day two continued: leaving

"i’m trying, jane. i’m trying. can’t you see I’m trying?” jake says, wringing his hands, his voice raising an octave with every subsequent trying. his head is bent down low so i can’t see his face clearly, but i know that crease between his eyebrows is deepening, and that his eyes are squinting as if trying to look into the sun.

“trying? what are you trying?” i am pacing now, releasing my hair from its pony-tail prison; it falls fast and wildly around my face, and whips around defiantly as i turn around to face him. i feel myself staring right through him, willing him to look me straight on.

“i’m trying to take this all in. a baby? how is this possible? i don’t even know how to be a father? and you, are you ready for this? are you ready to be a mother?” jake is shooting the questions at me. bang bang. and all i can do is try to hold on, take each one in, then try to cover the wounds.

“you don’t try to be a father, jake. you just do it. can’t you see that? it isn’t that hard to do. just grow the fuck up.” i was firing back, grabbing a bow and arrow; aim. release. hit.

“what would you know about fathers? what would you know about any of this? you can’t even stop smoking, or lying to me. to yourself. what kind of mother do you think you are? we aren’t ready for this.” he starts pacing now, too, his voice raising louder, echoing off His voice raising louder, echoing off the walls where we still have pictures to hang; everything is still so unfinished.

“fuck you, Jake. you are the one not ready. and you don’t know anything about my father.” and with that the tears arrive in full force. i could feel them stalling in the back of my throat, choking me, like fingers lacing around my neck. i start counting between breaths, trying to talk the tears back. i do not want this kind of weakness to take hold of me, not now.

“tell me then, jane. help me understand. i’m trying here.” he is wringing his hands again. his eyes pleading with me.

i want to speak. i do. i can see him drifting, floating away. i want to throw my hands out, pull him back in, open up to him, for him. but i can't. i just stand there, staring, watching his questions turn to something raw and ugly. finality is creeping in, and landing like a shadow over him.

“to hell with it, jane. i’m never going to be enough for you. never going to have the right things to say. never going to have you’re perfectly written answers.”

he was fading more and more. i was losing him, quickly. he was disappearing before my eyes. he was ooking at his shoes, his hands pulling at his hair, leaving strands sticking out, left and right. everything gone askew. this was the boy who kept trying to mold me into something different. always wanting to get his hands into me, inside me, turn my skin to clay. his artist vision taking over the past. turning the girl into a lie. and i let him, i had wanted to be his lie; until now.

“what do you want from me?” he was looking at me now, eye to eye, face to face. and i regretted it all then, every bit of us. that look on his face so full of incredulous anger, pain, and giving up.

“i don’t know.” i say it flatly, my voice not even familiar to me.

i stop pacing, i stop moving at all. i slink myself down to the floor, and now i am the one looking down. my arms wrap around myself in a childish attempt to disappear.

he stops, too kneels down to my level, and runs his fingers through hair. he gently lifts my head up to meet his, until we are making contact again.

“do you want to get married?” he seems so sincere, so painfully fucking sincere. his voice has toned down, gone softer, warmer. and all I want to do is stand up, let go, and run like hell.

“no.” I say it without thinking, the word shocking me. i say it before i can even consider stopping, editing, thinking it through.

he pulls away, his hands drop from me, and his body falls. he lets his feet slip beneath him. and he sits in front of me, but out of reach, crossing his legs. his hands lift to his face. he rubs his eyes, and his breath comes in these short static movements. the silence between us seems to take over the entire room. still air turning to stale air. i want to scream. i want to jump up and down. and for a moment i just want to grab him and say i didn’t mean it. say yes I’ll marry you, i’m sorry. i was wrong. but the words don't come. that kind of lie just won't fix this anymore.

he finally looks at me again. his eyes breaking the silence. and he slices me to bits with these simple words.

“no one will ever be him, jane. not me. not anyone. not even him.”

with that he stands up, walks into our bedroom, and shuts the door. i can hear him inside, the shuffling around. he is opening drawers, and rummaging throug the closet. he is packing his things. i know right here and now, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is it.

then there is silence. i strain to hear him, to hear anything. i lie myself down on the floor. my head turns, the cool wood on my cheek feels somehow calming. i watch as the light disappears from my cracked view, from under the door. i pull myself up. my barefeet padding across the room. i open the door, and slowly creep in.

he is there, in our bed. his legs pulled up to his chest, and his eyes staring at the window across the room. i'm not sure what he sees, maybe at nothing. denial is powerful, it starts to pull me towards him. the desire to keep us the same is so strong. i climb into bed, curl myself around him, and look for some sort of recognition. or a turning back time sort of thing.

he pulls away from me, grabbing the blanket and cocooning himself within it.

“i’m sorry.” I whisper it. i put my hands to my belly, and say it again. i am speaking it to jake, to the baby girl growing inside of me, and to myself.

this is our end.