Tx Tall Tales wrote a poignant story, That Damned Valentine’s Day Card that I highly recommend. In this story, a man offers the girl he loves a ‘get out of jail free card’ allowing her one assignation without any ramifications as part of his marriage proposal. Seven years later, she tells him she wants to use her ‘card’. This is my version of what transpires from that request. Notes: my version uses a third-person point of view in the scene without the principal narrator to observe the characters and analyze their thoughts more than I could do in a first-person narrative form; the text from the original story is repeated here in italics with some passages omitted for the sake of brevity; and long narrative passages in my version are designed to convey the anguish the characters feel. I wrote Tx Tall Tales asking permission to use his plot to provide my alternative story but I have not received a reply.
I was lying back in exhausted post-coital bliss. A smile affixed to my face unlikely to be removed by anything short of the apocalypse.
My sexy wife of six years had placed it there. It was a tradition. Every Valentine’s Day since we first met, I tried my best to spoil her as much as humanly possible, and she worked her damnedest to kill me with sex. It had been close this year. I was convinced she’d stopped my heart at least three times.
“You win,” I murmured sleepily, reaching out for her.
She seemed about as done in as I was, yet still managed to roll onto her side and cuddle up to me. “No way. That balloon ride? Ankle deep in rose petals, and the pilot behind the gauze curtain, allowing us our privacy? How did you ever come up with that?”
“You inspire me.”
She chuckled, and kissed my shoulder. “Alex?”
“Yes, darling” I said softly, my eyes closed, the siren call of sleep stealing me away.
“I…I’ve been thinking of using my ‘card’.”
At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard her right. Her ‘card’? Wait. Not the card! That woke me up.
Shit. The card? She would spring it on me now? Seven years without a word, then tonight?
“Did you hear me?” she asked nervously.
“Yes, Sheri. I heard you.” I tried to keep my voice calm and even.
“What do you think?” she was tensing up, and I figured it might well be in response to my own reactions. My heart was beating a mile a minute. I couldn’t even think straight.
“Now?” I asked, trying to mask my anger. “You would suggest that now? After seven years of marriage? And tonight, of all nights?”
She moved away slowly, until only her hand was touching me softly. “I’m sorry, but if I do, it has to be soon,” she answered quietly.
The Card. Her Get-out-of-jail free card. She actually wanted to use it.
Seven years ago, tonight. Valentine’s Day. I’d proposed several days earlier, and she’d waffled. She wasn’t sure she was ready. I was 25, but she was only 21, still in college. We’d met over the summer, 9 months earlier, and it had seemed perfect.
Perhaps that’s why I was so surprised at the results when I got on my knee and proposed, holding out the ring I’d bought. She seemed overjoyed, looking around the room at our family, who I’d gathered together for the occasion.
She laughed, smiling, and took the box. “God, Alex. I love you so much, it’s beautiful.” I was grinning from ear to ear when she leaned down and kissed my cheek. She brought her lips to my ears, and said those frightening four words.
“We need to talk.”
I forced a smile on my face, and everyone cheered and toasted us. Congratulating us. Falsely, it turned out. She never said yes.
I kept up appearances as best as I could, then when I had a chance, I went outside, got in my car and drove home, without saying goodbye. I could feel the hot tears finally escaping. How could I have been so wrong?
I turned off my cell-phone, bolted the door when I got home, and unplugged the phone. I drank a half-bottle of scotch, and collapsed in the bed, wondering what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I woke up four days later, my head splitting, sick to my stomach. I’d run out of booze sometime the night before. I got off my living room floor and staggered to the bathroom, eating a handful of aspirin dry, and climbing in the shower until the water ran cold. I threw on some clothes, haphazardly, and decided that Denny’s might do the trick.
I opened the door, and was surprised to see Sheri curled up in a ball, on my doorstep. The sight of her pained me more than I thought possible. I carefully stepped over her, and didn’t even bother to pull the door closed behind me. I walked down the apartment steps to the first floor, got in my car and went to eat.
I was half-way through breakfast when she sat down in the booth opposite me. Not much of a surprise that she found me. She knew my habits, my taste. She looked sort of like I felt. I didn’t understand that. She’s the one that turned me down.
