From a Distance
1. WARNING
“A woman always has to have her own money.”
She was a good wife, and she was a smart woman. She ascended past her parents’ expectations – not only a CEO, but also a founder. She put 20% of her net income into a high-yield savings, her house generated rental income, she had zero debt, she lived well below her means, and her emergency savings seemed bulletproof.
Her issue was honesty. Or maybe it was loyalty. Her constantly striving to be good to those she loved.
He made his demands easily. His name on the deed, life insurance for her, private credit cards for him, yearly massage packages, paid up front, to his favorite masseuse. She ignored herself and consented. She did not want to be controlling, or stingy, or unloving.
Besides, wouldn’t he do the same for her?
When her reality split in two: the fantasy of the life and marriage she had before, and the truth of the man and his secrets after, her goodness was also cleaved in half. A good wife before, and a miscalculating amateur after. He was the one who ended up with the upper hand. He owned everything without working for anything.
She had been warned.
2. GAZA
He could not stop thinking about dead children. He didn’t talk about anything else. In every situation he waited eagerly to remind everyone there was a genocide happening. If someone insinuated it was okay to be happy, he would scream. How could anyone think about anything besides dead children? People were touched at his sensitivity, he had such a tender heart.
He began to read bell hooks, quote adrienne maree brown, and learn about mutual aid from Deane Spade. Now he played only sad songs and wore anti-capitalist shirts. His social media grew into a vivid collage of flames, guns, rubble, death, and 8chan conspiracies. He was absolute on liberation and posted obsessively.
Eventually, she had to deliver an ultimatum. Friends and family called and texted her with worry. She did not want to be on the FBI watchlist. After months of dismissing her concerns, he finally announced he was taking a break from social media for his mental health.
He settled into wearing the flag every day, waiting for recognition or a chance to argue. But that rarely happened, so he focused on his captive audience. Any time his son complained, he reminded him that some kids were being hunted and bombed and tortured. When his son was full, he made him clean the plate, reminding him the dead children wished they could have dinner again. He shared all the gruesome details with his son, fighting the empire by any means necessary.
3. FATHER
It was a celebration, so the father made drinks. It didn’t bother him that she didn’t drink anymore, he made them for himself. He went upstairs to help the son get ready. The father wanted them both ready before she could claim to be waiting on them.
“It’s too cold for him to wear a linen shirt, babe. It’s probably going to rain.”
“He’s fine, mommy!” He hated her constant hovering, meddling. Sometimes you braved the cold to look fly for your birthday, the son needed to learn that.
When she came downstairs, the three of them walked out into the cold night. The alcohol made the father feel warm and fuzzy. The father missed this – the three of them at a table covered in food and drinks. He’d been asking for a dinner date for months.
The father remained calm as the son ruined the shirt. The son wouldn’t open his mouth to try the miso soup, letting it spill everywhere. The son feared the tuna rolls were too spicy and didn’t want to try those either. They slid from the father’s chopsticks and bounced off the son’s sleeves. Soy sauce splashed on the son’s shirt when the father had to swat at him for using too much. Through this, the father was composed.
He broke open when she paid the tab. The father felt rushed and disrespected. He finally screamed. He roared at them to get out, to go home. The father saw the hostess watching him scream and he continued. Finishing his drink, the father watched them flee into the rain, imagining the shirt being made clean.
4. LESSONS
“All my friends come to me for advice on how to handle girls.” He took another bite out of his cheese stick.
Sitting across the table his mom says, “Oh really? And what fourth grade advice do you have about girls??” She’s smiling. Laughing.
“I just tell them to ignore them.”
“What?”
“You know, when girls get upset about something and they’re screaming at you about it. I’m like, ‘Bro. Come on, let’s go. Just ignore them bro. They’ll get over it.’”
His mom’s eyebrows slammed into the top of her forehead. “Hmmm. Where did you get that advice from?”
“You know, it’s like the way dad does with you. Whenever you’re talking and he’s behind you rolling his eyes or making faces.”
5. COST OF LIVING
He was worried she couldn’t afford the house. He harangued her about it, drilling her with each worst-case scenario that popped into his head. What if you lose your job? I’ll get another one. What if we can’t find renters? We’ll rent to a friend. What if we have to move? We’ll sell it. What if you die? Life insurance. The truth was, she could afford the house twice over. But she couldn’t tell him that. Any time she gave him reassuring news about their finances he found a way to spend through the excess.
Before his private credit card, she panicked each time she saw the money he spent on shoes, clothes, and whatever else he found to want. A generational terror of financial demise would overtake her and she would struggle to breathe. It scared her into working harder and saving more, trying to create financial security that couldn’t be ruined by men’s fashion, and bars, and tickets to opening day. When she asked him to stop spending recklessly, he made her feel shame for bringing it up. He turned her into the villain for making all the money he spent, and she learned to keep quiet and keep the peace.
What she hadn’t anticipated was the cost of burning it all down. She was prepared to lose the savings account, the 401(k), and go back to living hand to mouth – but she hadn’t thought about him taking the family car, the gifts from her parents, the dishes she designed, her old computer with her childhood photos, and all of his things too. When people told her to stay because this would cost her dearly – she assumed this is what they meant.
6. SUNLIGHT
Click-click-click-click. The metronome of the dryer marks the time. Tired and slanted, gold and amber; a thick stripe of sunlight cuts across the floor. He sits inside of it in his pilling fleece pajamas. He is perfectly still.
The cat has taken up residence inside the cross of his little legs, purring and squinting as he scratches her neck. She softly looks back and forth before closing her eyes and curling in tighter.
The woman stares at him, absorbing the sensation of sitting in the sun, breathing. She soaks up the quiet and is soothed by the turns of the dryer. Her neck and shoulders are not tense. They are not sore. She can extend her arms without touching anyone. No one in this scene is making any demands.
The woman picks up her phone to record a video so she can always return to this moment. He is not speaking, barely moving. The woman watches him there and they contemplate the destruction around them, taking in everything that’s been lost.