Do you have the time for one whole chapter?

[CJ Schneider]

Chapter Two



How does one measure the depth of a broken heart? Is there scale for such a thing?
If it were by weight, it would be unto iron. If it were by volume, it would be as the abyss. If it were by size, it would span the universe.
Out of such misery, I must ask: To which goes worse; day or night?
On the day will I be sad, longing for the dreams of night.
In the dream of night will I be haunted; only to awaken and cry.
Oh, the turmoil. Again, I ask: To which goes worse?
I felt my case was isolated. No one else could understand.
But in time, there came an understanding. There are many instances among different people with the same result. I will not list them. But I see them and hear about them everyday. Maybe I’m not the only one.
Ultimately, I decided not to feel sorry for myself nor trivialize matters. I know where I was, where I am now and everything between. Nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact: My heart is hurting.
This is no time for either drugs or sobriety. It has become a riddle to which the answer is elusive, non-existent. I cannot find it.
How can I put it? When you miss someone, there is no comfort.
Alcohol stirs my anger. Marijuana enhances my pain. Cocaine almost certainly leads to suicide. To sobriety goes realization; in turn leading back to change it.
What is the answer?
To those who have never been here, it is such: The sky is no longer blue and the grass no longer green. Significance is no longer valid and hindsight is haunting.
To keep things in perspective, let me define the issue surrounding me. I had a fiancé; one that stole my heart and never let go. Just as the sun shines, so did she light up my life. And as the moon is comforting in the night, so was she. And like the birth of a new day, so was I ready for every challenge.
What a distant memory.
No, she did not die on me. If that were the case, this story would have never been written, for there would have been no one to write it.
I was only left to regret my mistakes. I regret them every day. I have become stressed. There is only so much guilt a man can take.
Oh yes, I can identify the guilt. To the twitch of an eye will it go; sometimes the blemish of the skin or the thinning or graying of the hair; sometimes a palpitation of the heart or a flu-like symptom.
There is no one result, but there is one truth. Whatever it is, it will manifest, and onto my sleeve have I worn it.
Out of such, over-indulgence took its toll. I now have a cough. Over the past year it has worsened; morning being the brunt of it.
As for the guilt; how do I cleanse myself when the one that was wronged is gone? I am currently at that stage. Therefore, I cannot give you the answer.
So what led to this point? What brought it on?
It isn’t so hard to answer; just more difficult to admit. But even in the admission has it become complicated.
To address the situation, the question is this: What is the definition of cheating on a woman? To hide something? To get away with something? To do something behind her back? If this were a school test, the answer would be: All of the above.
Is that the way of it?
So what is ‘something’?
What if it wasn’t hidden? What if I didn’t get away with it? What if it wasn’t behind her back? What if she saw it everyday?
Back to the question: What is the definition of cheating on a woman?
Can you answer it?
If you were to ask others, I don’t know what they would say. I would assume: Sleeping with another woman. That can’t be the only definition.
I certainly came up with my definition.
To me, it is such: Cheating on a woman is anything that cheats her out of the life she expected. It is who I am now and not the person she met. It is the change in my life she was not prepared for. My becoming someone else was the falsehood.
Truthfully, doesn’t a woman deserve to be with the man she met?
I had issues. And to every issue goes the culprit. For me, it was drugs and alcohol. There, I said it. I can move on.
A woman doesn’t want promises. She wants happiness. Happiness doesn’t have to be defined by wealth. If a man achieves his goals and I stress achieves his goals and is truly happy, will it not beam from his face? Out of him and into the woman will it go. Happiness is gratification and peace.
Without resolve, I now say: This is the hindsight which haunts me.
As I look back, I recognize there is a foot-print to estrangement. There’s always that one little step which leads down the road of doom.
In my lesson, it begins with false complacency; the notion she will always be there for me. I can’t stress it enough. Never take a woman’s heart for granted, for it is finicky and selfish. It is likened to a lock without a key. The lock is a mystery and the key is time. With diligence, they are brought together. And you work on it and work on it and work on it. Then on one day, the lock is opened, the mystery exposed and her heart lays out a road. This road is for you only. Long is the way, narrow is the lane and winding is the journey. As the man, you are given one key. The key is left at the beginning. The only thing taken is light, and down this road will the man go. Should he fail to see the way, he will veer and the light will fade, the road will end and the mystery will be locked away once more. There is no more key for it was left at the beginning.