She could barely look at me. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t handle that well. You surprised me.”
I finished chewing on my pancakes, and started cutting another bite. “No, you handled that perfectly. I got your message.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only wanted to talk about it.”
I set my cutlery aside. “Talk? It was a simple question. Two possible answers. Yes or no. You didn’t answer yes. I understand. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“Embarrass me? It was the sweetest, most romantic thing in the world.”
“What do you want, Sheri? Can’t you see I want to be alone right now?”
“I want to talk with you, like we always do. We can talk about anything. It’s one of the things that’s so great about being with you. I love you, Alex. I’m just not sure I’m ready to get married. Can’t we go somewhere and talk?”
The combination of pancakes, eggs, bacon and coke was suddenly a very bad idea. I scrambled out of the booth and barely made it to the bathroom before I lost my breakfast, which I hadn’t even paid for. I stayed in there a long time, head over the bowl, emptying my stomach. When I had nothing left to offer the porcelain gods, I rinsed my mouth out in the sink, and prepared myself to face her again. Maybe if I was lucky, she’d left.
I left the bathroom and she was standing in the little hallway. She took one look at me, then dropped to her knees crying. “What have I done?” she whined.
I stepped around her, left a $20 on the table, and headed out the door.
She caught me as I was unlocking the car and almost knocked me down, throwing her arms around my waist and clinging to me. “Please, Alex! I’m begging you. Don’t do this. I’ll marry you. I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes. Don’t leave me.”
I lifted her into my arms and hugged her, broken heart and all. “No, I won’t make you marry me. I’ll take whatever I can have, but I won’t do that to you. Let’s go, Sheri.”
She cried all the way back to the apartment. We laid down on my bed, fully clothed, and held each other. We both cried, my tears streaming down my face, while I held it back as well as I could. She let it all out, sobbing.
“Why?” I finally asked, once we were both cried out, lying there silently.
“I don’t know. You surprised me, and all of a sudden, I was scared. I’ve done so little with my life. I have all these ideas, these dreams, things I’ve wanted to do, and I was seeing myself married, tied down with children, my freedom lost.”
“I have dreams too, Sheri. Goals, a long list of things I’m determined to do some day. I want to do them with you. I can’t imagine doing them without you.”
Sheri looked pitiful. “Maybe I’m an idiot. Ruining the best moment of my life. I love you so much. I dream of a life with you, having my babies with you. I don’t know what happened. I…I’m afraid. What if there’s something I want to do, and you don’t want to? Do I just give it up? Will I regret getting married before I’d done more with my life?”
I was nervous about what she was saying. Of one thing in particular.
“Is it sex?” I asked softly.
She was quiet for a while. “I don’t know. Maybe. That’s part of it I guess. You’ve been around, done so much more. I’ve had two miserable lovers in my life. I didn’t know how to enjoy sex until you. You were so good with me, so patient. You taught me so well.”
“But…”
“But sometimes I get jealous. I wonder. How many were there before me? How did you learn to be so amazing? Am I enough for you? Will you get tired of me? Worse, will I someday feel I missed out? Will I succumb to temptation someday?”
“Temptation? Aren’t I enough for you? Don’t I satisfy you?”
“You destroy me. You are wonderful in bed. You can leave me a shivering mess.” She moved closer to me, hugging me. “I had no idea love could be like it is with you.”
“And still it’s not enough,” I said softly.
“It’s not that, Alex. I swear.” She shuddered. “You know I get hit on all the time. All the time. I have no interest in them, none whatsoever, but every now and then, afterward, I wonder. Don’t you ever see a beautiful woman and wonder what it would be like?”
“Sometimes I think about it. I would guess all men do. Not seriously, more of a fantasy. Nothing I would consider acting on. Why would I when I have you?”
“But what if one day it’s different? Maybe you’re mad at me. Maybe you’re drunk. Perhaps some woman will come on to you so hard, you’ll start wondering. More than wonder.” She tilted her head back looking at me. “I’m only going to get married once, Alex. It would destroy me if you cheated on me. Probably worse if I cheated on you. If I wonder now, when everything is so new, so perfect, what might happen 10 years down the road? Why do I even wonder about other lovers?”
