"Same as it Ever Was"

She wants to talk. I've got no words. I tell her no. For the first time, I lie with my back to her. I don't touch her, not at all. I've never done that before, but I can't. Touching her will make it real, and I don't want it to be real. I want it to go away, all of it. I want to sleep. I want to forget. But I don't. I can't.

I lie awake. 1:00 a.m. lit in red on the clock. I look over at Abby's back, and I wonder what I've done, how did I let this happen? My parents, it's always the parents fault right? My mother and father loved with such passion. I was raised on it. The way she sparkled when he came home, the way his eyes glowed when she played the piano. Coming home from playing in the afternoon it wasn't unusual to find them dancing to the radio in the kitchen, or their bedroom door locked soundly, the radio unnaturally loud. Falling asleep I loved to listen to their voices talking and laughing. Oh they fought too, with passion, but the anger never lasted. The love did though. When she died, I think he would have too except for Damir and me, and she made him promise not to. But he never loved another woman again. Oh with his body yes, but not his mind, his heart, his soul. Smart man, unlike me.

When I met Danijela, I knew, the minute I saw her, she was mine. I knew what it would be like, like my parents marriage. Passionate, complete and the children, we both loved them that way. When they died, I found to my surprise that I didn't. I thought I would that my heart would just . . .stop. When I finally came home, my father took all the belts, ties and knives out of the house and locked them in the trunk of the car keeping the key around his neck. as if I didn't notice, as if I had the energy. I couldn't die there, but I couldn't live there either, so I left. Lived a lot of places, well halfway lived. Then I met Carol. There was recognition again, although not of passion, but of comfort, familiarity. She was kind and pretty, and there were the babies. I realized quickly she'd never give me all of herself, but she'd never ask me to do the same either. So it would be simple, easy, safe. But she chose passion in the end, not that I blame her.

Then there was Abby. Truth be told, there was safety there too. She didn't seem to want much from me, and she protected herself too. But there was a hint that the safety was illusory. However, distant we were in the day, in the night we gave and received with an abandon that left me astonished and dismayed at first. From the first night I should have sent her away, it was wrong, but it wasn't mechanical. Her body fit mine in a way I never expected to feel again. It was as if we'd always been lovers. We moved and touched without hesitancy, without disappointment. After a time, I began to wonder if the passion of the night might spill into the day, the way it had with Dani. So that doing the dishes, making the bed, making small talk, might all be infused with it. There were moments when that happened, and I was like a moth to a flame, waiting for more. The night we broke up I let the fire get out of control. Mesmerized by the glow, I didn't feel the pain till it was too late. After, I was sad, regretful and a little relieved. Out of danger. The red light glows 2:00 a.m.

When Nicole came to my bed, I didn't have the heart to turn her out, but I didn't have the heart to open my eyes either. I would have married her in the end, cared for her, loved the baby, if there had been one to love. I would have never felt the heights of love, but the valleys would have been avoided too.

Then Abby was back. Did she ever really leave? Did we ever really let go? The moments, the glimmers of something more, they were there even with Nicole, even with Carter. We just pretended they weren't. When did I love her? I have no clue when I began to love Abby. Although, I know the moment I realized I could kill for her, Brian. I wanted to hurt him for what he did to her, for what he could have done to her. I wanted to protect her. I wasn't lying when I told him I'd kill him if he touched her again. He knew that too. When Susan brought up the possibility of rape, I thought fleetingly I would be sick. I quelled it, the feeling passed till I was finally home that night and I wretched. I should have seen the signs then, unbridled emotion, overwhelming concern, lacking moderation . . . passionate love.

The first morning after she came to stay with me, I knew I could have kissed her. She would have melted into me; we would have lost ourselves in each other's bodies. But it would have been wrong, and I didn't want to make another mistake, not with Abby. We were pretty careful after that to avoid those moments. Still, I loved living with her, seeing her first thing after she'd woken up, the occasional shared meal, shared joke, shared beer. I knew I'd never seen her drink before, and now she was. Carter was the one to tell me of course. That she was an alcoholic. I'd spent almost a year with her and she'd never told me. It wasn't till then that I understood just how far away she'd kept me. A drunk he called her. My wife's not a drunk, it's a disease not a definition. Anyway, at that moment, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. I knew she was vulnerable, she needed time and space. I couldn't rescue her, however much I may have wanted to, only Abby could choose the direction she wanted her life to take. I understood that much.

I let her go in the end, in my confusion, in my concern, in my fear. Naively I felt we were tethered somehow, still. I didn't think the line would break. Maybe it didn't really, but it sure got way the hell stretched out. It wasn't until I saw her with Carter that I regretted it, what I had lost. It hurt to see her with him, to think of them together. But I didn't blame her how could I? It was my own damn fault. "Carter can have you." Bullshit.

