Synopsis:

This is a story about life’s regrets and about the transition from a young boy to a grown woman. This is a story about the price each of us has to pay, to be true to our inner selves, and become what we must be.

Story:

This story remains my property, and may not be posted
on any other website or published without my written consent. -
Nicole Braun

 Chapter
Five: A Mile High And A Mile Wrong

 Our move to Denver did not see Andrea pregnant as
planned. 

 Finding a job for me had been hard at first. But
than, Aunt Madge had helped along again, with a phone number, to an old
acquaintance, of hers. Even though he was retired, within a few days, and him
making a few calls to people, he set me up with my first job interview. It was
with one of the many oil companies in the Denver area. It wasn’t a top job,
but the pay was quite a bit higher, than our pessimistical expectations, had
been. So financially, even with Andrea not looking for employment, we weren’t
off to a bad start.

 Now with a good job under my belt, and some more help
with odds and ends from Andrea’s family, we were able to get into an
apartment, that was actually livable, and not your standard
newlywed-just-out-of-college place. We got into a subdivision of multiplexes;
where there were a lot of more progressive upscale families, and couples.

 The jump-start into a good neighborhood helped us get
into the swing of things, and with my good paying job, money did have to be
watched, but it wasn’t a big issue. With a little budgeting, we were able to
see a little bit of the nightlife of Denver, and even invited over at times
friends, neighbors and some of my collages to dinner or for a small party. It
seemed like in no time, we were celebrating our first anniversary.

 Andrea was still not pregnant though. It was not as
if we weren’t trying. We were trying still, even after being married for a
year, quite a bit, and than some. Not that it was intentional trying; it’s
just the way we were. We enjoyed our sex together, and being close together, as
much as possible.

 It was than a few weeks after our first anniversary
that I begin to notice a slight change in Andrea’s behavior. I’m still not
even sure that at that time, Andrea, herself knew the why of her changing
behavior. Maybe at that time, she only sub-conscientiously felt the frustration
and disappointment. But, as time went by, it seemed to grow, and begin to eat at
her, more and more.

 Seeing her frustrations, I offered, asked to talk,
with her, time and time again. But, she always avoided speaking about what was
eating at her, until one day she told me that she had made a doctor’s
appointment for me. It was to have a sperm sample taken. 

 Even though Andrea jokingly offered to go with me…
to give me a helping hand, I went to the appointment alone. With the sperm
sample, they also took some blood and urine samples.

 When it came time to return to the doctor for the
results, Andrea went with me.

 The results were devastating. For all it was worth, I
was not sterile, but my sperm count was so low, that I might as well as have
been.

  The
doctor also stated that my testosterone level was too low, and my estrogen level
was too high. There was a possibility of a Klinefelter syndrome (abnormal two
X and one Y chromosome structure) or a congenital adrenal hyperplasia (which
causes a too high production of estrogen, and a too low testosterone production,
in males). Either of which, could cause a delayed or impaired development
during puberty, and therefore also a permanent inability to produce sperm, in
any sufficient quantity.

 He pointed out my mostly ambiguous body, facial
features and my height, inquiring if my family doctor had not tested my
testosterone and estrogen levels in my early teens. It was obvious, that my
physical development had been impaired during puberty. He said that at that age,
there were medical means available, but now the situation could no longer be
corrected.

 He asked if I was having any sexual problems such as
ED. This I negated, therefore he replied that if I had a comfortably active sex
life, and had no other problems (I was as healthy as a horse), he would
not (at that time) recommend therapy, to increase my testosterone level.
There were definite and unwanted possible side effects to the therapy.

 Naturally, I was distraught, but during this time I
did notice that Andrea had said nothing. After the initial statement about my
sperm count from the doctor, she did nothing but stare directly ahead. At no
time did she show any form of a changing facial expression. Her expression was
neither of shock, anger or anything else I could surmise. It was almost
expressionless. 

 We left there, and the drive home, was in silence. At
home nothing changed either. Andrea went about her business seemingly as if the
doctors meeting had not happened. Only, the naturally fluid conversation between
us was not there, and her facial expression still had not changed, from that, of
when she was in the doctor’s office.