This is my shortcoming. I lost the key.
For me, this foot-print; the one thing that led to all others was a simple thing called marijuana. It is the smallest, most minute gene to disaster. In and of itself, it is quite harmless. The danger doesn’t lie there. But the one foot-print becomes another. The weak mindedness which led to it proliferates. Suddenly there is a trail. Along this trail lies debris: Cocaine, heroin, acid, ecstasy, uppers and downers.
I bear witness to this trail; the partying, the clubbing, nights in the fast lane. I’ve woken up not knowing where I was, my head pounding away and a flashlight blinding me with only a voice asking me about my business. My answer was never good enough.
Possession of Marijuana, Possession of Marijuana, Possession of Cocaine, Public Intoxication. My record was starting to bother me. Not hirable, not hirable, not hirable. I became ashamed of myself.
And then a day came; a day when I sobered up. When I looked back at the trail, I saw a road; a road which I took. A heart breaking reality came over me. I can’t get back to the beginning of the road. I can’t get back to the key. Where is the woman who loved me?
He whom has understanding, please recognize the foot-print. For another, it may be the love of money, fame, nightclubs or women. It can be anything. The foot-print is about the steps you take for ‘it’, not her. Whatever it is, see it. It can be identified. It’s the one thing you love which will never comfort you when there’s a tear in your eye. It’s the reason for leaving the house, or being shut in a room, or not having time for conversation. The ingredient is anything. The outcome is misery. In such, there is no comfort. For comforts’ sake, every man is given one key. And that key opens a heart. Don’t lose it.
I guess I have come out and told you the middle of this one episode.
As with all things, there is a beginning, middle and end.
In the beginning, it was like spring. Everything was fresh and new. I had managed to mortgage a house. I met my girlfriend and she put the first touches on my home. The sky was blue and the grass green and the birds were singing.
Yes, that was the beginning.
But here I am, at the end, staring at an empty coffee table which used to mean so much to me.
Isn’t it odd? How a coffee table can bring back memories?
There used to rest two small porcelain Indian figures, maybe one foot high each, one male and one female, at each end of this table, never to be moved.
They were bought at a flea-market close to my home. They were a house warming gift from my girlfriend.
Something so simple made a house a home.
She adored them and so did I. Even in remembrance, I still view them as the start of something new. Oh, how I miss those figures.
In between those two Indians, we used to play backgammon, dominoes and board games. Sometimes we would play poker and we both would start with a roll of quarters and off we were.
But again, I am at the end, staring at a blank coffee table.
I guess those Indians meant more to her. I don’t think I will ever see them again.
So how do I come out of this?
I go boating on the weekends. It does make me feel somewhat better, even if it only takes my mind off my problems for a moment. But at that, loneliness always comes along.
And what of my weeknights? I can’t confide in my co-workers. I will never say they are responsible for my self-induced failure, but they certainly played a role in it.
I need someone to talk to.
I can’t go on like this.
Who is the one?
The first person coming into my mind is my ‘most of my life’ best friend, Tami.
Her full name is Tamika Sweene.
I can’t talk about the carefree times of my life without mentioning her name.
We were both born in 1969, went to the same school all twelve years and into our twenties we were in-separable. Best friends indeed.
I’m certain our lives took the same route as anyone’s. When you get older, things change and people part.
Wow. I manage to get a brief moment of feeling good just thinking about her. She was such a character. To me, she was actually silly but in an adorable way. Just to give an example of one of her traits: On one day her hair can be pinned straight up, on the next, straight out and on the next, straight back or anything in between. I never knew what her ‘do’ of the day was going to be. To me, that expressed her happy-go-lucky way; very catchy. But more importantly, she was always positive. She always made me feel better, no matter the situation.
