and deeper into that fucking couch? Where is the man I fell in love with? 

She tried to grab the rest of the groceries on the second trip, but there were two too many. A third there and back was needed. Awesome. 

They’d been together since the summer after junior year and had built a relationship on trust, the steady passage of time and an untested confidence that they were meant to be together. Ten years later and their youth felt like a distant memory. How could they be in their thirties and feel so old? She loved him so much, but she was tired of feeling like she did, however it was she felt anymore. She tried to explain this to him as gently, but some things can’t be said kindly. He took it hard and left, and now she was alone, unsure if he was coming back or if she even wanted him to. 

With two bulging bags still in the trunk of her car, she left the apartment door propped open for the final trip. She tried to calm herself as she descended the stairs and thought of everything she could do that night. A drink and a few movies seemed most likely. When she walked outside, her beat up sedan and long lost fiancé were patiently waiting for her, both in desperate need of a wash.

Jacob, I…

Mind if I speak first? 

She nodded. 

Hey, Joan. Umm…sorry I left. And I’m sorry I was an asshat about it. Joan suppressed the urge to smile. I’m sorry I haven’t called or text. I just…I’m so sick of who I am and couldn’t talk to you when I didn’t even want to be with myself. You know?

More than you know, Jacob.

Which part?

All of it, I think.

He nodded, deflated and understanding. So, I just stayed away. Like I said, I’m so sorry, Joan. And before we get into us and where we’re at and where we go from here, I’d like to just say a few things. 

Joan nodded, but then tilted her head toward her car and the popped trunk. Help me with the last load while you talk?

Surprised and excited at being invited upstairs, Jacob hurriedly agreed. Yeah of course. 

Like the end to every other weekend grocery trip, Jacob picked up both bags, gave Joan the lightest of the two, and slammed the trunk closed. Then they walked in silence up to the apartment. It wasn’t until the bags were on the counter that Jacob spoke again. 

Do you want help with those?

No. Thank you, though. I appreciate the offer. We’ve still got ourselves a one butt kitchen. 

His smile faded as quickly as it appeared. About that. Is this still our place? 

Joan was glad to be headfirst in the freezer finding a spot for a stack of frozen pizza. She took half a cold second to consider her answer, then dove right in. You don’t plan to leave me paying for this place all by myself do you?

What? No. No. I wouldn’t do that. I still…

She removed herself from the freezer, composed and glad to have found room for the pizza. You still what?

Want to be here. I still want to live here. To call this place home. To call you my fiancée. 

I am your fiancée. Nothing’s been called off… She wasn’t going to add it, and then she did… not yet. 

Silence permeated their tiny apartment. Joan was acutely aware of a shift in energy — the change in temperature — so she asked, You said outside that you wanted to speak first. Have you said everything you wanted to say?

Jacob shook his head. No. No, I’ve got more to say, if you don’t mind.

Joan nodded and continued with the groceries, four full bags left.

I wanted to say that I’m sorry, which I suppose I already have. So, next thing. I’ve been thinking a lot about us. A lot about me and you. Together, but also us not together. I…I know that I’ve got a lot to work on. That I need to find purpose – something to get me up and out and going and better. 

James paused like he expected a response, but Joan continued silently with the groceries, waiting for more. 

I know I need to do better – that you and I both deserve more from me. And I’m going to work on that. I promise. I promise to try harder. To talk more. To be more. You had a lot to say the last time we saw each other, and I responded…poorly. But I really needed time. Everything you said was true, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. You know?

I know, babe. And I’m sorry. But I’m also not sorry. You know?

They both smiled and stared at each other for a long moment, then Jacob continued. I know. But I think I need you to understand that this isn’t just me. The more I thought about it, the angrier at you I became. Like, I’ve been sitting around kinda hating us both the last couple days. Which is another reason I didn’t reach out. Those feelings needed to go away, and they did…mostly. I’m still angry, but more than anything I want to talk about all of this and figure out how to be better — both of us. I want us to work, Joan. 

There was another shared silence, then Joan took a deep breath, and then she spoke. 

Three hours later, they were exhausted. Their eyes and throats and egos were sore from the talking and the crying and the long stretches of tense silence between bouts of raised voices, monologues and diatribes. They’d circled the drain together until gravity pulled them in and sent them spiraling. And then they navigated the long winding journey out to the other side. 

I’m so fucking tired, Joan said. I think I’m gonna make a pizza and go to bed. Do you…do you want to stay? I’ve still got a bit of wine in the fridge from last night. Help me finish that while we wait for dinner?

Jacob nodded his head and smiled. Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that. I’ll get the wine if you get the pizza. Then he thought better of the moment. Scratch that. You get the wine and I’ll get the pizza.

They navigated their one-butt kitchen with practiced ease and were soon on the couch with wine in hand and pizza in the oven. Jacob spoke first. 

I know we talked about more date nights and about doing more than sinking into the same routine all the time, but…we’re still broke.

It’s a bitch, ain’t it? Joan laughed. 

I’ll work on finding another job.

Or maybe you’ll get that promotion. It’s way past due.

I think I should probably get the second job. 

I don’t want you to have to do that. 

I don’t want you to feel like we’re not going anywhere. Another job will help us with that. 

Yeah, I guess. But still. I could get another job, too. 

Absolutely not. You’re already doing a million things. That wouldn’t be fair to you. 

Well it wouldn’t be fair to you either. 

Can we talk about this later? I’m completely out of juice.

Yeah, of course. Tomorrow? 

Jacob agreed as the oven timer screeched. They let the TV fill the silence as they finished their wine and devoured the pizza. Two hours later, Joan woke to the shrill sounds and flashing bright lights of a different movie. Jacob’s head was propped against her leg. She took in the sight of him and decided to be happy. She didn’t know if they were meant to be or if they’d figure it out, and she didn’t expect things to change overnight, but she was glad to know there may be something new to this thing she thought she’d lost.

She shook him awake and turned off the TV once he sat up. Let’s go to bed, she said. He followed. That night, they fell to sleep holding each other for the first time in years.