A DEAR JOHN LETTER FOR JEFF by maninconn
Dear Jeff,
By the time you read this I will have left you.
I know this is kind of cheesy leaving you a Dear John letter, but I knew there would be a horrible scene that I frankly just don't want to face. Consider me a coward if you like , but I can't face the hurt I know I'm going to cause you. You see I got bored. I'm bored living the same routine way we've lived for the last 28 years, plus the 4 years we dated in college. I'm tired of you reading my mind, and finishing sentences. Even though it feels good when you rub my neck or feet that certain special way, I just know you'll do what needs to be done just by the way I sigh, or the way I plop down into a chair or bed., and that is starting to bother me. It feels like I don't even own my own thoughts, and it is scary.
I'm also tired of our boring sex life. Oh I know you'd object most to that statement. I know I rejected your advances 98% of the time, and hold off initiating sex until I'm good and ready. You have to understand, knowing you want me gets me hot, and I love being on the edge sexually for days before finding relief in a release. And I know you've wanted to be more adventurous, but I always see you as my kids' Dad, and the thought of him getting adventurous sexually just seems inappropriate. He should be a fine upstanding conservative man.So I never sucked you the way I wanted, even though you spent hours making love to my pussy with your SO talented tongue. And I never gave you my ass because yours is too big! I never wanted to have trouble walking the next day, baby, so you're out of luck.
I know all of this seems hypocritical and selfish. It seems selfish because it is, and that is why I am leaving. I need the thrill of the chase, the excitement of a new lover, and you can never be that again. You were so hot when we were young, playing that guitar with Buddy in the band, riding your Harley in that sexy leather jacket, the wind in your flowing blonde locks, sweeping me off my feet on the dance floor whether at a rock and roll club or in the ballroom, the beautiful paintings you made of me and the kids. But we grew old and complacent in how we treated each other. The rock band gigs faded so you could coach soccer, the Harley is parked in the garage, buried beneath the kids sports equipment in front of the mini-van, and my knees just couldn't keep up on the dance floor. You do still have that beautiful hair though. But now the kids are grown, and I'm not comfortable in the mini-van life, which you seem to have grown to love.
I assure you, I haven't cheated on you, and you remain the only man I've ever had sex with. I have found men who interest me, though, and before I began sneaking around on you, thought it best to break it off with you. I couldn't bear the thought of disrespecting you by sneaking around, Jeff, I always loved you too much for that.
I'm sure our paths will cross again, but I do not ever want to discuss this with you. I've spoken with Sam, and requested he represent you in the divorce. He has drawn up the paperwork leaving you with everything but my clothing and personal effects, which I moved out today. I even left you ½ of my pension and took on ½ of our debt service, minus the mortgage. It's only fair, I helped incur it, and I want to be at least fair. Please, shed your tears in private, so when we meet for the kids events, we can continue to avoid a scene. But fair is fair, so if you wish to respond in a letter, I promise to read every word, and to value your parting thoughts.
Love Ellen
I read it over and over again, frozen to the spot in the kitchen where I picked it up. There were no tears, not yet. I was too numb. There was nothing to indicate this was coming. There was no expression of discontent, no hint of wanting more, no fighting, no clues of another man in her world. We touched, we kissed, we smiled, we did the little things that two people intent on growing old together. In fact, I had spent the last year trying to Romance her, trying to re-kindle our passions now that our youngest had moved out for good after completing college. I bought jewelry, only to be admonished it was too expensive, and she'd rather have chocolate. I turned the control of sex over to her because she claimed I was stressing her out by pressuring her to make love. She told me holding hands was just as good for her. I guess she did give me a clue, I just thought she was slowing down with her change of life.
So here I stood, the last to know. I grabbed a beer, and a shower. Yes, at the same time. When I finished the beer, I grabbed two more, and went back to the shower. There was no one around to admonish me for leaving a water trail on her floors. I drank intent on finishing my supply. That wasn't going to happen, I cellar fine beers like wine aficionados cellar wines. I cellared wines too I didn't make a dent in the beers I had stored, but if I had, I would have turned to my wines! I did make a serious dent in my consciousness. I woke up the next morning with a searing headache, on the floor of my basement, naked from the shower. I went upstairs, threw up everything I had consumed, went to bed and cried.
I was 11 when my grandmother died. Grandpa took me aside and talked to me a lot at the wake and the funeral. He taught me a lesson: "You get three days of mourning when someone dies. God raised the dead in three days, you can resurrect your life. Cry. Scream. Kick things. When you're old enough, drink. Get into a good bar fight. Pray. Do as much of this as you can. Then stop and get back to your life. Honor the departed by moving on. A man doesn't dwell pn a past he lost, he lives in a present he is building and the future he's moving towards."
