I Saw You

         Jim Shetland stood quietly on the dying grass in front of his large home in Santa Cruz. The sun had long been gone, and the only light came from the street lamps behind him. The shades were drawn, the lights were off, and there were no noises coming from inside, but he knew what would happen once he opened this door. He’d stayed out as long as he’d been able to, but returning home had been inevitable. There were only so many business trips, traffic delays, and old friends to meet up with.

         Now, Jim simply stood there, staring up at the cold house where he felt so trapped now. It had once been a place of happiness, dreams, and hope, but now it was a monument to a life he no longer wished to live, a life he no longer truly had. He wished that simply running away, leaving it behind, was a possibility, but after all of this, after everything, he wasn’t sure he could ever do that.

         Looking up into the darkening sky, Jim sighed and picked up the two suitcases sitting on the ground beside him. He slowly climbed the steps, not wishing to rush the occurrence of tonight’s events. Each step sounded hollow in his ears as his dress shoes thudded against the wooden stoop. Four steps, and he was standing in front of his door. Stopping momentarily, he turned, looking back at the steps, then at the door ahead of him. Four steps between a world without her, and four steps into a world with nothing but her. He knew which one his heart desired; he knew which one he should have chosen.

         Sticking his hand into the right front pocket of his khaki dress pants to get his keys out of habit, Jim shook his head. That’s the pocket he’d always kept them in, but he’d changed this habit since, well, since he’d been trying to make the difficult decision. Each small change, he’d decided, might help him to find it easier to leave. It was a useless change, of course, mundane and bothersome at best.

         Thrusting his left hand into the bottom of his other pocket, Jim pulled out the small set of keys he kept there. Two keys, nothing more: a house key and his car key. The car key seemed to get more use than his house key, as he preferred to remain out as long and as late as he could without drawing much attention to himself. He singled out the house key on his ring and pushed it heavily into the lockset on his door. He paused without turning the key in the cylinder, waiting, thinking. He wasn't sure he felt like facing this tonight. He could just turn around and get back in his car, drive to a motel and spend the night there, in peace and quiet. It would be the easiest thing to do. Then again, perhaps 'easiest' was the wrong choice of words. Going to a motel would be the sanest thing to do.

         Pressing his forehead against the solid, wooden door and closing his eyes, Jim took a deep breath and turned the small key, unlocking the door, and the knob in one continued motion, and the door popped open only slightly. He stood there, waiting in the silence, hoping that tonight, there would be nothing. For the briefest of moments, Jim thought he might actually get away in silence.

         "Jim? Is that you?" came her voice, floating through the darkness inside, reaching his ears. It was a voice without feeling, deadpan and stoic.

         Jim shook his head in exhaustion and sighed, but didn’t say anything. He picked up the two suitcases again and pushed against the door, struggling through the small entrance with the two bags. She’d never helped him in the past with them, not that he ever would have expected her to. He was an old fashioned type of guy: he’d do the heavy lifting, not her. He’d never once complained about it. It was that same old fashioned, chivalrous frame of mind that made this entire situation so unbearably difficult. How could he leave this all behind and still feel as though he wasn’t betraying everything he knew to be right? He couldn’t.

         Walking through the foyer and setting down his bags against the wall, Jim pushed the door closed, listening to the following air of silence with a bittersweet taste. There were still no lights on, of course. It was nearly midnight. There was no reason for any of the lights to be on. It was quiet, dark, and cold here; nothing like it once was.

         “Jim?” her voice came out of the darkness once again, with little more feeling in it than before.

         Still remaining silent, Jim moved forward into the living room, leaving his bags in the hall; he’d get them later. His hand hovered over the light switch for the overhead light, hesitating. He didn’t need that light on now. He knew the house well enough, and it was late; he had no intentions of staying awake for very long. So, he flipped a smaller, makeshift switch on, turning on two of the smaller lamps in the room simultaneously.

         A dull glow blanketed the room, casting enough light for him to move in between the furniture to get to the stairs that would lead to his bedroom. Keeping his eyes cast down onto the soft, blue carpet beneath his feet, Jim started to move quickly forward, still remaining silent, trying to avoid the temptation to allow his eyes to wander around the room. It was bad enough that the very rug he stood on now had been her choice, and, however small the detail, it reminded him of what they’d once had together.