“I’ll never cheat on you, Sheri. I hate cheating.”
“I hate it too.”
But it didn’t end there. We talked about her thoughts. Her concerns. We eventually got naked together and made love. We tiptoed around the subject a little. We slept together, nothing resolved. The next morning, I got up to go to work, if I still had a job. Sheri told me she’d called the office over my five-day drunk when I wouldn’t answer the door, my car parked out front. She told them I was deathly ill, and didn’t know when I’d be back. She’d called in sick herself.
I thanked her, and told her I’d see her after work. It wasn’t until I was in the office, and saw the flowers, balloons and cards on people’s desks that I realized it was Valentine’s Day. Our first together. Barely. We almost hadn’t made it. I still wasn’t sure we would.
“You look terrible, Alex. You didn’t have to come in. Get well, Ok? We’ll survive until you’re back to 100%. You looked like you were in a daze all day.”
“I’m sorry. I hope to get over it soon.” That much was true.
I left early, with my boss’s blessing. I bought the biggest card I could find, nearly three feet tall, and plastered the back with a dozen more cards, glued to it. I wrote a message in each one, telling her I’d wait until she was ready, I didn’t mean to rush her, I loved her and always would. I got two dozen long stemmed roses, Godiva chocolate truffles, a gift certificate to the spa.
And in a moment of temporary insanity, I made out that handwritten, God-damned stupid card.
“Get Out of Jail Free” it said on one side. On the reverse I’d written these simple words. “Whatever you want. One Time. I won’t say no.”
I stopped at the jewelry store, and bought a stupidly overpriced box. A hard case, navy blue velvet covering. I placed the card inside. Big romantic gesture.
I know. I’m an idiot.
I called her and told her to go home and get dressed up. With rose petals on the floor, leading to the table where her card was “Happy Valentine’s Day, Sheri,” I told her, giving her a hug. She read her card, alternately laughing and crying. When she finished the last of the smaller cards, telling me how much she loved me, I gave her the box. She undid the ribbon holding it closed, and opened it, a look of curiosity scoring her face. She took the card, and read it carefully. Turned it over twice, re-reading it.
“You…I mean…I would never,” she stumbled over her words.
“But if you ever do, once, you’re forgiven. I love you, Sheri. I don’t want you to have to wonder.”
She closed the box reverently. “How? How could you love me that much? Forgive me even before I did something?”
“How could I not? You’re everything to me. My entire world. I know that now, having thought I’d lost you. I can’t let that happen. I don’t think I could survive it.”
She pulled out the little box which I’d given her a scant six days earlier. “May I?” she asked.
I nodded yes.
She opened it and took out the ring. “Put it on me?”
I took it from her hands, and slipped the ring on her finger. “Are you sure?” I asked nervously.
“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life. I’ll marry you, and spend the rest of my life making you glad you asked me. I love you more than you’ll ever know. Thank you for helping me understand how badly I need and want you.” She got down on the floor with me, hugging me. “I’m the lucky one, Alex. I don’t deserve you, but I swear I’ll do my damnedest to change that.”
That was the beginning of our Valentine’s Day tradition. Every year I was hard pressed to ratchet the romantic gestures up one more notch, and every year she made my dreams and fantasies come true. The best day of the year. For six more years after that, our first Valentine’s Day.
Until that night.
When she came out to find me, after I hadn’t returned to our bed, I had killed the six pack, the empties arrayed beside me, and I was working on a bottle of single malt. I was determined to drink until I didn’t hurt any more. I was getting very close.
I could see she’d been crying. She sat down next to me, quietly. I ignored her, taking a long swig from the bottle, feeling that delightful soothing burn down my throat.
“Never mind. Please forget I ever said anything,” she whispered.
I stared out the glass doors into our backyard. Had I missed something? I thought we were happy. Deliriously happy to be honest. Where had I gone wrong? How the fuck could she want to use the card.
“Alex, please, put that away and come to bed. Let’s pretend this never happened, Ok? I’m sorry.”