Grandpa was wise. I considered my wife's desertion to be the death of our marriage. I cried my eyes out, drank myself silly, put holes in sheet rock walls with my fists until they were bleeding, then used furniture or whatever else was handy to get the job done. I screamed. I kicked. I drank. I barely ate, but I figured, hey beer is grain, yeast and water, just like bread, right? And wine is fruit. There, my food groups all in two bottles.
I was off for the summer. She waited until the day after the school year closed to leave. Good planning. But I woke up the Tuesday after the Friday she dropped her bomb and came out of mourning. First I called my kids. Ellen had let them know about her decision, and they had frantically tried to call me. I was too drunk to answer the phone, but assured them I was ok. I cleaned up the house, and then called my favorite charity to come and get a truckload of donations. There was no way I was going to hang on to the clutter of a failed marriage. I kept furniture that had been in the family. I boxed up pictures and photo albums, my kids could have them if they wanted. I treated all other memorabilia the same way, but threw away the ridiculous knick knacks we had acquired. What the hell did I care about the Spanish pottery or the brass cats we bought in Portugal?
The next couple of days, I visited Home Depot, purchasing flooring and carpet, paint, and oh yeah, new sheetrock. I intended to make the house my home now, the pink and coral walls and frilly curtains were history. I stopped at Sam's and signed the paperwork. He said since it was uncontested and only one lawyer was involved, our divorce would be final close to the time school went back in session. I sold the mini van, and drove down to a little dealer in a back alley downtown, I drove home in a '76 Triumph Spitfire convertible, just like I'd always wanted. British Racing Green, beige leather upholstery, and chromed wire wheels. I unpacked the Harley, which was easy after purging the garage of all that old unused clutter.
But the best move I made was to call Buddy. That call changed my life as quickly as my wife's letter, just days earlier. A half an hour after telling him what happened, Buddy and the boys descended on my home. Buddy was my best friend since third grade. We formed our band together, played ball together, took the same classes, double dated together. He was my best man. I was his. The demise of my marriage was catastrophic in his eyes, and there was no he would let me go through the metamorphosis of my home front alone.
Our band had stopped playing years ago when life intervened, but the people we had befriended had not forgotten us. When I say Buddy and the boys, there were a lot of boys. We had played for weddings, funerals, parties, and picnics for many people. We had often performed at a cheap rate or free because we liked the floks who followed us from gig to gig. Good will begets good will, and when they heard I had trashed my place with the intent to re-make it as my home, the good will gates opened wide. Over the next two weeks, painters, carpenters, masons, plumbers, every type of tradesman you can imagine fixed so much more than my walls. Within a month, you couldn't recognize my house. It was remade inside and out.
Funny thing about a crowd of guys, they come with a crowd of girls. Their wives and girls dropped by project "Jeff's House" to supervise, and soon began bringing their single friends for project "Jeff's Lovelife." No one was aggressive in their matchmaking attempts, it was too soon for that, but it was obvious that seeds were being sown, and soon I was out dancing and partying 2-3 nights a week. Impromptu barbecues and parties popped up at my house, and I never lacked for company, though I really didn't want to jump into a relationship before my divorce was final.
Buddy suggested re-forming the band. In fact he had gone out and secured gigs already, in some clubs where the owners were old friends. Before the fresh paint was dry on my house, "Buddy and Jeff" opened at Jimmie's and took over Friday nights. He hooked us up with Saturdays at a little dance club down in the city, and booked a duo act for Sunday afternoons at a popular seafood restaurant down on the water. We sounded like we had never stopped playing. We were all at similar places in our lives, where our kids had either moved out or didn't need us any more. We all looked pretty good, and all carried all our own hair, except Ronnie, our drummer. We hit it off big. Our "following" was happy to come out of hibernation and paid their covers to pack the houses every night.
My sons visited every chance they got, helping with my renovation and even sitting in with the band once in a while. I had them under strict orders not to tell their mom a thing about me, and if she asked, tell the truth. "Dad was very upset, but has moved on and is fine." My daughter who lived in Australia with her finacee, was under similar instruction. My kids were good to me, and I had always trusted them to respect my wishes. I knew they were truthful when they told me Ellen was getting no information from them of my well being.
I also took time to fight solitude by enforcing healthy habits, improving my diet, and stepping up my exercise routines. I never let myself go out of shape, but now hit the pool with vigor, and the road (running or biking) with determination. Every evening, even before going to a gig, I also lifted, alternating leg days with upper body.
I had remade my home, my social stature, my activity calendar, my relationship with my kids, and my body within a month of Ellen's departure. I guess it was time to respond to her letter. After all, she had invited it, right?
Dear Ellen,
Thanks. You were right.
