Just One Look
By Valma
Part 3: Niles Closes a Door and Opens a Beer
My Journey Through Life - Niles Crane
Well, I finally did what I never thought I could ever be capable of - I have separated from Maris.
Even as I write these words, I still can't believe it.
I --- yes, me, Niles Crane, am no longer living with Maris Bouvier Crane.
A cataclysmic event in my life, to say the least - but let me recount all the events in sordid amplification.
Even though it all transpired in a flurry over the past week, one could say that this has been building for a number of years. It seems Hemmingway was right all along. Things of this magnitude happen two ways - gradually and then suddenly.
Maris had decided to sprint off to New York for a shopping spree and in her haste she forgot to leave me a note explaining her absence. Well, naturally, like any caring husband, I was worried when I realized she did not appear as usual at the breakfast table. But, also knowing Maris' occasional dark moods and her resultant habit of isolating herself from me, and the rest of the household, I didn't fear anything too desperate had happened to her. I had seen if before - the locked doors, the stony refusal to communicate no matter how hard I pleaded with her to tell me what was the source of her vexation was. As long as she had her pills and a telephone, she usually sequestered herself away for a day or two until her anger dissipated. Then in a whirlwind of ostrich feathers and pink silk, she would make a grand entrance proclaiming that changes would be in order if harmony was to be restored. But this time, as her truancy stretched over her usual time limit, my assumption that she was just expressing her displeasure at some transgression on my part, began to falter and by the third day I did a thorough search of the buildings and grounds to ascertain her whereabouts. When she was not to be found, my disposition shifted into the panic gear and hurriedly I solicited my family's help to locate my missing wife. It was on Dad's discovery that she was racking up credit card receipts by the fistful in "The City That Never Sleeps", that Frasier candidly observed that Maris' conduct was just not acceptable any more. My brother coolly stated that she should be held accountable for the worry and stress that she had brought upon those who cared for her.
At first I protested, insisting that I was accustomed to her peculiar habits and seemingly bizarre humors and that Maris' behavior didn't really bother me. But as Frasier bore into my arguments I was painfully aware that these issues did indeed hurt and anger me and, if our relationship had any meaning at all, they would have to be addressed.
Later, spurred on by Frasier's astute remarks I summoned up the courage and confronted Maris about her thoughtless actions. Needless to say, she was not very amused at my effrontery. Initially she just sat there silently staring at me, not blinking an eyelash. After I had said my piece, I waited a bit and was met by only the sharp tapping of her lacquered nails on the arm of the settee. I then proceeded to make a hasty retreat to Frasier's, although I did it with enough gusto that it could be interpreted as a "Grand Exit" of some sort. I told myself repeatedly, as I drove through the rain washed streets, that I wasn't really so much running from Maris' eventual reaction, as I was letting her mull over what I had said in private and thus hopefully she would realize the seriousness of the situation. But I will admit, now that I am alone with my thoughts, that I was truly fearful that if I stayed my brave resolve to stand my ground and demand some worthwhile dialogue would collapse like a house made out of cards in a typhoon. Any display of needy tears or trenchant harangues about my lack of heart on her part, would have found me in a state of total submission to her manipulative manners. God, I am such a feeble milquetoast sometimes!
I was shaking inside and out by the time I got my brother's apartment. Thankfully no welcoming committee was there when I arrived, so I just let myself in with a key that I had acquired in case of emergencies. If what had just happened to me didn't fit the description of a crisis, then I don't know what definition could!
The apartment was dark and I sat myself down on the sofa to regain my composure. I was mentally and physically drained. Never had I ever raised my voice at Maris, let alone issued her an ultimatum before. I had unceasingly tried to be calm and rational with her throughout our many years together. In the past, I had dug deep into my bag of psychological tricks and used many different approaches to coax her out of her dark dispositions. I was a trained therapist after all, and Maris was a person whom I loved dearly and was in dire need of attention. Many a time, usually after some particularly harrowing episode, Maris would tearfully whimper in my arms like a little child, professing in whispered tones the absolute urgency for me to stay beside her forever. She never came right out and threatened suicide, but it was definitely implied in her desperate demeanor. No one had ever needed me so much before in my life. If I wasn't capable of extending myself to her, of finding the source of her hostility and pain, what right did I have to consider myself a healer of the mind for any of my patients?