“Use your damn card,” I muttered.
“W… what?” she stammered.
I stood, and screamed at her. “USE YOUR GOD-DAMNED FUCKING CARD!” I took the bottle in my hand and threw it at the wall. It didn’t break, it made a hole in the drywall, stuck, the neck sticking out, and the half bottle of Laphroaig draining onto the floor. I stomped out of the room and locked myself in the guest room.
“It’s not what you think, Alex. Will you listen to me? Please?”
“Please, baby? Don’t do this again. You have to listen, try to understand. I need you to understand. It’s not about me or you. I swear, you’re everything I need. The only man I ever want.” It’s John. He leaves for Afghanistan on Tuesday. That’s why it couldn’t wait,” she told me
John’s devastated, Alex. First that horrible divorce, losing his kids, and then getting called up to the reserves barely a month after his divorce is final. He’s dying. If he goes over there like that, I don’t think he’ll ever come back.”
“I think I can help him. I have to if I can,” she whined.
“I get it. You fuck him, and everything’s better. You get to scratch your itch, and he gets a special going away. Go ahead, I told you, I don’t care.”
“I can’t. I won’t destroy our marriage to save him. It’s selfish of me, but I can’t do that.”
I felt her arms wrap around me. “Come to bed, Alex. Lay with me, and listen with an open heart. I swear, give me an hour of your time, and if you don’t ask me to go to him, I won’t. I’ll never mention it again, and I’ll burn that card, and never, ever bring it up. One hour. Call in late, and do this for me.”
“This is John, we’re talking about. Not some asshole. I know you like him, he’s a good man. Life has just been giving him nothing but an ass-kicking for the last couple of years.”
“He doesn’t know about this. He probably won’t even go along. He hates cheaters as much as you or I. Probably more, and with good reason. You remember how happy he used to be. Fun, cheerful. He’s miserable now. A zombie at work. I think most people are going to be glad to see him leave.”
I remembered how he’d taken the news about his wife, and bore it well. Until the divorce. It had been horrible; she’d accused him of everything from being a wife-beater to a pedophile. Dragged his name through the mud. Got a restraining order, kicked him out of his own home, and then took him for everything she could. Her lawyer was a lot better than his, and it paid off for her. He’d been successful, a cheerful guy, easy to get along with. Fun at a party. Never obnoxious. He flirted like most of us, but never to the point of being uncomfortable.
When his ex-wife left the state with her lover, or at least one of them, taking the kids with her, John had been crushed. He didn’t socialize. I don’t think I ever saw him in public after that.
“I was his sounding board at work. The only one he talked to. She destroyed him, and he was so angry, so bitter. He seemed to hate all women. I was surprised he even put up with me.”
“Sounding board?” I asked cruelly. “Was that all?”
“Yes baby, I swear. Breaks and lunches. I’d have to drag him out of the building sometimes.
He was finally coming back. Smiling sometimes. He was never anything other than a gentleman. He never kissed me, never even touched me in an offensive way. Opened doors, held a chair, but that was all. He wouldn’t even hug me back, when I tried to hug him.”
“We both know he always liked me. He’d always seek me out, talk to me, at parties. He flirted, but in a friendly way. I never felt awkward around him. Still, I could see how he looked at me. Not filthy, but appreciative.”
“And that got you wondering,” I taunted her.
“No, never! I swear. It’s not about me. I think if I could spend some time with him before he goes, remind him of the good things. That all women aren’t evil conniving bitches. Show him a little love and appreciation.”
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “He was getting better. He was, and then came the service call. He never thought he’d get called up, but they need civil engineers. It crushed him. I don’t think he’d ever imagined it would happen, but on top of everything else it was the last straw. He drew back into himself. I’m afraid for him. I know he’s really depressed. I think he’s suicidal. I have a terrible feeling that if he goes over there like he is now, he’ll never come back. He won’t survive.”
“I tried to get him to lunch yesterday. I even bought him a little stuffed bear for Valentine’s Day. He was in his office, head on his desk crying. God, Alex, he was crying like a little boy. It broke my heart. I left before he could see me. He’s hurting so badly.”