         He choked back something in his throat and continued walking to the steps, shutting his eyes tight as he passed her chair, which faced the television, and partially away from him. He dared not to look in that direction; wished not even to think of doing so. He reached the steps, the silence heavy around him, and mounted the first step with his right foot. Her voice in the air made him pause once again.

         "You know, I saw you out there two nights ago,” her tone was not accusing; this was not a question. Still, there was some of that old softness to it, the nurturing tone she’d always taken with him when she just wanted to talk.

         Jim choked back another bubble in his throat. Why did this have to be so difficult? It was because he’d loved her. He still did in some ways, of course, but it couldn’t ever be like that again.

         He pulled up his left leg, having every intention of just walking up the stairs without saying a word. He simply didn’t want to do this. He wanted to sleep. His shoulders slumped, however, and a silent tear fell down his cheek. “How do you think I did, b-“ he whispered quietly, unable to bring himself to say that last word, his pet name for her. He already felt as though he’d betrayed her by wanting to leave; using that name would only be rubbing salt into the wounds he’d created. He didn’t turn around to face the dim room; instead, he stood on the first step, silent, waiting.

         “Oh, I think it went well. The crowd seemed pretty excited. I think you wow-ed ‘em pretty good,” he could hear the grin in her voice as it reached his ears, and another tear rolled down his cheek. “You always do, hun.” This time, he couldn’t choke back the sob, and his hand clamped itself over his mouth, as the convulsions wracked his chest lightly. It was such a small word that had meant so much to him coming from her. Now it was just a source of regret and pain.

         He knew the truth about his recent stint in front of the crowds, as well as everything that had happened before and after. There had been no “wow-ing”, no excitement, at least not for the crowd of people that had been there. That’s what made this so difficult for Jim; she probably would have told him that, no matter how poorly things were going. Knowing the truth about their relationship was impossible for him to bear now without the sobs continuing and increasing. He never should have spoken a word.

         He raced up the stairs, ignoring her request to join her in the kitchen for a late night snack, a routine they’d once shared, but he wanted no part of now. He didn’t stop to turn on the light in the hallway here. Instead, he rushed straight for the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him, and the silent sobs turned into an aching, breath-stealing wheeze, as he tried to stop the tears that flowed freely down his face. His hands fell onto the small vanity in front of him, and there he leaned, his entire frame moving from the sobs in his chest.

         Why did leaving this place, leaving this all behind still seem so difficult, even knowing that now, nothing was left for him here? Whatever had been here was now gone, and what remained was a poorly replicated remnant of something fantastic, something he now had to walk away from for his own good. Maybe it was so difficult because somewhere inside, he was still a good man, and he knew that what he was doing, was trying to do, was the wrong thing.

         After a few moments of composing himself, and refusing to look in the mirror, Jim stood up straight again and walked silently out of his bathroom. He walked down the hallway, standing outside of his bedroom, the door closed. He still wasn’t sure he was allowed to sleep in this room now; he hadn’t been sure of that for weeks. Still, he pushed open the door, intending to only head to his closet to retrieve his pajamas. He could sleep on the sofa downstairs. He couldn’t sleep in here.

         He ignored the sealed boxes on the floor against the far wall, ignoring the names written in his own handwriting on the sides. He didn’t want to think about them. They shouldn’t have even been here anymore. Jim went directly to his closet, flipping on the overhead light as he went, and pulled out the pair of pajama bottoms and shirt he’d picked up recently. They weren’t his favorites, but they would have to do. She’d bought him the ones he’d liked the most, years ago. Now they were stuffed in a dark corner somewhere in here. He was unwilling to wear them, because they brought too much of her with them.

         Turning around to leave the room with his pajamas in hand, Jim stopped suddenly. There she was, standing by their bed, just as she’d always done in the past. She was standing there, inviting him to her, causing him to drop his pajamas in surprise. She stood there silently, expectantly, her eyes harboring some strange emptiness, as though they could not remember to whom they belonged. His own eyes swept across her body appreciatively, drinking in every bit of her: the smooth skin of her legs, up into the ecstasy of her womanhood; he found his eyes glancing over the soft swells of her small breasts, and finally he stopped at her eyes, where he stared into the emptiness that seemed to be present there now. He remembered the times when they’d made love over the last twenty five years; they’d done so at times with vigor, with care, with sensitivity, with wild abandon, with love. She smiled at him, that knowing smile, trying to set his desires afire.