And now, here I was - virtually demanding that she see my side for once and consider how her actions had impacted on me as well. I was admitting that all my attempts at trying to help Maris had accomplished nothing. So I had finally resorted to just shouting out my terms and fleeing. Some psychiatrist I was! It was shattering to my ego and to the sheltered concept of my life, as I had known it. I felt like I didn't know who I was any longer. I stumbled to the kitchen and flung open the fridge. The harsh light behind the door blinded me at first. The first item my eyes fell upon was a six-pack of my father's Ballentine beer. What the hell --- the old Niles was dead! Here was the new, more callous Niles - who tossed out mandates to his wife as if he was dressing down an insolent store clerk. The old Niles would have quietly drown his sorrows sipping on a bouquet of hearty aging grapes from Bordeaux, masking his disappointments in erudite explanations and rational reasonings. But I didn't even know who that fellow was now, not after what I had just done! I reached in and grasped the package of cold brews with a decisive snap of my fingers. Flipping the living room lights on, I plopped down into Dad's chair and downed the contents of one of the cans in three large gulps. A large instinctive eructating sound issued from my lips. I was finally free of the bonds of civility that had tethered me to Maris' bottomless requirements!
I quaffed another beer and closed my eyes. A vague sensation of floating came over me. I was my own man now. She would have to answer to me! It was my serve and I had left the ball in her court and would await her countering movement. She would have to face the fact that I had feelings too! I tipped my head back and drained the remaining suds from the can. No wonder Dad liked these fizzy concoctions! Unlike wine, which requires time to develop into a taste in your mouth, these slid down your throat with the greatest of ease - cool and slightly bitter. Just like my feelings towards Maris now. I heard myself laugh out loud. I popped the ring on another Ballentine. The room swayed a bit as I lurched out of the chair to seek out a new supply of refreshment.
My search was shortly interrupted by the sound of Frasier entering the apartment. After a brief but inspiring conversation, in which my brother shoaled up my bravado and staved off any remaining doubt as to whether I had taken the correct course of action, my support session was broken by the jangling of the telephone. Frasier informed me that it was Maris calling and I gleefully noted that he calculatedly let her dangle for a moment or two before handing the receiver over to me. It was like a giant game of chess. Every move was wrought with implications of advantage or disadvantage for one of the players. I was hoping my desperate gambit would pay off and Maris would announce that she was willing to listen to me and save our relationship, as I took a deep breath and held the phone up to my ear.
I can't tell you now just exactly what transpired in the fleeting conversation. After she said the word "divorce" a loud buzzing sound overtook me and I thought I was going to pass out. Before that call, I could at least have imagined she cared enough to make the effort to see my side. Now it was confirmed - she didn't think I was worth the effort.
It was a cruel and fatal blow.
The next few hours were mostly a blur of headaches and hyperventilation, trying to contact Maris and talk to her. I persistently kept at it for about forty minutes, but I knew it would end in failure. Maris is a virtuoso of intractability. Finally Dad suggested that I give up and go to bed and offered me the use of Frasier's room. It was a generous overture, but unfortunately as it turned out, a wasted one. Sleep was simply not a partner on my dance card that night, and after an hour of twisting and turning in the bed, I finally decided to see if a bit of nourishment would help calm my mutilated psyche.
The rest of the apartment was quiet, as I softly crept my way to the kitchen. It struck me momentarily when I was prowling through the refrigerator that, if I was billeted in Frasier's bed, Daphne in her room and Dad in his, just where was my older brother at this hour? He should have been asleep on the couch if my calculations were correct, but it was strangely uninhabited. I was in the process of carving up a piece of Gruyere and contemplating using my cell phone to contact Frasier, when suddenly Daphne's voice broke through my deliberations.