I could feel her tears on my chest. She was clinging to me, almost painfully. “I… I think I could help him. I had to try. If he died over there, and I didn’t at least try, I don’t know how I’d live with myself. That’s why I had to ask. I swear, it was the hardest thing I ever did. I was afraid it would hurt you, but I hoped you would understand. When I saw you last night, so much like that first time I hurt you, I knew it was too much to ask. But I needed you to understand why I did. It wasn’t because I don’t love you, or want anything else. I swear to God it’s not. There’s nobody but you for me, Alex. I know that now. I’m not the ignorant little girl I was 7 years ago. I wanted to help him if I could, that’s all.”
“I don’t even know it would come to that. Hell, I don’t even know if he’d go along. But he’s leaving Tuesday. I thought I could spend one last day with him. Saturday. Get him out, maybe to a park or to a museum. A nice dinner, and then an evening alone. If I thought that being with me would save him, I’d even do that. I’d try to mend him enough that maybe, just maybe, he’d somehow survive and make it back. I don’t think he will, if he goes over there like he is now.”
“Sheri, you explained your thoughts to me, let me have 20 uninterrupted minutes to explain mine to you.” I was angry but that anger was completely displaced by my anguish. I was determined not to raise my voice but to convey my thoughts and my fears as rationally and calmly as possible.
“You asked me to give you an hour of my time to explain. And if after that hour, I didn’t ask you to go to him, that you would not go. No.” I emphasized the word “No”, not shouting but in a slightly louder and much firmer voice. “This is not my decision, it’s yours. I could never send you to another man’s bed, even if my life depended on it. I emphasized “never” and “even if my life depended on it” saying each word of the last part very slowly, stressing each individual word, so it left no doubt. “No. The card gave you a choice.”
I could see the pain in her face.
“And understand, the card was not unconditional. It was for one time only. I know you understand that. But it was also conditional on me not knowing the details or circumstances. Now I do know and it hurts like hell, more than I can express in words. If I were a lawyer, I’d argue that you didn’t uphold all of the conditions of the card, you told me your intentions, the person you intend to have sex with, and even what day it’s going to occur. Now I can never ‘not know’ what happened. A lawyer would argue that by not abiding to all the conditions, the ‘get out of jail free’ offer would now be null and void. But I am not a lawyer, I’m the man who loves you more than life itself. I made you a promise, a stupid, stupid, imbecilic, moronic promise; but, a promise nonetheless. If I tell you not to go, you will always wonder, consciously or subconsciously, if my promises or even my love mean anything. And although I love you more than I can say, I cannot and will not absolve you of your responsibility to make this decision.”
She was softly crying now, beginning to realize the extent of my anguish. She started to speak, but I told her it was my turn now.
“And why sex? Aren’t caring, kindness, and the compassion of a friend enough? “What really disturbs me were your words “He probably won’t even go along”. Come on Sheri, you’re not stupid. You know you’re an exceptionally beautiful woman and no heterosexual man with a pulse would say “no”. Unless, of course, that man is a decent man with moral reservations about fucking another man’s wife. And you have just the thing to quell those reservations – your ‘get out of jail free’ card. And “go along” with what? It sounds like you have already planned sex as your goal. You haven’t been talking about building either morale or his faith in women, you have been talking about having sex with him.”
Her expression turned to horror with her eyes wide open. I didn’t know if it was from seeing my anguish or if I had hit on the truth. Again, she tried to speak, again I told her it was my turn.
“How will you explain that you have a ‘get out of jail free’ card from your husband? Will you tell him that the card was offered in a moment of desperation because I didn’t think I could live without you and wanted you to marry me and wanted desperately to show you my love was absolute? Are you going to be truthful and tell him that when you told me that you wanted to use the card; it was like plunging a dagger in my heart and that the fact you did it on Valentine’s Day, our special day, was like twisting that knife? Are you going to tell him how and why Valentine’s Day is so important? And, if he goes through with it, could John live with himself knowing that he completely destroyed another man’s happiness?”
Now she was sobbing and on her knees in front of me with her face in her hands. God, I wanted to pick her up, hold her, comfort her. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her face toward mine.