Goodbye,
Jeff.
I emailed it to her. Short and sweet, it said it all. I didn't have her new address, and actually didn't want it. Someone tried to tell me she had hooked up with some handsome kid my daughter's age who drove a fancy car and was a real smooth talker. They had been seen together down at the shore in clubs and on the beach. Anytime someone told me about her, I politely told them I didn't care to hear. But we had many friends, and those little pieces soon fit together to paint a picture of a torrid September-June Romance. Maybe October-June. November- May? It didn't matter to me, I actually wished her well. Grandpas three day rule had me all "moved on," and I liked the me-right-now too much to dwell on the us-that-was.
The end of the summer is a sad reality of a teacher's life, but August is a hot time for a musician. This year was no exception. Buddy and I were booked into festival after festival, right through September. Labor Day had us playing 2-3 times a day. The busy schedule kept me from reading her emailed response. I wasn't ignoring her, I just thought we were exchanging one letter and moving on, after all, that's what she wanted, right? I just was too busy and having too much fun to check email.
In fact, I had all but forgotten my marital travails when Sam called with the news that our case had indeed taken a fast track. It seems a certain clerk with a family court judge was a fan of a certain band. I was to be officially single Friday. After a month and a half of life metamorphosis, Friday I would again be a bachelor. We were playing at an Arts festival/Street fair in town, and suddenly, all those short-short-high skirt-wearing and deeply-plunging-neckline sporting females were fair game. Cool!
The street was mobbed when we took the stage. We cranked the amps to "outdoor" settings, and let fly with our hard driving style of blues. We covered songs, we sang originals, we improvised jams on the spot, and had people partying heartily. It felt really good. The guys had dug into the vaults and found our masters from back in the day, We never did get around to cutting a record before we started having kids, but we found plenty of material to fill a couple of makeshift albums now. CD's are much easier to produce than vinyl used to be, and we put together old and new tracks, and the sales table was doing a brisk trade. I was getting looks from women of all ages that had me truly ready to break my sex drought. I didn't see Ellen in the crowd. I missed her attempt to get behind the stage, as I slung my guitar on the backbar which I had put on my bike years ago especially for guitar transport. I didn't see her running towards me as Michelle, a 30 something buxom blonde swung her leg to sit behind me. I didn't see her face drop as she realized another woman was sitting in her seat for the first time in the entire life of my 25 year old bike. I didn't see a tear form as I drove off away from her. I wish I had.
Michelle was amazing. I'm not going to tell you about how I buried my face in her ample cleavage, or describe her blowjob in detail, look for another story. Suffice to say, I stalked her all night, jumping up and down like a 16 year old. I completely exhausted her. At the end of the evening, she told me that she would never forget me for the time we spent together, but suggested that I not call her again. I think she was afraid of how long it would take her to come to her senses and start walking normally.
I didn't think I could avoid Ellen forever. And I didn't. I next spotted Ellen next at our regular Friday night gig at Jimmy's. She came in the door with her boy toy and another young couple. They found a table, ordered beers. As soon as I saw her, I gave the boys a sign that we were moving outside our prepared set list. The band had always loved playing "American Woman" back in the day whenever we spotted an ex girlfriend in the house, and it was always the offended guy who got the mic as soon as the girl was spotted. It was our way of closing ranks in respect of our friend. We clung tenaciously to the ideal that a girl who broke up with one of us wasn't good for any of us, and none of us ever crossed the line to date another's ex.
I began the guitar riff in the slower style Lenny Kravitz popularized when he covered the tune. I never enjoyed the tune more as I sang with all the soul I could muster. The guitar solos were memorable, and really got the crowd going. I didn't see Ellen's face drop when she recognized we were playing this old tune for her, but Buddy's wife did. She later told me tears began to well as I sang the lines "stay away from me" and "go on and let me be" and streamed freely at "Don't come knockin' around my door, I don't wanna see your face no more." She left before the end of the song, barely in control. Boy toy and friends didn't go with her, and stayed for hours drinking and dancing. I guess there was some trouble in paradise.
A week later I got a visit from my older son. Apparently Ellen and Boy Toy had it out that night. He was apparently tiring of her charms, and she was tiring from keeping up with the activity levels, sexual and non, of a twenty something boyfriend. He was upset that she had restricted his lifestyle by avoiding places where we played. Word had gotten out the band was actively gigging again, and wherever we played was the place to be. It also turned out that he was more than displeased that she had given up property rights in the divorce, and had been planning to move into my house. I had suspected he was gold digging, but what a usurper. I guess he didn't know of our prenup agreement that if either of us left the family for greener pastures, we left completely. The other would keep the home, the money, the furniture, the accumulated material of a life together, regardless of how short or long that life had lasted. It was her Dad's idea, since he didn't trust any man's intentions with his little girl. I had no intention to harm her, so I would have signed anything. Apparently Ellen remembered, and that was probably why she proposed such an easy to accept divorce agreement.