 I was having a hard enough time coming to grips
everything, and Andrea’s behavior was not helping me any. If she would have
cried or screamed. If she would have yelled at me, we could have fought or
argued, but none of that was happening. She would answer me if I asked her
something simple, but if I said anything about what had been spoken by the
doctor, she only sternly answered, “Not yet.”

 The rest of the week continued on along the same
lines. I was barely functioning. So on Friday, I had to blow off some steam. For
the first time in my life, I got stark raving fall-down drunk.

 It wasn’t intentional on my part. After dinner, the
silence in the house was getting on my nerves, so much that I took out a bottle
of Jack Daniel’s, left over from our last party, and made a coke and whiskey.
One drink followed the other, and before I knew it, I was drinking shots pure,
and the bottle had a serious dent in it.  

 Andrea knew in generalities about my childhood. But
there were many things, that even with the extreme intimacy that we had, I had
not told her. I know, I babbled a lot that night. I’m still not sure of
everything I did babble. I know I got screaming mad, thinking about how much my
life could have been changed, how much ridicule and abuse I would not have had
to suffer. If only my parents had been less dysfunctional, and had had the
consideration enough, to at least taken me once to a doctor to be tested,
everything would have been different.

 Some time in the early morning hours, I woke up with
my head lying over the toilet bowl. My head felt like it had been hammered by a
jackhammer. It felt like I could still hear that jackhammer somewhere out in the
neighboring streets. I took a couple of aspirin and crawled into my side of the
bed. Andrea was asleep on the other side, her back to me. 

 The next morning I didn’t get up until in the
afternoon. Andrea wasn’t there. She only came back much later wearing jeans, a
jacket and hiking boots. She said she had been out hiking in the woods and
thinking. She started to cry, and I held her to me. She kept saying over and
over, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” and “I didn’t know, I
didn’t know.”

 We spent the rest of that day and long into the night
than crying, cuddling, holding each other and talking, lots of talking.

 We talked about our options, but in the clear light
of reality, most were beyond our means, and the chances of even their success,
were very slim.  It did seem to help
and calm us, so we talked about looking into all the options we could.

 

Chapter Six: Closing
Shop

 Our relationship had changed though, somehow
intangibly. It never was the same again. Every time I tried to seek out that
close intimacy we had before, it was like a fata morgana, always there, but
always out of reach.

 A few weeks after the visit to doctor’s office,
Andrea enrolled in realtor’s classes.  We
hadn’t discussed this, but we had discussed a few times, about Andrea now
looking for work. It did come as a surprise to me that she decided to try real
estate. But, if it made her happy, and she enjoyed it, it made me happy. 

 It did seem unusual to come home and find her not
there. She had passed her exams easily, and found employment, almost without
looking. Her hours always varied. Sometimes, she would have little to do, and
other days she wouldn’t get home until some time after seven in the evening.
Saturdays were also no longer our time alone. At times, when her customers
couldn’t get off during the week, she was forced into showing them houses, on
Saturdays. 

 Her business ventures also pushed us into socializing
more, with people we normally would not be socializing with. This involved a lot
more invitations to parties, and also dining out in the evenings.

 Andrea also spent a considerable amount more on her
wardrobe than she had before. Her side of the closet was in months overflowing
into the guestroom closet and dresser drawers.

 Slowly, and because of Andrea’s newfound
independence, our relationship was again and continually changing.

 At first, Andrea would tell me in detail every little
bit of what was going on in her days. She met (naturally) quite a few
people, and I found it interesting to hear about them, and what Andrea thought
of them.

 This did not stay that way, and after Andrea had been
working for around a quarter of a year, I heard little of what was going on. It
was getting to the point, where I had to finally express concern over not
knowing her whereabouts one evening, as it was close to ten o’clock before she
got home. I told her that I was worried about something happening to her.

 I was beginning to feel that her odd hours were
driving a wedge between us, and it didn’t seem as though Andrea was concerned
about this, or wanting to make amends for it.

 About four months after Andrea started working as a
real estate agent, Aunt Madge moved into a senior community residence apartment
in her hometown. Since Andrea was new to her job, she could not take time off,
but I took a week off, and drove to her, to see what was going on.

  I was
surprised at how much Aunt Madge seemed to have aged since the last time I had
seen her. There was a certain aura of transparency about her. As if she were
there, but not there. Her mind seemed clear and she was not senile, but she
seemed to be distant, as if her thoughts were in a distant time. She was getting
very frail and having now a hard time walking. It was obvious, why her friends
at her church had persuaded her into finally closing down the farm, and moving
into town. There was no way that she could continue living out there in the
country, and drive into town for her needs.