“I have no doubt that nothing inappropriate has occurred between you and John, yet. But now I will always have a lingering question in my mind about your feelings for him, I will always wonder if you are in love with him. In your own words “We both know he always liked me. He’d always seek me out, talk to me, at parties. He flirted, but in a friendly way. I never felt awkward around him. Still, I could see how he looked at me. Not filthy, but appreciative.” He is obviously attracted to you. God, he is probably in love with you.”
She looked beaten and as I looked into her eyes, I felt like I was looking into the eyes of a helpless kitten that I was strangling with my bare hands. But she had to know, not just now but forever what using her card would mean. Sheri is a good and kind person with unlimited love and compassion but she had hurt me more than once. This was not revenge or a desire to hurt her. I loved her with all my heart, but she had to understand. I didn’t think I could survive being hurt again.
I continued, “John’s troubles didn’t appear overnight and he could have used many ‘sounding boards’ not just you. Why didn’t you ask me to take some time so that you and I could be with him. Sometimes it’s much easier for a man to unburden himself to a male friend. And what about convincing him to seek therapy, you have tremendous influence with him? When I look at the whole of what you have told me, I wonder if you wanted to keep him to yourself, that you had an attraction, conscious or subconscious, and you wanted to act on it.”
She shook her head ‘no’ becoming more and more animated and kept saying “no, no… please you can’t think that… oh my God, what have I done?”
“And what about pregnancy? Unlikely but not impossible.” I noticed a wince from Sheri that would have been imperceptible to anyone else. “Oh my God, you weren’t going to use condoms were you?” Sheri’s eyes opened wider, her mouth opened and the slight gasp that followed gave me the answer I didn’t want.
After internalizing that immeasurable hurt, I pressed on, “What if he falls in love with you? Hell, how could he not help but fall in love with you? You are incredibly beautiful, intelligent, and compassionate. He is vulnerable and after the ultimate intimacy of making love to you, what’s left for him? You and I both know you are trying to have a deep emotional connection with him, sharing an intimacy that is supposed to only be shared between lovers. Neither you nor he would regard this as a ‘one time diversion’ or an emotionless fun fuck; he would be making love to you and you to him. God, it hurts so much that you want to make love to him.”
“What about when he leaves for Afghanistan? How can he function in a war zone knowing he loves another man’s wife? In my mind, there is no way he could avoid falling in love with you. How will he feel every day knowing that to have the woman he loves he would have to destroy another man’s life? And, if he is the decent man I think he is; he wouldn’t break up a marriage, so that leaves him without you and with yet another hurt to the unimaginable pain he has already suffered.”
I didn’t let up “Some of your words are confusing to me. You said: ‘I won’t destroy our marriage to save him.’ It’s selfish of me, but I can’t do that.’
“First, why do you think it’s selfish of you to choose to save our marriage? To me our marriage and more specifically, you, are worth any price I would have to pay. I think you know that I would give my life for you if necessary. Am I a heartless unfeeling bastard because I don’t want to share you with anyone else? I don’t own you and I have never treated you as though I did. I don’t look at you like a trophy or a possession. And I’m not a petulant child upset that someone else wants to play with his toy.”
“When we make love, it transcends all the joy I have ever known, it gives me life – how can you want to give that to someone else? In marrying me I thought that you had decided to share that intimacy with me and me alone. I was never so honored or humbled as when you said ‘yes’ to me.”
“Secondly, you talk about ‘saving him’. Sheri, war is hell, thousands of men leave for war, and a great many of them have loving wives and children waiting at home. And many of those good men never return. Having sex with him will not shield him from a sniper’s bullet or a suicide bomber. I am sorry for John; he is a good man who has had more hurt than anyone should experience in a hundred lifetimes. My hope is that as an officer with men under his command, his concern for their well-being will force him to concentrate on keeping them and himself alive. He knows his first duty is to them, to keep them safe and get them back home. I know that he is going through hell now and I hope and pray that he will emerge from it. But I know if you go through with this, I will be in hell for the rest of my life.”