With all that had happened in the past twelve hours I hadn't even noticed her presence in the house. It was like she had consciously kept a respectful distance, retiring to her room quickly when she came in, letting Dad and Frasier deal with my agitation over the situation with Maris, knowing that this was something that was best handled by family members. Consequently, when she called out my name in that lilting voice of hers, I was so startled I dropped the knife that I was using and sliced myself as a result.
The blood trickled out and formed a ruby-colored blotch in the sink below. I felt the room grow dim and my knees started to involuntarily buckle. I turned around and saw Daphne coming towards me asking me if everything was all right, but I couldn't say anything in reply. Slowly I slid down the cupboard doors and felt the hard, cold tiles of the floor greet my buttocks. I'm not quiet sure if I actually fainted, but I was at least in a state of complete incapacitation when Daphne scooped up my hand and bundled my wounded finger into a tea towel. Her words of scolding were gentle and sympathetic.
"Oh, I am soooo sorry Dr. Crane! I didn't mean to startle you. You really should be more careful, Dr. Crane. After everything that has happened to you today, you don't need to add a cut finger to your list of troubles, do you now? Just stay down here and I'll get a bandage for you."
I closed my eyes and let the scent of her nearness waft over me. Forget food - having her so close and alone with me was sustenance enough. I felt like this precious moment could sustain me for months.
She chattered as she searched the drawer for the aloe cream and a dressing for my wound.
"Joe often nicks his hands on the tools he uses. I tell him to be more careful but you know - he's a rugged man and doesn't pay any heed!"
My heart cringed at that sentence.
Did I tell you Daphne has a boyfriend?
His name is Joe and he's a contractor and a real --- hunk. At least that is how she describes him.
Me --- I'm still a good friend, someone who helped Joe ask Daphne out on a date when he came over to Frasier's apartment one day to repair a floor. It was Frasier's idea, but I eventually saw his point and went along with it. Daphne deserves happiness - no matter what my opinion is of the kind of man she is attracted to.
So I shelved my longings and illusions and played the role of "chum" --- and there are benefits. We have long talks on occasion, like when I go with her to the dogpark with Eddie. We exchange laughs and stories, when I visit. She smiles at me and I get to be in the same room as her. She trusts me and I --- I adore her more each day.
And sometimes, sometimes if I am really lucky, I cut myself and she is there, in the dead of the night, to come to my aid.
Which brings me back to my story.
She was so kind to me that night. The tenderness in her touch as she bandaged my sliced finger was as if she was handling a butterfly's wing. After she had finished, she stroked my hand. It was like a dream. I watched mindfully as she bent her head down and kissed my "boo-boo", as she called it. The whole world seemed to stop and I hung onto that moment until she raised her head up again and smiled.
"Feeling better?"
I wanted to say yes and express my gratitude to her for her compassion towards me, but my emotions overwhelmed me and all I could do was stare blankly at her while tears poured down from my eyes.
Not exactly a "hunky, manly" thing to do, right?
But nevertheless, there I was crying like a baby, while Daphne in a state of anxiousness, settled down beside me and cradled me in her arms, rocking me to and fro, in an effort to help me regain my composure.
"Dr. Crane, don't fret," she said soothingly. "I know it's not my place to comment on your personal life, but I just know your wife will recognize her mistake and forget all this nonsense. She'll see the blunder she's made and take you back. Please don't worry."
When I heard this, it only made me gush more waterworks. I wasn't crying because of what Maris had done to me, exactly. I was weeping because I knew I never would achieve the kind of closeness with my own wife, that I was experiencing during that moment with Daphne, as we sat huddled together on the kitchen floor. Even if the damage to our marriage was successfully repaired, Maris was just not capable of being as open and giving to me as Daphne was that night. A moan of frustration escaped from my lips. Daphne held me tighter and cooed kind-hearted words meant to ease my burdened soul, in my ear. Such a profusion of attention - all for someone she considered to be only a comrade. It was almost a palatable type of torture being the recipient of such largesse. I could only imagine what bountiful intimacies she could divulge when motivated by even stronger feelings. The flood continued down my reddened face unabated. But I was also mourning the loss of my innocence, as I looked back to the time when I thought that the meager affection that Maris once doled out in miniscule amounts at her pleasure, was the zenith of what love was about. Daphne's generosity of spirit had shown me that I had been living in the mere shadow of love for all these years and I desperately wanted now to move into the sunlight and enjoy all the warmth that love had to offer. I couldn't go back to the darkness. I knew I would die inside if I were forced into that emotional cave after such a revelation.