Boy Toy had sent her packing and she had spent the last night crying to the kids over the phone. I really did feel for her, but remember, I had spent my three days in mourning for my marriage, and was now free to care without being affected myself. The kids were not happy with my attitude. Of course, they saw me as still unattached, and believed I should take their Mom back into the family home, at least to help her get on her feet. I disagreed. To take her in meant I'd have to be responsible for the mood swings she would undoubtedly experience in spades. The normal menopausal experience she shared with me prior to the divorce was bad enough, dealing with them, her feelings of rejection by Boy Toy, humiliation in crawling back to me plus potential guilt over dumping me in the first place were not items I wanted to add to my daily menu. I was eating better, living a simpler uncluttered life in a clean uncluttered home, enjoying my golden career years as a highly respected teacher, having a ball with my band and playing duo gigs with Buddy, and my love life had never been active. I couldn't imagine bringing home another woman only to have to introduce her to my ex-wife sitting in the living room watching TV and eating ice cream and bon-bons. No, I had never enjoyed being single this much when I was young, and had no plans to do anything to crimp that style now.
Days stretched to weeks. The kids toned down their "take her in" lobby to the point of "help her out," and I obliged by letting them raid the storage unit I had rented for the furniture and stuff that was too good for the dump when Ellen finally rented a small apartment. I even loaned them the truck the band had purchased to haul gear from gig to gig.
With the new school year in full swing and an active schedule for the band, I rarely saw Ellen. She taught in the same district, but in a different school building, so our paths crossed occasionally, but I truly didn't take notice of her when that happened. I was a popular item of discussion in the rumor mill. Maybe it was due to the frequent appearance of the Harley or the sports car. Maybe it was my enhanced activity level that carried over into school life. Maybe it was my new status as the available bachelor. Rumors didn't matter to me. The band was immensely popular, my barbecue parties were renowned as a good time, and I was never lacking for female companionship. Happy as a clam, I simply didn't miss married life.
I flew to France for Thanksgiving. It was a long held dream to be in France the day the Beaujolais was released for sale, and Thanksgiving fell early enough that the calendar worked. Bags packed, I was surprised when my son called the night before I left and asked me to a Turkey day dinner at Ellen's. He was truly upset to find that I had other plans, and immediately pinned me down to hosting a family Christmas He and his girlfriend would cook, I just had to provide a place. He told me all 3 kids were coming into town, and they really wanted a special day to reminisce.
I relented on the condition that Ellen knew she wasn't welcome to bring a date, and that I would return the favor by dedicating my company especially to the kids. I was genuinely surprised when he told me his mom wasn't dating at all, and that she was actually quite lonely. I just wasn't interested in having some guy smirking like the cat that got the cream through a family gathering like this, so I didn't pry into the why's and why not's of my ex-wife's love life. They were welcome to stay at my home for as long as they wanted. In fact, I wanted all the kids to stay at home with me rather than going to a hotel.
"Dad, Mom will feel so badly about that, us all being 'home' and she having to leave when it's over."
I mulled over what he said. This would be my family's first reunion since the kids had moved out when we all could be together. Ellen belonged there too.
"So invite her to stay also. But she will have to accept being the only one not to sleep in her 'old room.' I don't think that would work out well. She is welcome to the guest room. If you guys bring guests, they will have to sleep with you or go to a hotel."
"Thanks Dad! This will mean so much to all of us."
He was right. Christmas fell on a Saturday that year, and everyone arrived on Thursday night My daughter and her fiancee flew in from Australia, and my son and his girlfriend picked them up at the airport on the way driving into town from Boston. My youngest was with them also, as he was in college in Boston. Ellen pulled up about ten minutes before them, and I watched her sitting in her car before the kids pulled in. Guess she was nervous. It was heartwarming to see them all gathering to hug and kiss on the front yard, and for the first time since I came out of my 3 day mourning I felt a little bad about the water that had passed under our collective bridge.