“Yes, John could die. Men in war die. While John runs the risk of dying, if you go through with this, I will certainly die. Maybe not physically, but inside I will be as good as dead and my death won’t be as quick and merciful as one from a bomb or a bullet.”
She was weeping now and she said “Oh God…” I said “I’m not finished.”
“You have your ‘get out of jail free’ card and you can use it. As I said, it’s your choice, but you should know that I gave you that card in a moment of anguish. I was so desperately in love with you I would have agreed to almost anything. I cannot forgive myself for that because that promise evidently pushed you into a marriage that you apparently did not want and for which you were not ready. I now believe that you married me not so much from love but out of the guilt of having hurt me when you first turned me down. I even question if we should continue to be married. I love you too much to keep you trapped in a marriage you have come to regret. I can’t imagine life without you but maybe for your sake, I may have to.”
Through her tears she said “No. Alex. Please. I love you and only you. I hurt you once before and I am so afraid I have destroyed you…” I stopped her again saying “Please let me finish.”
“Just the suggestion of using your card has hurt me more than anything else in my life. I have tried so hard these last seven years to prove to you that you made the right choice. Yes, I know that you deserve someone a thousand times better than me but, in my defense, no one could love you more or be more willing to sacrifice anything for your happiness than me. And, now after seven years and on the one day that I set aside each year to show you how very, very much you mean to me – now you announce that you want to use your card. How could you do this?”
“Go to him or not, your choice. But understand that if you use your card, we will never be the same. Honestly, I don’t know that we can ever be the same now that you told me you want to use your God-damned fucking shit card; that you even contemplated giving yourself to someone else much less that you actually planned it out. If you think I am selfish, cruel, irrational, egotistical, self-centered, go ahead. If you think I’m putting my needs and desires above John’s life, there is nothing more I can say.”
“I have to leave for a few days. I am too hurt and angry to be here or discuss this any further. Today is Thursday, tomorrow I have to work. I’ll be at a hotel starting tonight and I’ll be back late Sunday afternoon. That gives you the Saturday, including Saturday night, you asked for.”
Still on her knees she pleaded “Don’t go, please don’t shut me out, please stay. I only love you and have never loved anyone but you. I won’t go to him. I won’t see him. I won’t leave you, please Alex. Please forgive me. Forgive me Alex… forgive me… Can’t we pretend this never happened? God… oh God… don’t go… I won’t go to him… I swear, please don’t leave… Please!!!! Please!!!! I’ll burn the damn card, I don’t want it… I just want you…”
“Sheri, I need to go away for a few days. I love you with every fiber of my being. I will be back but I need time alone. I don’t want to hurt you but I need time alone. And you need time to think about all we have discussed.”
I packed a bag and left for a hotel in the next city. I did not tell Sheri which one. I turned off my cell phone. This was going to be the longest and hardest few days of my life. She said she wouldn’t go to him. I didn’t think she would. But at that point, I didn’t know that for certain. In the cold light of morning, she would have to think of we said to each other. She would have to ask herself those hard questions that I had asked her.
Part 2 – The Hotel
Thursday night, when I arrived, the hotel was practically full. A medical group had most of the rooms, some symposium on ‘Practice guidelines for the treatment of patients with major depressive disorders’. There was also a wedding, God how depressing, I really didn’t want to be reminded. There were also the usual business travelers, more than a few of whom were actively looking for ‘companionship’ and some had clearly consumed enough alcohol to reduce both their inhibitions and their standards.
I threw my suitcase in my room and went to the bar. I was tired of getting drunk every time Sheri hurt me and I had to work tomorrow, but I could use a drink or two to calm me down.
I had been sitting at the crowded bar surrounded by a bunch of drunks and near-drunks for almost an hour when an attractive well-dressed woman, a few years older than myself tapped me on the shoulder. She asked if I was ok. I said not really and she asked if I wanted to talk. It was noisy but I heard her say she needed some help herself.
She spoke, “I hope I’m not imposing but you appear to be in real distress. I’m a psychiatrist here with the symposium. You look like you could use someone to talk to and I could really use a man at my table to ‘keep the wolves away’. My friends from the symposium were tired of eating here at the hotel and went out. I was too tired to join them, so I’m alone. Just so there is no misunderstanding, I am very happily married and I only need someone to sit at my table so that I can have a pleasant dinner without being ‘hit on’ every five minutes. And you look very depressed, perhaps it would help you to talk. I’m Dr. Cynthia Gray.”
