A Storm in the Soul
\nThe night was cold, in
\nmore ways than one. Outside, a heavy wind pounded thick raindrops against the
\nwindows. The eaves above Rick Carson’s bed creaked, as they always did in such
\nwindstorms, and he could hear the lawn furniture scraping slowly along the patio,
\nas if each chair were reaching out in a futile attempt to grab a handful of
\nconcrete. At times it felt as though the house’s wooden frame was bending, a
\nmovement Rick supposed he could have measured if he had either the inkling or
\nthe instruments to do so. He felt himself leaning heavier into his bed, perhaps
\nin his own futile attempt to keep the house anchored to its moorings or in an
\nequally futile attempt to moor himself to
\nsomething solid.
Behind him lay his wife of twelve years.
\nThey were hugging their respective edges of the queen bed, she facing the
\nwindow and Rick the wall, careful not to touch each other. It had been three
\ndays since they had spoken a word to one another except out of necessity—nearly
\nas long as the rain had been pounding at their home. Rick lay awake, wondering
\nwhat he had done to deserve this. Our marriage is a sham, he thought, despite what he considered to have been his best
\nefforts. There is no tenderness, no understanding. He ached with despair.
Things had been so bad with Carol for so
\nlong that Rick could barely remember the good times. There had been some. In
\nfact, during the early years of their marriage Rick had thought he was quite
\nhappy, and he had believed Carol to be as well. But the increasing unhappiness
\nof the intervening years had called these early beliefs into question. Rick was
\nno longer sure how happy he or Carol had ever
\nbeen. His memories of the past and hopes for the future sagged under the weight
\nof a depressing present.
Despite the cloud of unhappiness he felt
\nenveloping his marriage, Rick had until then done his best to minimize and deny
\nthe problems. He survived by employing a kind of inner diversionary
\ntrick—by pushing from his mind thoughts of Carol, his marriage, and the
\ninjustices and pains that inhabited his inner chambers and by concentrating on
\nother things. Everything will be okay if I can only hang on, he thought, as he did his best to put a happy face on their
\nrelationship. Carol will come around. But Carol hadn’t "come around," and their relationship was only
\ndeteriorating the more.
As he lay there, Rick could sense
\nsomething amiss in the patience he had been purporting to exercise. For the
\nlonger he exercised it the more bitter and impatient he had become. He felt not
\nunlike the drug addicts and alcoholics who assuage themselves with the naive
\nlie that "this hit or drink will be the last." His marriage was in trouble, and
\nwhat frightened him most was that he wasn’t sure he cared anymore.
Over the last five or so years he had
\nshed many tears over the predicament he found himself in. One night, Carol had
\nsuggested that perhaps it would be better if he moved out for awhile. "The time
\napart might help us appreciate each other more," she had said. But her voice
\nlacked conviction and rang hollow of hope. It was a voice Rick knew, for he
\nheard it within himself as well.
Rick remembered that terrible night as
\nhe now lay listening to the storm. When Carol suggested he leave, it was like
\nhell itself opened wide its jaws to give Rick an immediate and threatening view
\nof what he had wanted to keep himself from seeing. He began to shake
\nuncontrollably, and tears that felt like they originated in the marrow of his
\nbones gushed from his eyes. The tears, shudders, and cries came in torrents.
\nJust as one spasm of heartbreak would seem to pass and his body would start to
\nsettle, a new wave would burst from deep within him and his wailing would begin
\nanew. He felt his hope for happiness, which he had clung to until that moment,
\nslipping away with each teardrop. All the while, Rick recalled, Carol lay next
\nto him, emotionless. She hadn’t reached over to comfort him.
As he lay in memory, Rick could still
\nfeel the echo of those shudders within him. Things had calmed a bit between
\nhimself and Carol over the past eighteen months, but the bleak essentials of
\ntheir relationship remained the same. He hadn’t left as Carol had asked
\nbecause, probably out of pity, she had withdrawn the suggestion. But her words
\nstill hung in the air between them—"Perhaps we need to get away from
\neach other . . . maybe that will help
\n. . . "
Rick knew better. With the indifference
\nhe was feeling within himself, he feared that he might like the time away—time away from demands, expectations,
\ncriticisms, and the weight of Carol’s unhappiness that pressed upon and accused
\nhim whenever they were together. Even worse, Rick was afraid Carol might like
\nthe time away as well—a risk with implications he couldn’t bear to think
\nabout.
The streetlight in front of their house
\ncast enough glow through the storm and against the wall Rick was facing to
\nilluminate the painting of the two of them that hung there. The artist had
\ncaptured Carol perfectly, he thought, from the straight line in which she set
\nher mouth, to the determination in her jaw and the icy glare of her eye. Even
\nthe painter couldn’t deny it, he thought to
\nhimself, feeling all the more discouraged. Why didn’t I see it before we
\nmarried?