When the opportunity arose to have her in my life again, not just in my bed, I realized that I was willing to risk the lows for the highs. If she could stand it, take the risk, so could I. Like a moth to a friggin bon fire. Let it singe my wings, just let me feel the heat again. Still I tucked something of myself away, I did it without realizing it. But I did it. The part of me I thought she'd never want . . . my fatherhood. But want it she did, and I was so besotted, I missed the moment I gave myself to her completely. Did it without considering the consequences. As always, lacking in moderation, in temperance, in self-control. So here I am, terrified. I've done it again. The friar urged Romeo to love moderately. Good advice yes, but for the second time in my life I've failed to heed it. And it's killing me.

No not the love, the fear and the guilt. The guilt of having it all again. The fear of losing it all again.

The light's still glowing it's 4:00 a.m.

At 5:00 a.m., I give up and go downstairs. I feel like a stranger here. Who am I? Who married this woman, bought this house? I have no idea. I go out to the garden. I want work, so I start digging, turning the earth. I'm not sure why, but it feels good to do something. Do something. They're bleeding, they're dying . . .do something. There's nothing to do.

Abby and Maggie come out for breakfast. I can hardly look at them. I can't begin to talk to them. What a coward I am.

When they leave so do I. I don't even know where I'm going. I walk for awhile, but my mind won't click off. I don't want to think, I want to not think. I want a drink. I want to drink many drinks. So that's what I do.

"Can I buy you a drink?" The blonde at the end of the bar asks.

"No thanks."

"You look like you could use some company" I know that look, what it means. Little food, many drinks, my head's fuzzy, but not that fuzzy.

I hold up my hand and finger my ring.

"I'm married." I've got too much company as it is.

"That's okay, married men need company too." She's edging closer a sly smile on her mouth, she grazes my thigh with her hand. She doesn't want to take no for an answer.

I realize I can throw it all away, right now. I can chuck it all, tear it apart beyond recognition. It would be easy. She'd hate me. I'd hate myself. Game over.

"No thanks, I better get home." Whatever else I want it's not that.

Poor Abby, she's tied her rickety raft to mine. I thought it was sea worthy, really I did. Now I'm taking on so much water, I think it will pull us both under. Ironic, that's what it is. I'm the one going to take her down. Shit.

I go home anyway. What else is there to do? I have to go home and tell her I've made a mistake; she's made a mistake. I thought I could do it, but I can't. She deserves at least that. No, she deserves a lot more, but she's got me instead. Shit. Shit. Shit.

She's upstairs, so I sit, and I drink some more in the dark. What the hell, it suits my mood. I'm still thinking, but the pain's a little duller. She comes into the room ready for bed, and stands in front of me.

"Where have you been?" she asks.

Hell.

She tells me I won't find enlightenment in a bottle, I tell her she would know.

I'm a mean drunk.

She wants me to talk. Vaguely I wonder what would happen if I just never talked again. She starts to leave, and I know what would happen, and I want to stop it from happening.

"I don't think I can do this". Do what Luka? What are you telling her you can't do? She's in front of me, warm and alive, her belly, our baby right there in front of me. I grab her by the wrist and pull her down and against me. I want her so much, I want them so much. I hold her to me tightly. I want to feel warm and alive and safe. And I want to know that they're all those things too. I want it so much it's like an ache in my gut.

I tell her. I tell how it hurts. How I miss my babies. How cold they were the last time I touched them. How I'm afraid of what I'll feel when I see our baby, when it's alive and they're not. How I know I'm hurting her, taking her down with me. With the release of it, I feel sick. I feel sick because I'm hurting her, and I know it. I feel sick because I saw my children being born, and I saw them die, doing nothing to help either time. And, I feel sick with fear to do it all again. I can't quell it this time. I just make it to the bathroom before I'm heaving, ill.

I apologize. She dismisses it, and wraps herself around my back since I won't face her.

"I just . . can't bear it." I spit out.

"You won't have to. You don't have to be there." No, but I have to be here, I have to be somewhere, don't I?

"Fuck, I'm so afraid."

"I understand." If any one could, maybe it's her.

"I can't be in there thinking of Danijela or of them." Whatever else might happen, I can't do that, watch my baby being born and think of them as I last saw them. I can't even imagine it.

She tells me I'm not replacing them, but I feel like I am. I've never been anyone's father but theirs.

Useless I tell her, useless in birth, useless in death. I can't look at her, I don't want to know what's in her eyes.

"Whatever happens there'll be a baby, you know — their brother or sister" she tells me.

I breakdown. Holding Abby, I cry as I haven't cried in years, maybe as I've never cried. I cry for Dani who I loved and lost. Who I watched give birth to my children, and I watched slip away as I sat and held our daughter, breathing for her, willing them both to live. I cry for Jasna, a beautiful girl with curls and a huge smile, and Marko with the sparkling eyes. I cry for Abby whose got so little of what she wanted from life and to whom I had hoped to give so much. I cry for our baby, who would never even exist if I had been able to save my family all those years ago. And I cry for myself because it's all right in front of me, if I only have the courage to take it up again. When I can cry no more, she leads me up to bed. Finally I sleep, but this time, I don't let her go.