Page 94 of Fresh Canvas
My sleepless eyes were raw by the time the sun peeked through the window. Dry, hollow, with simply no moisture left inme to expel. I rolled over and faced my back to the door. Gathering a pillow to my chest, I tried to force it into the empty ache.
I scanned the familiar surroundings. Maybe if I shut my eyes tight, I could pretend it was an earlier time. No apartment, no museum, noVal.Anthony would still be home, begging me to play video games. Mom would be bustling about, complaining that Anthony left the milk sitting on the counter again.
An abrupt knock at the door forced me back into reality. Mr. Fluff Buttons startled off the bed and escaped into the hall.
“Honey?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Mom’s tentative face peeking through the door crack. No words could even begin to explain, so I simply lowered my head back onto the pillow and tried to wet my parched tongue.
“Amantha! Are you alright? What happened? I didn’t hear you come in, but then I saw your van in the driveway this morning.” The mattress dipped as she sat against my back, stroking my tear-dampened hair with her soft hands.
Impossibly, my eyes brimmed again. My shoulders shook as I sobbed into the pillow, the wretched sound muffled by fabric. Mom rubbed my back with a calm shushing sound. And just like that, we slipped effortlessly back into our old routine.
The dark days after Ryan looked eerily similar to my present. Finding out about Vanessa had forced me into a deep depression. Days and nights, even months, blurred together in a collage of meals forced into my hands, handwritten notes from Anthony, and countless nights with my mother rubbing my back in this familiar pattern.
No one had told me how evenbonescould ache, or about the animalistic sounds my vocal chords could make when night came. Sweet, peaceful dreams were devastating when I returned to my waking nightmare. Anxiety episodes laid in wait every evening, consuming me once I lay beside Ryan’s ghost.
Each day, I begged any deity that existed to help dull the pain. I prayed that over time things would get lighter. At some point, I would feelsomethinglike happiness again, wouldn’t I?
The day Ryan came to pack his things was the day I truly understood the term, ‘rock bottom.” I wassurethat, at any given moment, his blue eyes would twinkle at me again. Any second now, a smile would break over his handsome face. He would reassure me this was all a bad joke, a prank that had gone too far. He would sweep me into his arms and whisper that no one else mattered but me. In hindsight, I now understood how pathetic it was that I actually helped him pack.
My husband had turned into a stranger. Nothing felt normal. Nothing feltsafe.Mundane tasks seemed insurmountable. If only I could just get it together. For Anthony at least. But even for my sweet, innocent child, I still couldn’t find the strength. Thank heavens for my parents.
While I hadn’t been married to Val for a decade, it felt like old scars were being ripped anew. My past and present began to muddle together into an incomprehensible picture.
My therapist had once taught a method to deal with anxiety. When something triggered it, she recommended I use the “Not a Duck” rule. The old saying went, “If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, then it’s usually a duck.”
However, anxiety had a wicked skill with illusion. A simple thing could cause me to spiral and entirely convince me of the imaginary danger waiting to consume me.
So, instead of the rule being hard and fast, I had learned to recite, “Itwalkslike a duck. Ittalkslike a duck. But, it’snota duck.”
The first time Vanessa had answered the door at Ryan’s apartment was the first time I had to use it. Seeing her again had forced me into a flashback of my heart breaking in that darkened car.
Breathe.Vanessa was not on the crosswalk, holding Ryan’s hand.
“It walks like a duck.”
Breathe.I already knew Ryan cheated. This wasn’t new.
“It talks like a duck.”
Breathe.I was getting stronger every day. I was getting better.
“But, it’s not a duck.”
And with time, things did get better. I had been reborn into myself again, even though the price I paid was extremely costly. So much had been wrong with our marriage. So much had needed attention and repair. But instead of putting in the effort to fix it, my coward of a husband fled into the arms of an easier route.
“Sweetie.” Mom’s kiss ruffled the top of my head. “Talk to me.”
I rolled over, resting my head on her lap. “Val’s done.” My voice cracked. “He’s done with me, and he won’t even tell me why.”
“What?”
“One day I was falling in love with him, and the next, he just decided to be done.” I hiccuped. “I… I wish I never loved him at all.” My sobs erupted again, tears dripping onto the knee of my mother’s jeans.
“Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” Mom’s blue eyes swam with tears of her own. “But never be ashamed of loving someone. Love is a gift. It’s when we offer it freely to others that we grow.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “I know it hurts, sweetie. Let it hurt. But also know you’regrowing.”
Deep in the void, I knew my mother was right. Something new was emerging. “New Amantha” was more resilient than my former self. And I definitely wasn’t the kind of woman to fold my cheating husband’s boxers into a suitcase anymore.