The 6 of them came strolling into the front door to find a very pleasant homecoming. Of course neither my daughter or ex-wife had been in the house since I remodeled, so that in itself was a bit of a surprise. But I had put up the Christmas decorations in much the same as we had decked the halls for years. Candles, nutcrackers, centerpieces were all in place, though on my new furniture. The tree, with all the old ornaments we bought on vacation or were hand made in art class by the kids, sat in its venerable central pace. I had added a fireplace when I renovated, and a warm fire glowed with the spirit. The smells of the tree, the fire and mulled cider filled the room. Plates of cookies and fudge sat in every nook and cranny, and the table was set with the fine china that Ellen's grandma had passed along as our wedding gift those many years ago. There was no doubt that I had made our house into my home, but their was also no doubt that my home was more than ready to host Christmas for my family. My family. With all that had happened it seemed strange to consider, but they truly were my family. The kids, though grown were still my flesh and blood, and though divorced, my ex-wife had held the key to my heart for most of my grown life
There was enormous hustle and bustle as they checked out the place. I had restored the kids bedrooms to nearly the exact décor they had grown up with, with the exception of tempering the hot pink in my daughter's room to a more mature soft pastel shade. I had also replaced their old single beds with comfortable queen sets while managing to coordinate new headboards with their childhood desk and dresser sets. The spacious guest room had been remodeled as a studio, complete with a drafting table to paint by the window allow the instruments, amps and recording gear needed to music. I had expanded one side of the ground floor opening up a small library into a large room with the TV and a pool table. The living room had been formally arranged focused on the large new hearth, which had brand new Christmas stockings, one for each of us, Ellen included.
The kids noticed the stockings and froze looking at each other with a devilish gleam in each eye. As one they broke the silence and raced for their stockings. As they did I saw they years melt away from their bodies, and suddenly they were little kids again flying headfirst into the joys of Christmas. Maturity re-gained its dignity when the older two also retrieved their partner's stockings and brought them back babbling separate accounts of childhood memories the stockings brought back. It had been our cusJeff to lovingly decorate little inexpensive gifts and treats to fill the stockings before we moved to the major gifts beneath the tree. Soon they were all nibbling cookies and chocolates and trying on ridiculous novelty socks that would only get worn on Christmas days.
"But Dad, your stocking is empty! We didn't know, so we didn't bring anything to stuff it."
I grabbed my stocking from the mantle and looked inside.
"No hun, you did fill it! You are all here, reminiscing, laughing, playing. You are filling it now with the essence of Christmas. You're filling it with love!"
There were some hugs and some kisses as we all wished each other Merry Christmas. Ellen lingered in our embrace a bit longer than an expected of an ex wife, but not uncomfortably so, and for a while there it felt as if we were still one big happy family. The kids realized there were probably presents under the tree, and the giddiness of childhood Christmases flooded back in an instant. Gifts were exchanged, the feast was sumptuous, and after dishes were done, the guitars came out and we had our customary Christmas jam. It grew late, and we began to adjourn to sleeping quarters. Ellen moved to the hall closet to get her coat.
"Thanks for being so sweet to me today. I really appreciate spending Christmas Day with you and the kids. I know I have myself to blame, but of all the things I gave up, I miss the family time the most."
"Well, the kids are all grown and on their own. This would be just as rare if we were still together."
"I know. But I miss the family time you and I used to have too, you know, the family-of-two time. I guess I'm trying to finally say I'm sorry to you. I really screwed up a good life for us both."
"Don't beat yourself up! We always told the kids to follow their dreams, to be happy. You did just that! We still have good lives, they are just different now."
She looked at me incredulously, "You mean you feel that little for what we had? After today, you don't feel at all nostalgic? Jealous for what we lost?"
"Ellen, we had today, and it was beautiful! Just what is it we lost?"
"We lost each other...I lost you. And I'll never forgive myself for it!!! And you could care less!!"
She was crying freely now. I put my arm around her and she broke down completely. I had cried myself out when she left, but felt sad for this to be happening to her on Christmas day. When she finally calmed down, I reminded her that while we dated in college, she had broken up with me. She had been afraid we were getting serious too soon, and wanted some time to think if she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with one guy, exclusively. I reminded her how hurt I had felt that she left me, but that I would never want to be totally with someone who didn't feel totally devoted to me. I told her I had given my marriage one of my three day mourning periods, and come out on the other side ready to go on living my life. Today she was a beautiful part of my life, and I thanked her for that.
I was calm, and that eased her out of her tears. I invited her to stay the night, pulled out the bed in the studio, and grabbed a t-shirt of mine and a robe for her to wear around the house. I heard her sobbing when I came back upstairs after locking up the house, and didn't think she'd sleep much. I however slept like a log.
The next day was a continuation of Christmas, and Ellen was thrilled when we all begged her to stay for the entire weekend. We didn't talk about our past again while the kids were there,, but I recognized the looks Ellen used to give me when we were married. I saw the "I love you so much" and "You're wonderful" smiles. I even answered a couple of the "hug me" and "Can I have a kiss" looks. We read each others' minds like we did when we were married. At the table she'd pour her coffee and I'd add just the right amount of milk. I'd butter my pancakes and look back to see that she had applied just the right amount of maple syrup. We finished sentences. We did, however, sleep in separate rooms. The kids all left together, with my daughter planning to spend time in Boston with the boys and then head to Vermont for some skiing.