         This was not her, however. This was not the person he’d fallen in love with. What he saw before him had changed, it was not the beautiful woman he wanted, needed, and desired. This was nothing more than an incomplete and hollow, yet vivid, memory of what she’d been.

         Jim stood there in silence for a moment, and, without a word, walked out of the room, turning off the light and closing the door as he went, and leaving the forgotten pajamas on the floor. He walked slowly down the stairs and into the living room. He silently and stoically grabbed the blanket from beside the couch; the pillows were already in place, unmoved from the last time he’d slept here, something he’d been doing any time he was home in the last few weeks. Perhaps it had even been months.

         As he tried to sleep, Jim considered the way that he was living his life now: hiding from his own home, sleeping on an uncomfortable couch because he felt undeserving of his bedroom, and trying cling onto a relationship that had forever been changed only because he thought it wrong to do otherwise. As he drifted off into a silent, dreamless sleep, Jim Shetland decided that tomorrow would be the last day he would come here. He would see her one last time, and he would find somewhere else to go. He’d hire movers to come and collect everything. Paying for that and a new place to lay his head wouldn’t be a problem. Finding a reason to call that new place “home” would be.

* * * * * *

         The next morning, Jim woke suddenly to the silence around him. The morning sun shone down through the drawn shades, heavily filtered by the dingy, dirty vinyl bars. Right now, there was no sound of a hopefully soon forgotten voice, no half empty eyes gazing at him from across the room, no object of desire standing nearby, trying to entice him with slowly fading memories.

         Jim didn’t sigh this morning as he woke. He could not help but think of her, of course, and their changed relationship, but he stuck with his decision. He would go to his kitchen, grab him something small to eat on the way out the door, and he would call the movers. Then he would go to see her once again, one last time like this, and then never again.

         He shoved the blankets off of himself, and swung his feet around to sit on the floor. Jim sat on the couch for only a brief moment, knowing that if he waited around, thinking, he would change his mind. That was not something he could do. He had to do this for himself.

         So, with a slow nod to himself to show his decision, he pushed himself off of his couch and stood tall. He was still in the same clothing he’d been in last night, but it didn’t matter. He’d take his suit cases with him, head to a motel and shower there. Jim walked towards his kitchen, switching on the light as he entered.

         She was there, waiting for him. She sat at the small kitchen table, smiling up at him. Some of that old love and light was back in her eyes now, and his conviction shook slightly. The smile on her face could mend or break a thousand of his hearts in only the breath of a second. It was a smile that had once belonged to the both of them, a silent secret, a light upon even the darkest of days. He longed to walk up to her, to brush his hand against her cheek, to run it through her hair, even one last time. He wanted to reassure himself that she was still there, and that everything would be alright.

         If only that smile still belonged to them both; if only he could truly have it back. There would be no reassurances of that sort today. He dared not even speak a word right now, for if he broke this silence, he was certain her voice would sound in his ears once again. He would say goodbye to her when he went to see her one last time.

         Jim Shetland turned around, switching the kitchen light off once again. He would find something to eat near the motel. Not here. Never here.

         He walked stiffly, silently, and with a heavy sadness in his heart toward his front door, where unlocked and opened it. He picked up his two suitcases, stepped out onto the porch and locked his door back. He loaded up his car with his two bags, and backed out of the driveway.
Before he could find a motel, before he called the movers, he would go to see her one last time.

* * * * * *

         Jim pulled up to the rod iron gates, and then veered to the left, following the stone path he knew very well. It was one he’d never wished to learn. When he found the spot he’d been looking for, he pulled over to the side, and turned off his car. He looked out his window, and up into the blue sky. He picked up the single, red rose that sat on the seat next to him, one last gift for her. He opened his car door, and walked quietly over to his destination, where he knelt into the bright, green grass.

         Not bothering to hide them, Jim let the tears fall free down his face. He looked down into the small, pearly white, stone slab before him. It was something simple, not extravagant, just like she’d always talked to him about. He gently set the rose against the white stone, allowing it to lean on one of the edges. He traced his fingers delicately over the engraved letters on the stone:

Mary Beth Shetland
1947-2009
Beloved companion, amazing woman,
and the perfect wife.

         “Hey, bunny. I saw you again last night….” Jim whispered to her.