Eventually my tears ran dry and I slumped exhausted in her arms. She sat there on the cold floor, holding on to me, giving me the occasional hug, until I made the decision to end it.
I simply mumbled "Thank you Daphne for being so understanding," and struggled to my feet. I couldn't look at her. I felt too vulnerable and I thought if I gazed into her eyes I would surely break into a thousand pieces.
I hurried back to Frasier's bedroom and buried myself in the covers. The last thing I remember, as I drifted off to sleep, was feeling a sensation of renewed determination to make sure that I would handle myself with more dignity in front of others from now on. I would simply have to build up a wall to protect myself from ever breaking down like I had just done. I have to face my situation and get on with my life. My relationship with Maris has definitely taken a path that I never would have forseen a couple of years ago. Hopefully we can come to some understanding and work things out, but I don't think it will ever be like it was in the past. It is a bit frightening to go this far out on an emotional limb. But I do have people to support me. I have my family - Frasier and Dad will be there for me if I need them, of that I am sure. And I have Daphne --- as a friend.
I will have deal with my life as it is.
For now, that's all I have.
Adieu.
* * * * * * * *
Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
Poor Dr. Crane! Things are really looking bleak for him at the moment.
I am certain I was witness to him having an emotional break down last night. I tried to help him as much as possible, but he didn't seem too comforted by my efforts. I don't think I have ever seen a grown man cry quite so much. Even my brother Billy, and he was an especially delicate sort of lad
But who can blame Dr. Crane? That shrew of a wife is putting him through such an emotional wringer! He gave us all quite a start this morning when we woke to find him gone. True to his nature, though, he left a note explaining that he didn't want to be a burden on us any longer. Only minutes later, he burst into the apartment in a complete frenzy, prattling on about getting an "bachelor pad" and joining a gym. It didn't take a psychiatrist to see that he was over-reacting to the traumatic events that his wife had put him through the day before.
I'm not going to tell his brother and father about how I found him in the kitchen late last night and how he fell completely apart when he got the smallest nick on his finger. Maybe I should --- he seemed positively unstable at one point, wailing away like a little child! But I just wouldn't feel right doing it. I'd think it would be like I was violating some sacred vow. I know it's silly, but it would be the same as tattling on him - breaking his trust. He's always been so kind to me - treats me like a princess when he's over visiting, instead of like the hired help.
On the other hand, I'm glad his father and brother went with him today to gather his things and move him into his own apartment. He needs lots of support until he gets on his feet, I'll reckon. I think I'll make all his favourite foods for dinner the next time he is over for an evening.
I'm sure hope things work out for him. I know Frasier went over last night to talk to his wife, but she would hear none of it apparently. But, maybe she just needs time to cool off and think about what a good thing she has in him. I know very few married men who dote on their wives so much. He is always buying her gifts - some of them quite expensive too! And the way he used to talk about her - you'd think she was the "Queen of Sheba"! If he wants to get back with her, I hope he does - if it that is what will make him happy. I just hope he doesn't get his heart broken. Joe told me that one time when he was working at their house, he was absolutely certain the missus made a pass at him. Nothing came of it, of course. He told her to sod off as nicely as possible - he didn't want to lose the job. But I can't help wondering if she has tried this with others - tradesmen, door- to-door salesmen, her yoga instructor --- who knows? I would just hate to see him get hurt by that woman!
Well, I'm off - Joe's coming tonight and taking me out to the show. The doctors Crane and their dad are going out to dinner, so I have to walk Eddie before I leave, or Frasier's precious carpet will suffer by the end of evening.
Tah-tah for now!