That left Ellen and I alone in the house we had bought together. I stoked the fire, she opened a bottle of wine. We sat and talked. We reminisced, we joked, and then we got serious.
"I was so stupid, so wrong, and so cruel. I know I can never make it up to you, and don't expect you to forgive me, but I do want to say I'm sorry. I want to at least be friends again. You were not only my husband, you were my best friend, my advisor, my most trusted colleague, my partner in crime.... and I miss all of you so much."
I looked at her and smiled, and the dam broke. Ellen can talk, and she wove a masterpiece of a one person conversation on the spot. She told me of her slipping into boredom, even though she now realizes she had shut me out to create the vacuum of passion we had suffered together. She told me of the excitement of meeting a flattering younger guy, and the allure of a secret love affair. She told me how easy it had been to rationalize me into a monster, when she was the one acting monstrously. Her tale was one of extreme joy in the acts of betrayal, followed by rage that I didn't fight for her, that I was indifferent and just let her go. She told how jealous she was of my life when I landed on my feet and reverted to the lifestyle I had enjoyed when we met, especially when she saw some pretty young (ah Michelle, you never forget your first post divorce tryst) thing riding in her spot on the back of my Harley. The jealousy brewed to an all out rage when she saw me with girl after girl, all offering something different that Ellen felt was superior to what she had given me.
Her emotions took a severe dive when the divorce was final, and she discovered boy toy only dated married women until they were single then dumped them. Seems he liked spending their husbands' money ever since his father, an old school conservative who strongly disapproved of his son's home wrecking ways, disowned him and revoked his trust funds. She didn't find another prospect after the break up. It seems the good men her age were either already spoken for or were unwilling to get serious with a woman who had cheated on her devoted first husband. There were plenty of men who would buy her a drink, dance with her, or climb into her bed, but there were no keepers. Younger guys were happy to date her, after all she looked hot and oozed sensuality when she wanted to flip that switch. But wanted nothing to do with a long term relationship with someone well into menopause. Makes it tough to start a family in those conditions!
I listened to her ramble until she ran out of steam. I poured another glass of wine for each of us, and handed her over with a smile.
"Yes, I guess from what you've said, you were pretty stupid. But you don't have to make it up to me. Like I said, you followed your dream, and I loved you enough to allow it."
I wish I had a picture of her face at that moment. She clearly didn't expect me to tie my reaction to my love for her.
"I did forgive you, almost immediately. How could I hold you there in my marriage when you wanted out? I couldn't keep you tied up or caged in the house. If I forbade you to do something, you'd have just hidden it from me and gone ahead. Your note might have felt cruel at first, but looking back, it did make things clean and tidy. We didn't fight over property, didn't have to worry about custody since the kids were grown. I should thank you for that!
Ok, so I'm not your husband anymore, and it may be quite a while before you call me a best friend or an advisor. Trust is definitely an issue for me, but if you want to trust my advice that label is up to you. Partners in crime might be a little bit intimate for where we are now as well, but how about if we just call us "friends?"
Her eyes teared up as she melted into my arms. She stayed another night. No don't go there, we slept apart. We just had a lot to catch up on. It seemed we were ok sharing the role of parent together again. The next day, she went home to pack for a New Year's trek to join the kids in Boston. I had gigs all week, it is a very lucrative time to be a musician. Of course the side benefit is that my mind was on my music, and I didn't give Ellen a second thought. The school term started up right after the New Year, and my new schedule didn't leave much room to see Ellen.
We next crossed paths at an in-service conference in April. We sat beside each other, and found ourselves together at a table for two for lunch. We had a lovely talk, and centered up my daughter's upcoming marriage in Australia. It seemed we were back to sharing the role of friends together.
Towards the end of the lunch she thanked me for treating her so well, both today and at Christmas. She said she was so happy we could move on as friends, and asked me if I would do her one favor. She blushed, and then hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally stammered out a request to take her for a ride on the Harley one Saturday.
"Sure!" I answered without skipping a beat. "Sunday is supposed to be warm and beautiful, and we aren't playing at all. Let's ride up north, stop for a great lunch, and spend some time in the fresh air."
She was smiley and bubbly. I was drawn to my memories of her on the bike with me when we were younger. The day always ended with an amazing bedroom romp inspired by hours of her arms wrapped around me from behind, hands roaming all over my chest and....well you get the picture without more detail. She always teased about the next time we'd go out for a ride with something big and powerful between her legs, and the motorcycle was nice too! I wasn't sure I could resist her. I was right. I couldn't. We rode up to the falls, and I felt her hands wander. We hiked to the top of the falls, and followed the long trail around through the woods back down the hill to the bike. We stopped in a quaint little town and strolled the street browsing antique shops. It was the kind of day I absolutely hated, except for the fact I was spending time with this woman who I had spent my life with seeing as beautiful in every way. Lunch was great. By dinnertime we had returned back south and stopped at a great little seafood dock for dinner. Candlelight, delicious food, the waves gently lapping at the dock, boats gracefully passing, there was no doubt she was being wined and dined. I took her home, my home, our home. I took her to bed, our bed, my bed.