She had a very kind face, so I said “I’m Alex and yes, that sounds nice.” We made our way to the table she had reserved and both ordered dinner. We couldn’t help but notice a group of well-dressed middle-aged women, obviously tipsy, who were discussing how they would cover for each other when they each found a partner to share their bed that evening. Their wedding rings were quite obvious.
Cynthia gave a sigh of resignation saying “I treat so many women for deep depression who start out going to bars or dancing to pick up men because they want to feel that they are still attractive. Most of them tell me that they love their husbands, and that their husbands are attentive and tell them that they are beautiful. But they don’t believe it because it’s their husband saying it. So, they go on a ‘girl’s night out’ so strangers can complement them and make them feel attractive and desired. I have crushed so many illusions when I tell them that a man looking for sex with a couple of drinks under his belt would chase a morbidly obese woman with leprosy and tell her she was the most beautiful creature to have ever walked the earth in order to have sex. These men have a goal and for them the woman is simply a horizontal convenience. For the women I see as patients, the humiliation and guilt the morning after are all consuming. It’s so sad because most of these women actually love their husbands and believe that their husbands adore them, but for some reason it’s just not enough.”
I asked her “I understand about people who choose to cheat and feel no remorse, but what about others? Is there a ‘seven-year itch’?”
Cynthia with a light laugh replied “The seven-year itch is a great movie. My husband and I both love it. I don’t mean to make light of it, studies show that the chances of divorce are about 40 percent for first marriages, with most of those marriages ending at the seven- or eight-year mark. At some point one or both parties in a marriage may experience a level of dissatisfaction or boredom with their long-term relationship. Psychologically, it’s considered normal to fall into a slump after being with the same person for a while. The destructive potential occurs when people are unsure of what is causing the dissatisfaction or boredom and don’t address the problem. And please understand, it doesn’t mean that it will inevitably happen in every marriage. How long have you and your wife been together?”
I answered “Seven years.”
With a deep sigh, she reached for her white wine looked at me and asked “So……?”
I then told her my story. I bared my soul and told her everything: Sheri’s initial reluctance to marry me; the stupid, stupid card; our seven happy years together and our incredible love life; why I tried every Valentine’s Day to show her she made the right choice; our very happy marriage until today; her wanting to use her card; her explanation why; my response; and my inconsolable sadness that Sheri wanted to make love to another man.
After about 20 minutes, I stopped talking; letting this out was cathartic. I felt like the block of cement that had weighed on my chest was gone. I looked at Cynthia. She hadn’t drunk any more wine since I started talking; she sat there with her mouth half open with a look somewhere between shock and pity. That look was certainly appropriate.
She placed her wine on the table and said “I can’t give a proper therapeutic session in a restaurant but we can talk and I can give you my perspectives as a woman and wife which I couldn’t do in a therapy session. I can assure you of complete confidentiality in everything you say to me. I can’t diagnose your wife without speaking with her, so my insights into what she may be thinking are limited.”
She continued, “As I listened to your account of your first meeting and falling in love with your wife, I thought of some similarities with my own marriage. My husband is a surgeon and we met at the hospital where we were both completing our residencies. My first thought was that he was ‘out of my league’. Oh, I know I’m pretty, more so then, and I’m intelligent after all, I have a medical degree and board certifications in internal medicine and psychiatry. But my husband: six feet two inches; rowed crew at Princeton; summa cum laude; Yale Medical; and to me the handsomest man alive.”
After a drink of wine, she smiled. No, she beamed as she thought of him. I wondered if Sheri ever looked that way when she talked about me. I had my doubts. She continued “I didn’t really like him at first. The first time I saw him was when he pushed past a nurse, not bothering to apologize. Typical arrogant surgeon, thinks he’s God. Several months later, I found out that he was rushing to the lab to push the technicians to finish a test for a seriously ill patient – he desperately wanted to save someone’s life when minutes counted.”