Stay tuned for Part 4 (to be continued)
By Valma
Part 3: Niles Closes a Door and Opens a Beer
My Journey Through Life - Niles Crane
Well, I finally did what I never thought I could ever be capable of - I have separated from Maris.
Even as I write these words, I still can't believe it.
I --- yes, me, Niles Crane, am no longer living with Maris Bouvier Crane.
A cataclysmic event in my life, to say the least - but let me recount all the events in sordid amplification.
Even though it all transpired in a flurry over the past week, one could say that this has been building for a number of years. It seems Hemmingway was right all along. Things of this magnitude happen two ways - gradually and then suddenly.
Maris had decided to sprint off to New York for a shopping spree and in her haste she forgot to leave me a note explaining her absence. Well, naturally, like any caring husband, I was worried when I realized she did not appear as usual at the breakfast table. But, also knowing Maris' occasional dark moods and her resultant habit of isolating herself from me, and the rest of the household, I didn't fear anything too desperate had happened to her. I had seen if before - the locked doors, the stony refusal to communicate no matter how hard I pleaded with her to tell me what was the source of her vexation was. As long as she had her pills and a telephone, she usually sequestered herself away for a day or two until her anger dissipated. Then in a whirlwind of ostrich feathers and pink silk, she would make a grand entrance proclaiming that changes would be in order if harmony was to be restored. But this time, as her truancy stretched over her usual time limit, my assumption that she was just expressing her displeasure at some transgression on my part, began to falter and by the third day I did a thorough search of the buildings and grounds to ascertain her whereabouts. When she was not to be found, my disposition shifted into the panic gear and hurriedly I solicited my family's help to locate my missing wife. It was on Dad's discovery that she was racking up credit card receipts by the fistful in "The City That Never Sleeps", that Frasier candidly observed that Maris' conduct was just not acceptable any more. My brother coolly stated that she should be held accountable for the worry and stress that she had brought upon those who cared for her.
At first I protested, insisting that I was accustomed to her peculiar habits and seemingly bizarre humors and that Maris' behavior didn't really bother me. But as Frasier bore into my arguments I was painfully aware that these issues did indeed hurt and anger me and, if our relationship had any meaning at all, they would have to be addressed.
Later, spurred on by Frasier's astute remarks I summoned up the courage and confronted Maris about her thoughtless actions. Needless to say, she was not very amused at my effrontery. Initially she just sat there silently staring at me, not blinking an eyelash. After I had said my piece, I waited a bit and was met by only the sharp tapping of her lacquered nails on the arm of the settee. I then proceeded to make a hasty retreat to Frasier's, although I did it with enough gusto that it could be interpreted as a "Grand Exit" of some sort. I told myself repeatedly, as I drove through the rain washed streets, that I wasn't really so much running from Maris' eventual reaction, as I was letting her mull over what I had said in private and thus hopefully she would realize the seriousness of the situation. But I will admit, now that I am alone with my thoughts, that I was truly fearful that if I stayed my brave resolve to stand my ground and demand some worthwhile dialogue would collapse like a house made out of cards in a typhoon. Any display of needy tears or trenchant harangues about my lack of heart on her part, would have found me in a state of total submission to her manipulative manners. God, I am such a feeble milquetoast sometimes!
I was shaking inside and out by the time I got my brother's apartment. Thankfully no welcoming committee was there when I arrived, so I just let myself in with a key that I had acquired in case of emergencies. If what had just happened to me didn't fit the description of a crisis, then I don't know what definition could!
The apartment was dark and I sat myself down on the sofa to regain my composure. I was mentally and physically drained. Never had I ever raised my voice at Maris, let alone issued her an ultimatum before. I had unceasingly tried to be calm and rational with her throughout our many years together. In the past, I had dug deep into my bag of psychological tricks and used many different approaches to coax her out of her dark dispositions. I was a trained therapist after all, and Maris was a person whom I loved dearly and was in dire need of attention. Many a time, usually after some particularly harrowing episode, Maris would tearfully whimper in my arms like a little child, professing in whispered tones the absolute urgency for me to stay beside her forever. She never came right out and threatened suicide, but it was definitely implied in her desperate demeanor. No one had ever needed me so much before in my life. If I wasn't capable of extending myself to her, of finding the source of her hostility and pain, what right did I have to consider myself a healer of the mind for any of my patients?