Yes, we made love this time. It seemed we now shared the role of lovers together.
We saw each other for dinner and a movie the next week, and yes, we made love again. We even had lunch a couple of times. We never talked about where our relationship was heading. Thoughts of the word exclusive in any of its forms were nowhere near either of our minds.
Our daughter's wedding was right around the corner. We had discussed the details in detail, and I had been proud to write all the checks without complaint. Hey the band made some money playing all those festivals had been profitable, we had paid the mortgage off while we were still married, carried next to no credit card debt, and I was employed full time, at the top of the salary scale, and had no dependents to support. I wasn't rolling in dough, but I was comfortable and had the money in the bank. The detail we hadn't shared was our travel plans. We had each made our arrangements separately, though were both staying in the hotel where all the guests would be together. When we compared notes, we discovered we were on the same plane. I invited her to meet me at my house ad share the car I had hired to take me to the airport.
The day of the trip arrived, and Ellen came over early. I had barely rinsed out the coffeepot and turned on the dishwasher with the breakfast dishes when the car pulled into the driveway. Our driver whisked us off to JFK. Our bags were checked curbside, and we headed into the terminal together. Now there aren't that many direct flights from JFK to Sydney in a day, so the check in counter was not crowded and we entered the check in line together. I stepped up after Ellen, and the counter person asked why I hadn't taken the short line for first class passengers. I had bought a first class ticket since the flight was so long, but usually flew as cheaply as possible. I didn't realize the benefits began with express check in, and the ticket agent got a chuckle out of that. She directed me to the first class lounge. Ellen was waiting for me and we cleared security together and headed for the lounge. I checked in at the desk, and the attendant didn't question her coming in with a coach ticket, but offered the standard "There is room in first class, and I could seat her next to you. Would you like to upgrade?"
Well, go ahead and call me a pussy whipped sap for being the nostalgic pussy who whipped out his sappy credit card and plunked down the hard earned currency for a betraying ex wife's comfort. You'd be wrong. I know it looks that way, but something about flying half way around the world with my daughter's mother to attend my daughter's wedding in first class seats that folded back into a bed while she cramped in coach with no leg room seemed wrong. When we boarded the plane by rows, I made her wait with me. She was a bit annoyed, and worried that she would lose her seat to a stand by she began to work up a snit. I explained I had checked her in when we came to the lounge. Snit defused. Of course the snit disappeared entirely, but when she was seated in first class beside me, and I gave her the mother of the bride rationale, her mood changed to a degree that had me imagining mile high membership. Don't be silly, gentle reader, by now you must know public displays of affection aren't my style, especially in a cramped toilet on an airplane!
We arrived in Sydney, and the week was magical. We toured, we visited, and best of all we launched my daughter in her own marriage. I can't tell you how proud I was to deliver my only line, "Her mother and I do" to give her away after walking her down the aisle. I escorted Ellen at the reception, and enjoyed the appropriate dances. Of course a highlight of the evening was when her brothers and I joined the band to perform a rousing version of "All American Girl" as a musical offering to our little girl. After the reception, Ellen, the boys and I all gathered in the hotel lounge. One of them went right to the heart of the matter.
"So what's up with you two?"
"Nothing new sweetie," Ellen replied, "Your dad and I are just being your parents. We've put our past behind and are enjoying life. Is that ok with you?
"Yeah Mom, it just looks like more than that. It looks like you are getting close again, maaaaayyyybeeee I dunno, getting together again?"
"Honey, I'm not stupid. I went a bit insane awhile back, and made a stupid mistake. Ok, I was stupid then, very stupid. I'm responsible for that, and I accept the consequences. Dad and I have talked about it, and what he told me is right. Just like we always taught you, I made a choice, I left the relationship, I accept the consequences."
The boys looked at me to follow up. I had nothing to add, so I sat there smiling and sipping a delightful local Australian ale.
"C'mon Dad, Mom answered the question, do we get to hear from you?"
"Boys, you should be happy we didn't spend the week here making snide hurtful comments demeaning each other. I hear that's what divorced couples do at events like this. Beyond that, I think what you are asking falls generally in the realm of my love life, and that is out of bounds. Didn't I teach you not to kiss and tell? So why would I?"