I say this not for story’s sake but truthfully: She was one of only two African American students in our school; all the more popular so. As we entered high school, she became quite the looker, well formed and eccentric in her beauty. My only anger was all the boys constantly hitting on her, disrupting my time with her.
Perhaps if girls were hitting on me all the time, it would have been okay. But I was the pimpled-face, skinny kid that didn’t stand a chance. I just felt like telling everybody, “Leave my friend alone!”
No toll was taken though. We continued going to each others house often throughout the four years of high school and afterward. Again: We were best friends.
I wonder where she is now.
Should I do it?
I have about three phone books.
I stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, to the cabinet beneath the sink and opened it.
Yeap; a nice collection of phone books.
I squeezed my bottom lip with my fingers as I contemplated.
Should I do it?
I reached down and grabbed one of the phone books, retrieved it and set it on the kitchen table.
I thumbed through listings, scrolling down the S’s.
I came across two listings matching Sweene. There is a Sweene T. and there is a Sweene A.
Really? A first name would have helped.
I would refer to the addresses but I can’t remember the name of the street. Neither one rings a bell. Perhaps she moved.
Could Sweene T. be her?
I balanced the phone book in my left hand as I went over to the phone on the wall which leads from the foyer to the kitchen.
I stared at the phone for a moment.
Just because my life stinks doesn’t mean hers does.
What will she say?
Oh man, what if she’s married?
Who will answer?
Perhaps I shouldn’t be doing this.
C’mon, you can do this. All she can do is hang up on you.
I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.
I stared at the phone.
I took a deep breath.
I picked up the receiver and began dialing the number.
On the second ring there was a girl who answered. “Hello.”
I was nervous. “I apologize if I have the wrong number but I was looking for Tamika Sweene.”
“Who is this?” she asked.
“This is John Schneider.”
I could hear a slight enthusiasm in her voice. “John Schneider like the Dukes of Hazzard?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. She heard people say that throughout our childhood so I responded in old fashion. “Yes, John Schneider like the Dukes of Hazzard. But without the looks.”
She became elated. “Oh my goodness, John, I can’t believe it! Where have you been? What have you been up to?”
My heart felt warm already. “Oh, just working, going to school for the most part. And you?”
She continued in excitement. “The same. Oh my goodness.”
I had to ask, “So are you married now?”
She replied, “Yeah right. I just came out of a long relationship.”
“Isn’t that something? So did I.” I let out a small laugh. “Maybe that’s why I called you. We still have similar minds.”
She was exuberant. “You have got to be kidding me! No way.”
I could feel the weight coming off my shoulders. For the first time in a long time, I actually feel good. Oh, I needed this. I really can’t believe it. I’m talking to Tami.
She asked, “You say you’re going to school?”
“Yeah, I’m going for Business but it’s harder than I thought. I’m having a little trouble with that Calculus thing.”
She responded, “You just need a tutor. See, you just gave me a reason to see you.”
How does she do it? Her personality always brightened a day.
“I’m going to take you up on that,” I returned. “So what are you going for?”
“Communications. I like the video technology. I hope to get into that field somehow. I want to make music videos.” She turned her attention back to me. “Are you in school now?”
“I kind of skip semesters but I’m enrolling in the Summer I course, trying to get a quickie in there.”
“What course are you going to take?” she asked.
I laughed. “Take your pick. But I might just take Speech.”
Again, she’s excited. “We can take that together!”
For a moment, only our breaths could be heard.
She added, “I still can’t believe it. It’ll be like the good ol’ days.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “I really need that.”
Again, there was silence.
“Hey, tomorrow’s Saturday,” I said.
She responded, “I hate my stupid job, John. I have to work Saturdays.”
“So what time do you work?”
“10 to 6. And of course, I already promised to baby-sit for my friend tomorrow night.”
“Oh well, it’s no biggie. We’ll squeeze it in somewhere, even if it’s on a weekday.”
She giggled, “Now I’m going to take you up on that.”
I thought there would be some weirdness to it, but it’s like we were never apart.
We both shared our unfortunate stories.
My heart opened up and out came all the guilt, the blame, the depression. It felt like a fever when it breaks. It all came out. I still don’t believe it. It’s a 360; a turnaround.
Earlier, I barely had a reason to live.
Now I can’t wait to.

[StephenKingman]

Good reading! I have moved this topic to the better "Specific Reviews" forum

[Favour Alade Boluwatife]

Well done. I had a great time reading this.