And now, here I was - virtually demanding that she see my side for once and consider how her actions had impacted on me as well. I was admitting that all my attempts at trying to help Maris had accomplished nothing. So I had finally resorted to just shouting out my terms and fleeing. Some psychiatrist I was! It was shattering to my ego and to the sheltered concept of my life, as I had known it. I felt like I didn't know who I was any longer. I stumbled to the kitchen and flung open the fridge. The harsh light behind the door blinded me at first. The first item my eyes fell upon was a six-pack of my father's Ballentine beer. What the hell --- the old Niles was dead! Here was the new, more callous Niles - who tossed out mandates to his wife as if he was dressing down an insolent store clerk. The old Niles would have quietly drown his sorrows sipping on a bouquet of hearty aging grapes from Bordeaux, masking his disappointments in erudite explanations and rational reasonings. But I didn't even know who that fellow was now, not after what I had just done! I reached in and grasped the package of cold brews with a decisive snap of my fingers. Flipping the living room lights on, I plopped down into Dad's chair and downed the contents of one of the cans in three large gulps. A large instinctive eructating sound issued from my lips. I was finally free of the bonds of civility that had tethered me to Maris' bottomless requirements!
I quaffed another beer and closed my eyes. A vague sensation of floating came over me. I was my own man now. She would have to answer to me! It was my serve and I had left the ball in her court and would await her countering movement. She would have to face the fact that I had feelings too! I tipped my head back and drained the remaining suds from the can. No wonder Dad liked these fizzy concoctions! Unlike wine, which requires time to develop into a taste in your mouth, these slid down your throat with the greatest of ease - cool and slightly bitter. Just like my feelings towards Maris now. I heard myself laugh out loud. I popped the ring on another Ballentine. The room swayed a bit as I lurched out of the chair to seek out a new supply of refreshment.
My search was shortly interrupted by the sound of Frasier entering the apartment. After a brief but inspiring conversation, in which my brother shoaled up my bravado and staved off any remaining doubt as to whether I had taken the correct course of action, my support session was broken by the jangling of the telephone. Frasier informed me that it was Maris calling and I gleefully noted that he calculatedly let her dangle for a moment or two before handing the receiver over to me. It was like a giant game of chess. Every move was wrought with implications of advantage or disadvantage for one of the players. I was hoping my desperate gambit would pay off and Maris would announce that she was willing to listen to me and save our relationship, as I took a deep breath and held the phone up to my ear.
I can't tell you now just exactly what transpired in the fleeting conversation. After she said the word "divorce" a loud buzzing sound overtook me and I thought I was going to pass out. Before that call, I could at least have imagined she cared enough to make the effort to see my side. Now it was confirmed - she didn't think I was worth the effort.
It was a cruel and fatal blow.
The next few hours were mostly a blur of headaches and hyperventilation, trying to contact Maris and talk to her. I persistently kept at it for about forty minutes, but I knew it would end in failure. Maris is a virtuoso of intractability. Finally Dad suggested that I give up and go to bed and offered me the use of Frasier's room. It was a generous overture, but unfortunately as it turned out, a wasted one. Sleep was simply not a partner on my dance card that night, and after an hour of twisting and turning in the bed, I finally decided to see if a bit of nourishment would help calm my mutilated psyche.
The rest of the apartment was quiet, as I softly crept my way to the kitchen. It struck me momentarily when I was prowling through the refrigerator that, if I was billeted in Frasier's bed, Daphne in her room and Dad in his, just where was my older brother at this hour? He should have been asleep on the couch if my calculations were correct, but it was strangely uninhabited. I was in the process of carving up a piece of Gruyere and contemplating using my cell phone to contact Frasier, when suddenly Daphne's voice broke through my deliberations.