"But Dad, you love Mom! We can all see that. And we are both old enough to know what it means for a girl to tell you she wants to be just friends. So without giving me nightmares and bad pictures of your love life, just tell us, are you and Mom friendly beyond being just friends."
"Son, with our history, if we are friendly, it will always be beyond being just friends. She's the love of my life, the mother of my children, and the best friend I ever had. It's one of those things we humans just can't turn on and off at will. Beyond that, there is no answer I can give you, because that part of our life story is unwritten."
We talked a while more, then went up to our rooms. I had just slipped into pajamas when there was a knock on the door. It was Ellen. I let her in. We went to bed. She thanked me for the first class upgrade. Before I even breathing returned to normal she began thanking me for a wonderful week Then she thanked me for making my daughter's wedding an event we approached as a couple. I was totally exhausted from accepting thanks, when she thanked me for what I told the boys in the lounge. She stayed for breakfast, which I ordered from room service.
The trip home was dreamy. We arrived at my house, and before she left she gave me a deep kiss.
"I want you know, that I am here for you for whatever you want, whenever you want. Someplace along the line, I forgot why I loved you. Someplace in the routine of being a grown up I forgot how much I loved you. Leaving you was the biggest mistake I could ever make. I threw away the most precious thing I could ever have. Hurting you will always be the biggest regret of my life, and I wish I could just turn back the clock. Whatever, whenever, just let me know. Want a friend to play tennis? Call me. Need a roadie? Groupie? Back up singer? I'm your girl. Need a lover? I'm your woman. Have sex, abuse me, make love to me, I'm there. Need a meal made, I'll cook. I'll clean, fold your laundry, do dishes and windows. I will never ask or expect exclusivity, I know I gave that up. But if you ever ask, the answer is yes. Friend, girl friend, mistress, lover, wife, just ask. Thanks for being so....so...so you! You are wonderful, and if you someday decide to settle with someone else, count on me letting her know what she has, and that she had better make you happy, or I'll be waiting."
"That's really sweet of you Ellen. I have been so happy we've been able to get close again. I'm just not sure I'm comfortable hanging labels on us. I don't know where we are going, I'm just happy we are going there together at least part of the time. I spent all my life living with women, and usually doing their bidding. First my mom and sister, then right after college marrying you. I kind of enjoy living in a home where I determined the colors and the level of clutter. I enjoy cooking my own food the way I like it, and having the fridge full of my favorites. I love playing in the band, and I confess it's been good to have an open sex life. I don't plan on changing that soon. Do you remember the note I wrote responding to your letter?"
"Yes. You said I was right, thanked me, and said goodbye. You didn't even sign it 'Love.'"
"I meant every word in that note. You were right, we were stale, and needed a change. The thank you and goodbye were heartfelt. Anything about 'love' would have been out of line and shallow. Any thing else I could say would have either just been spiteful or would have made me seem like a begging whining wuss. I'm not very good at any of that. So I wrote what needed to be written and stopped."
"What needs to be written now, Tom?"
"Not a thing. I've showed you everything you need to know."
"Yes, you have. You've showed me that you care. You showed me you still find me attractive, and sexy even. You showed me you want me. You stand by me where the children are concerned. You've shown you love me more than a casual lover, enough even to share dinner and breakfast. You enjoy my company enough to date me. You respect me, and our history enough to upgrade me to first class, pay for our daughter's wedding completely without asking a cent from me, and to declare to our sons that I'm the love of our life. The only thing that seems to be missing is a more full time role, being your wife. I want you to know I understand that, and will never press you on that topic. I know I gave that right away. But understand that if you ever choose to ask, the answer is "yes" in advance, and I'll be praying every day of my life for the chance to say it."
She kissed me goodnight.
Sure, I considered what she said. But come on, get real! I am indeed pussy whipped, so why stop at one? I had the world in my hands, my own home, my kids were grown, financial comfort, an ex wife dedicated to getting me back who by her own admission would do anything anytime, a fit body and all my hair, a combination of a hot band and a Harley, and a never ending supply of women who wanted to jump on the back of my bike and ride of to an after party and put big and powerful things between their legs. Oh sure, I loved Ellen enough, and their was that thing about someone to share the golden years with, but really. Maybe I'd change my mind when we turned 60, but not now. I didn't write "Dear Jeff," so I didn't feel responsible for the aftermath. I had forgiven her, I had made up with her, I had my life in order.
So I picked up the phone and called that buxom blonde who climbed on the Harley after the street festival and became my first post divorce fuck. She giggled into the phone when I asked her if she was serious about never calling her again. She assured me she was ok and walking again, and invited me to come right over.
Even as I fired up the Harley to ride over to her place I knew someday I'd ask Ellen to marry me again. But this was not that day.
