Chapter Forty I Rise
I accumulate wrongs. There’s never one big thing. One big thing could happen and I’d move right past it like it didn’t. But those little wrongs, my God, I collect those. I can look back now and see what a hoarder I’d been in my relationship with David. What we had was almost too good and I needed to sabotage it before it sabotaged itself. At least I kept control that way. Even as I pack my things into boxes readying myself to start a life with a new man, and even as I mentally prepare to see the man I left behind, I replay those last months in Seattle over and over.
In the weeks prior to our wedding, I rose up against David. He never had a chance and that’s the truth. I rose like a wave and he was a ship, and I just kept collecting wrongs and climbing higher. It’s sink or swim when you’re on that ship, and I don’t know if he would have fallen to the bottom of the ocean or showed off his breaststroke because I didn’t stay to see. He talked me down, most days—rationalized, assured, loved. He did everything the right way, but my wave was growing.
I showed up for the wedding, I give myself credit for that even if everyone else does not. I wore my dress with the splash of blood on its hem, and I held my flowers and walked down the aisle in a quaint little church. David was so beautiful he made my eyes hurt. He wore a blue velvet suit over a white shirt. His shoes were black snakeskin. Iridescent when you looked at them closely. I didn’t feel the trepidation until after we were married. Isn’t that something? With the rings securely on our fingers, the contract signed, we went to the hotel after the small party and just looked at each other. David liked to say “my wife.” He said it every chance he got. But, it felt like an accusation to me. How was I to be a wife? How was I to deal with not just one Petra, but thousands of Petras? I didn’t have the strength. And then, about four weeks into our wedded life, I started to wonder if he was up for the taking? When he realized who I was, wouldn’t he turn to another woman for comfort? I collected the looks Petra gave him, and I wondered if I married him to own the looks he gave in return.
“Why did you speak to her after the show? It should be me you speak to first, I’m your wife.”
“You posed for a picture with a group of girls and allowed them to press themselves too close…”
“When I told you I was sad, you hugged me instead of discussing the problem.”
“You went for a beer with the guys when I wanted you to come home.”
“You made love to me with your eyes closed, who were you thinking of?”
“You don’t care if I orgasm, you only care about yourself.”
“You wish I were more like your mother, soft and supportive.”
“You love your art more than you love me.”
A barrage. I rose higher and higher. If he didn’t look at me the right way after a show, I’d be hurt. If he looked at me too much, I’d feel smothered. Be with your fans. Don’t be with your fans. You don’t love me enough. You love me too much. I rose.
I knew that the problem was me, and yet I couldn’t control my feelings. David drove me mad, or my love for him did. And then I saw the photo of Petra and David at Ferdinand’s house, sitting so close together it looked like their knees were touching. David came to the bar later, the guilt written all over his face. He tried to explain, but he couldn’t climb the walls I’d erected. He hadn’t even known they were being built. That’s not quite fair, I know that now. It took two more weeks. During which time I drove myself mad. It was a mistake, falling in love with him, staying when I knew I needed to leave and go home.
There was a note written in my own hand. All I could find was a pen with red ink. It was in the kitchen drawer and the end of it was chewed on. I didn’t want my letter to him to look angry or aggressive, I wasn’t either of those things. But, there was only a red pen. So I wrote it as gently as I could if only to quell the red ink.
I’m not who you think I am , I told him. I can’t be who you need me to be. I have to go. Forgive me.
It was weak to leave a note. He deserved words, a fight, closure. But, I was afraid he’d convince me to stay. And even if I stayed for a time, it was inevitable that I’d eventually leave. I was too insecure to allow David to love me. I didn’t trust him, despite what I said. What I was feeling would never go away. Words can only temporarily soothe a discord in psychology. I did not expect him to give up his music for me, just as much as I did not expect me to give up my insecurities for him. So, I resolved to take my leave and leave him be. And as I walked away, I said it over and over—
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.