With all that had happened in the past twelve hours I hadn't even noticed her presence in the house. It was like she had consciously kept a respectful distance, retiring to her room quickly when she came in, letting Dad and Frasier deal with my agitation over the situation with Maris, knowing that this was something that was best handled by family members. Consequently, when she called out my name in that lilting voice of hers, I was so startled I dropped the knife that I was using and sliced myself as a result.
The blood trickled out and formed a ruby-colored blotch in the sink below. I felt the room grow dim and my knees started to involuntarily buckle. I turned around and saw Daphne coming towards me asking me if everything was all right, but I couldn't say anything in reply. Slowly I slid down the cupboard doors and felt the hard, cold tiles of the floor greet my buttocks. I'm not quiet sure if I actually fainted, but I was at least in a state of complete incapacitation when Daphne scooped up my hand and bundled my wounded finger into a tea towel. Her words of scolding were gentle and sympathetic.
"Oh, I am soooo sorry Dr. Crane! I didn't mean to startle you. You really should be more careful, Dr. Crane. After everything that has happened to you today, you don't need to add a cut finger to your list of troubles, do you now? Just stay down here and I'll get a bandage for you."
I closed my eyes and let the scent of her nearness waft over me. Forget food - having her so close and alone with me was sustenance enough. I felt like this precious moment could sustain me for months.
She chattered as she searched the drawer for the aloe cream and a dressing for my wound.
"Joe often nicks his hands on the tools he uses. I tell him to be more careful but you know - he's a rugged man and doesn't pay any heed!"
My heart cringed at that sentence.
Did I tell you Daphne has a boyfriend?
His name is Joe and he's a contractor and a real --- hunk. At least that is how she describes him.
Me --- I'm still a good friend, someone who helped Joe ask Daphne out on a date when he came over to Frasier's apartment one day to repair a floor. It was Frasier's idea, but I eventually saw his point and went along with it. Daphne deserves happiness - no matter what my opinion is of the kind of man she is attracted to.
So I shelved my longings and illusions and played the role of "chum" --- and there are benefits. We have long talks on occasion, like when I go with her to the dogpark with Eddie. We exchange laughs and stories, when I visit. She smiles at me and I get to be in the same room as her. She trusts me and I --- I adore her more each day.
And sometimes, sometimes if I am really lucky, I cut myself and she is there, in the dead of the night, to come to my aid.
Which brings me back to my story.
She was so kind to me that night. The tenderness in her touch as she bandaged my sliced finger was as if she was handling a butterfly's wing. After she had finished, she stroked my hand. It was like a dream. I watched mindfully as she bent her head down and kissed my "boo-boo", as she called it. The whole world seemed to stop and I hung onto that moment until she raised her head up again and smiled.
"Feeling better?"
I wanted to say yes and express my gratitude to her for her compassion towards me, but my emotions overwhelmed me and all I could do was stare blankly at her while tears poured down from my eyes.
Not exactly a "hunky, manly" thing to do, right?
But nevertheless, there I was crying like a baby, while Daphne in a state of anxiousness, settled down beside me and cradled me in her arms, rocking me to and fro, in an effort to help me regain my composure.
"Dr. Crane, don't fret," she said soothingly. "I know it's not my place to comment on your personal life, but I just know your wife will recognize her mistake and forget all this nonsense. She'll see the blunder she's made and take you back. Please don't worry."
When I heard this, it only made me gush more waterworks. I wasn't crying because of what Maris had done to me, exactly. I was weeping because I knew I never would achieve the kind of closeness with my own wife, that I was experiencing during that moment with Daphne, as we sat huddled together on the kitchen floor. Even if the damage to our marriage was successfully repaired, Maris was just not capable of being as open and giving to me as Daphne was that night. A moan of frustration escaped from my lips. Daphne held me tighter and cooed kind-hearted words meant to ease my burdened soul, in my ear. Such a profusion of attention - all for someone she considered to be only a comrade. It was almost a palatable type of torture being the recipient of such largesse. I could only imagine what bountiful intimacies she could divulge when motivated by even stronger feelings. The flood continued down my reddened face unabated. But I was also mourning the loss of my innocence, as I looked back to the time when I thought that the meager affection that Maris once doled out in miniscule amounts at her pleasure, was the zenith of what love was about. Daphne's generosity of spirit had shown me that I had been living in the mere shadow of love for all these years and I desperately wanted now to move into the sunlight and enjoy all the warmth that love had to offer. I couldn't go back to the darkness. I knew I would die inside if I were forced into that emotional cave after such a revelation.
