It's always funny how the world goes on without you. No matter how heartbroken, hungover, burnt out or drowsy, the quiet roar of traffic would inevitably rouse you from your elusive slumber. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking to the relentless wail of your alarm. You silenced it and stared at the screen of your cellphone. Falling into the venomous habit of routine, you start to browse and scroll. All of you wished that the cold space in your bed was filled by the presence of a human being rather than the spam in your email inbox. Alas, not today. Not yesterday. Probably not tomorrow.
Divorce. The word shook you out of bed and pinned you down. It clawed violently at your heart and held you under the tumultuous waves of emotion. It's funny how a string of letters could leave you so hollow and raggedy. You hated clichés, but there you were, living in one. You were dragged across the tracks of a rollercoaster, the highs feeling so high, and anything else leaving you destroyed by a passenger train.
"Maybe we should get divorced," you threatened, your voice dangerously low.
"Maybe we should," he relented.
It wasn't supposed to end like that. You couldn't help but feel like it was all your fault. It wasn't working anymore, you both knew that and you both stayed in. Complacency and a fear of being alone kept you in. You didn't know what kept him in. He was impossible to read. Friendly to everyone, you wondered if he even found you special at all. You wondered if he cared. Wonderment was always a blessing - something that was appreciated, but these speculations were toxic. You wondered if he ever loved you at all.
You got out of bed and changed. A pencil skirt and a chiffon teal blouse hung on your frame as you stepped into some patent leather heels. You loved how put together business casual made you feel. The pointy clicky heels held you together, reminding you that you were a woman of power – not a weakling whose divorce held her at gunpoint. As you haphazardly applied mauve lipstick, you heard another buzzer go off. Coffee, your lifeblood. You rushed into the kitchen, tripping over your own feet. The freshly brewed aroma of the dark liquid calmed your frazzled senses. You lived your life carefully orchestrated by a series of timers, to-do lists and schedules. You weren't like that with him. It was a coping mechanism you had to rely on when his carefree personality left you. His manifestation was enough to let you sleep in for ten minutes, substitute your heels for flats, and skip days of work altogether. You felt so weak. You knew that you would fall apart if the rigid time restraints didn't keep you in check. You were running on schedule today, but you still felt suffocated. It was not a day for work. You already knew that nothing would be accomplished there. You would play through the motions, but it would be a waste of time. You hated wasting time. You called in sick and slipped into some jeans instead. The heels stayed on, though. It was one of those days.
Having a seemingly endless supply of vacation days was one of the few upsides of being a workaholic. When the stress of life held you too tightly by the throat, you would sleep for hours with some movies or soup. Your bed didn't seem quite as appealing today, so you pulled on a leather jacket and strode out to the park. All of Namimori was outside today. Young mothers chattered to each other with watchful eyes on their toddlers playing in a sandpit. Older businessmen smoked outside the buildings that they spent hours in, plotting up their next big project. Students in their crisp uniforms waited patiently in line for breakfast at the local café. And then there was you. Where did you fit in?
You found yourself wandering to the park where you first met. You were a creature of habit, the familiar metal bench beckoning you over seductively. Your hips swayed with the chilly breeze, as you teetered from side to side on your menacing heels. Lowering yourself down onto the cold seat slowly, your eyes scanned the field in front of you. He wasn't there. Your heart filled with disappointment and relief. He was at work. 'It is a work day,' you reminded yourself mentally, before pulling a carton of cigarettes from your bag. You smoked on occasion, usually when you needed an excuse to sit outside on a beautiful day. You needed a reason for everything.
It was warmer out that day. You were doing some work on a bench while he played baseball out in the green field. It was always about work back then. That day, though, you found yourself getting distracted by him, his laugh cutting through all the background noise. A baseball soared through the air and landed a few feet in front of you. He jogged over to you to retrieve it and caught your eye.
"Hi!"
His smile was so bright, it made you drop your pen. He laughed and reached out to hand it to you. You were in love before you even got his first name.
You were so naïve back then. As if the fragility of your young love could outlast the clenching fists of time. Before long, the initial friendship turned into a relationship. Three years hadn't even elapsed during your courtship, but you joined together legally in a ceremony anyways. Deaf to parental objections, a common folly that adolescents face today, you and your husband struggled through a turbulent marriage. Five years in, and you still had no idea who he was. Like a book covered in thick layers of chains, he never opened up to you.
A body shifted the weight of the old bench, breaking you free from your smothering, toxic thoughts. For a moment, you wished that you were back in your mental prison. Brown orbs met yours, and you had to keep yourself from pressing your lips against his. A small smile crinkled the edges of his tired eyes as your heart raced. 'He skipped work too?'
"Hi, Yamamoto." Your fingers dropped the cigarette that was perched in between your fingers. Your heel crushed the butt into the dirt.
You wondered if he ever loved you at all.