The Path
She stood still and numb, aware of everything that had led to this moment. It had been raining, he was in a hurry, and he never even saw the stop sign. In a moment, her life changed. In a flash, her path was altered, unless, of course, she chose to believe that what was happening in this moment was her path, and that what happened was simply part of the plan. In that case, her life had not really changed, just her perspective of it. These were the thoughts running through her mind as they lowered her husband’s casket into the ground.
These were the thoughts she chose to dwell on, because the only other ones rolling through her mind were of the last few hours of her husband’s life. Voices assaulted her and told her that she should be ashamed. However, she could not bring herself to feel that emotion now, just as she never could summon it before. The truth of it was, she was not ashamed. After all, it was her path. And that path had led to this moment, which would lead to the next moment, and so on. That is how paths worked, a sort of predestined journey that could rarely be altered or changed.
And so, as the sun shimmered high in the noon sky and the heat spread in waves and the coffin sat closed, she thought of everything but those last few hours.
She was in the mourner’s garb; she had donned the face of a widow, but in her heart, grief was elusive. She could only think of the unwavering path. This is the way it must be, because this is the way it is. Some people might call her thinking logical; some might even agree with her reasoning, but she operated not out of logic or reason but out of the thought that this is how she always saw it ending.
That is not to say that her heart was cruel or her soul emotionless. She ached for the loss of a friend, a lover, and a good man. She wept when she heard the news, and for instant, brief as it was, her world crumbled. However, it always came back to the path.
The coffin began to lower into the ground with a metallic clink, and the baby in her womb leapt, as if knowing that this was the end of a journey. She clutched her stomach in an attempt to soothe her child, and at that moment tears finally began to fall. As she cried and
stroked her still small belly, the casket sank lower and lower until it was finally out of sight. This time, however, the tears were not for her husband. They were for her child. They were for her guilt. They were for the relief she felt when she realized that she would not have to
tell her husband that her child was not his. And they were tears for herself, for a part of her had died with him and was now being buried as well.
After the mourners were gone and the cemetery had cleared, she found herself alone with the mound of dirt. It was then, only then, that she allowed herself to relive that day.
Sunlight streamed in through the curtained windows and fell on the bed, casting the sunlight in hues of red. Like a scarlet letter, she thought briefly with a smile, before taking in his form lying next to her. However, the smile did not last long, for she knew what she had to do. He was watching her as he usually did after they had made love, with fire and passion, and lusty appreciation. She usually reveled in his gaze, but now she squirmed.
“This is going to be the last time we can be together,” she said in a rush, before she lost her nerve.
His eyes clouded, and his brow knit together. “Why? Is he getting suspicious?” His eyes took a playful hue, and for a moment she grinned. The forbidden fruit made it so much more desirable. But again she sobered.
“It’s not that,” she felt his confused look on her, and it suddenly hit her how much she was going to miss his blue eyes.
“Then what? The sex isn’t good anymore?” He nudged her gently, knowing that wasn’t it either.
She looked into his face and took in every line and every freckle. She memorized his lips and the shape of his nose. She searched his eyes in hoping to memorize his heart.
“I’m pregnant,” she whispered. The thought brought waves of joy and warmth to her, and she refused to meet his eyes, for she knew she would be hurt by the look in them. He didn’t want a baby, which is why they had been so careful, which is why she was saying goodbye.
After a silence that effectively wounded the connection between them, he managed to sputter, “Is it mine?”
She looked up sharply at his tone, which was not as rejecting as she had expected.
“Do you want it to be?” she asked tentatively, knowing that what he wanted couldn’t change the facts.
For a moment he paused, and his reply caught her off guard.
“I don’t know. If it means keeping you, then maybe.”
She searched for something to say but found nothing that could
convey what her heart was feeling. It couldn’t possibly work; he couldn’t want it. If he wanted it, then she would have to tell her husband that she had been unfaithful.
“So, is it?” his eyes searched hers desperately, and for a moment she almost got swept away. Then reality stepped in, and she remembered her plan.
“No, I’m sorry,” she reached up to brush away a tear that was snaking down her face. He absorbed the news, and for a moment
did not know whether to feel relief or disappointment. Instead of deciding, he gently pulled her to his chest and held her while they both cried. He knew it wasn’t true just as much as she did; however, it was easier to pretend that it was. After the tears dried, his lips found hers, and once again, they made love like it was the first time.
He walked her to her car to say goodbye, as usual. But this time they both knew it was for good.
“It’s been fun,” he whispered as he brushed his finger against her cheek.
“And now it’s over,” she smiled faintly but without warmth or sincerity. All she knew was that she didn’t want it to end this way. He was silent a moment, and she knew he was thinking hard.
Finally, he looked to the sky, then down to the dirt, and back to her eyes.
“A storm’s coming,” he motioned to the building clouds in the north. “Looks like it might get bad.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said without looking at the sky or the ground.
“Are you sure?” She knew what he was asking, and for a moment the truth almost ripped out of her. However, she was firm and resolute, though it killed her. She knew this was best. He didn’t really want a child, and they both knew it. He was just caught up in the moment and dreading goodbye.
“Yeah,” she whispered, the words barely forming.
“This doesn’t have to be goodbye forever.” Again he brushed her face gently. “My door’s always open. I guarantee that I could never say No to you.” Again, lust claimed his eyes, making them darker.
“I know,” she smiled at him, and they stared at each other, sharing a moment beyond words. He leaned in and kissed her firmly on the lips, savoring her taste for the last time.
She didn’t look in the rear view mirror as she drove out of his long driveway. She knew what she would see, and at that, she knew she wasn’t strong enough to keep driving. His tall form, slightly lanky but strong, would be standing in the dust staring after her; the house that he built would be a silhouette against the southern sky, and the very heart that beat in her chest would be swaying on the porch swing, as if it belonged. So she didn’t look back, for if she did she would realize how wrong it was to be leaving in the first place.
Her thoughts faded, and she slowly returned to the mound of dirt before her, and at that moment, grief and shame covered her like a blanket. She held them close, embraced them, and breathed them into her lungs. Then she took them as if they were tangible objects and pressed them into the dirt. She urged them to belong to the part of her that had died. And so they did.