Eventually my tears ran dry and I slumped exhausted in her arms. She sat there on the cold floor, holding on to me, giving me the occasional hug, until I made the decision to end it.
I simply mumbled "Thank you Daphne for being so understanding," and struggled to my feet. I couldn't look at her. I felt too vulnerable and I thought if I gazed into her eyes I would surely break into a thousand pieces.
I hurried back to Frasier's bedroom and buried myself in the covers. The last thing I remember, as I drifted off to sleep, was feeling a sensation of renewed determination to make sure that I would handle myself with more dignity in front of others from now on. I would simply have to build up a wall to protect myself from ever breaking down like I had just done. I have to face my situation and get on with my life. My relationship with Maris has definitely taken a path that I never would have forseen a couple of years ago. Hopefully we can come to some understanding and work things out, but I don't think it will ever be like it was in the past. It is a bit frightening to go this far out on an emotional limb. But I do have people to support me. I have my family - Frasier and Dad will be there for me if I need them, of that I am sure. And I have Daphne --- as a friend.
I will have deal with my life as it is.
For now, that's all I have.
Adieu.
* * * * * * * *
Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
Poor Dr. Crane! Things are really looking bleak for him at the moment.
I am certain I was witness to him having an emotional break down last night. I tried to help him as much as possible, but he didn't seem too comforted by my efforts. I don't think I have ever seen a grown man cry quite so much. Even my brother Billy, and he was an especially delicate sort of lad
But who can blame Dr. Crane? That shrew of a wife is putting him through such an emotional wringer! He gave us all quite a start this morning when we woke to find him gone. True to his nature, though, he left a note explaining that he didn't want to be a burden on us any longer. Only minutes later, he burst into the apartment in a complete frenzy, prattling on about getting an "bachelor pad" and joining a gym. It didn't take a psychiatrist to see that he was over-reacting to the traumatic events that his wife had put him through the day before.
I'm not going to tell his brother and father about how I found him in the kitchen late last night and how he fell completely apart when he got the smallest nick on his finger. Maybe I should --- he seemed positively unstable at one point, wailing away like a little child! But I just wouldn't feel right doing it. I'd think it would be like I was violating some sacred vow. I know it's silly, but it would be the same as tattling on him - breaking his trust. He's always been so kind to me - treats me like a princess when he's over visiting, instead of like the hired help.
On the other hand, I'm glad his father and brother went with him today to gather his things and move him into his own apartment. He needs lots of support until he gets on his feet, I'll reckon. I think I'll make all his favourite foods for dinner the next time he is over for an evening.
I'm sure hope things work out for him. I know Frasier went over last night to talk to his wife, but she would hear none of it apparently. But, maybe she just needs time to cool off and think about what a good thing she has in him. I know very few married men who dote on their wives so much. He is always buying her gifts - some of them quite expensive too! And the way he used to talk about her - you'd think she was the "Queen of Sheba"! If he wants to get back with her, I hope he does - if it that is what will make him happy. I just hope he doesn't get his heart broken. Joe told me that one time when he was working at their house, he was absolutely certain the missus made a pass at him. Nothing came of it, of course. He told her to sod off as nicely as possible - he didn't want to lose the job. But I can't help wondering if she has tried this with others - tradesmen, door- to-door salesmen, her yoga instructor --- who knows? I would just hate to see him get hurt by that woman!
Well, I'm off - Joe's coming tonight and taking me out to the show. The doctors Crane and their dad are going out to dinner, so I have to walk Eddie before I leave, or Frasier's precious carpet will suffer by the end of evening.
Tah-tah for now!
Stay tuned for Part 4 (to be continued)