 While I was there, her lawyer filled me in on some of
the details. The farmhouse had been shut down, and left. It was so old and in
disrepair that it wasn’t worth the time and trouble to fix up. All her
furniture and her car had either been sold, or given away. She had only taken
with her into the new apartment, what she needed and her personal items. The
land had been leased out to a neighboring ranch. So it was taken care of.

 He also told me not to worry, that no matter how Aunt
Madge’s health continued, she would be taken care of. Money was not a problem,
and there were more than enough town’s people willing to take care of her.   

 Maybe it was my being away from Andrea for a full
week that I noticed so easily the changes in her. It seemed to strike me as if
her job had now reached a point where it entirely dominated her every waking
minute.

 The next month saw her coming home evenings later and
later, more and more often. There were nights when I was asleep when she came
home. She was gone so much, that by that time, I had seemingly taken over all of
the household chores. It seemed like only on Sundays that she was in the house
for more than just sleeping, showering and changing her clothes.

 At the first Saturday that she came home from showing
people houses, showered and changed clothes than left, we had a big argument
that lasted beyond the next Saturday. There she was also dressed obviously for
another social dinner party, alone, without me. The atmosphere between us had
now taken on a frosty tone.

  Our sex
life during these months was still there, but it too was different.

 I naturally felt insecure about how the doctor’s
visit and Andrea’s job had changed us. Yet our sex life had been wonderful
before, and I was seemingly dependent on having sex with Andrea. It was an
integral part of our shared intimacy.

 What caused me though considerable trepidation was
the change in Andrea’s attitude, towards sex with me. At times, she seemed to
passively accept the sex. She enjoyed it, but did not take any active role in
it. At other times, she became aggressive and dominating, almost masculine in
her behavior, forcing me into a completely feminine and passive role. It was
always one extreme, or the other. Intimacy and shared lovemaking seemed not to
exist for her anymore. Because of the lack of intimacy, and lack of tenderness
involved, it was frustrating, and demeaning for me. Even though I cannot
remember a strong decrease in the frequency, our sex life seemed minimal. It was
there, but without emotion.

  My
college estimate of three months had been wrong by about two years and three
months. I’ll never know the exact date of when she first disregarded her
marriage vow of fidelity. All I’ll ever know is how I found out.

 I will always remember that day clearly. It was a
Wednesday. I had returned from work, and found Andrea, already come and gone
again.

 She had been in a hurry, showered and changed, than
left in an obvious rush. Her clothes were left strewn around the bedroom floor.

 She must have also changed purses, because the one
she normally uses was sitting perched open on the dresser.

 As I was picking up the clothes that she had left on
the floor in her hast, I bumped into her purse and knocked it over. Everything
fell out of it.

 When I went to pick up the stuff and put it back in
her purse, I found a packet of partially used birth control pills, and a package
of condoms, four of which were missing.      

 I stayed up that night until after two o’clock in
the morning. Andrea had still not come home, so I left the packet of pills and
the condoms on the kitchen table, where she had to see them when she came in. I
slept, but I did not sleep well.

 The next morning when I got up they were gone. Andrea
was in bed sleeping. I called in sick at work. I sat at the kitchen table
drinking coffee. Later I heard the shower run, and Andrea getting dressed. I
still sat and waited.

 A few minutes later Andrea came rushing into the
kitchen apparently in a hurry, “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be
at work?”

 All I could say was, “Don’t you think we need
to talk?”

 She gave me an impatient and angry look, “I
don’t have time for that right now. I’m late for an appointment.”

 She turned and walked to the front door. There
she stopped for a moment, before turning back to me. Staring somewhere over my
shoulder, and off into the distance, she sighed, “Anyway, I haven’t
decided yet what I want to do, so there’s no need to talk.” With that
she walked out the door.

 Ever since I had found the birth control pills, and
the partially used package of condoms, I felt numb. I kept thinking that I
should feel something more, maybe rage, anger or hurt, but I was only numb.

 I knew now that she was cheating on me, why wasn’t
I reacting? Maybe it was because I could not seem to conclude a thought.
Whenever I tried to think about what I had found, one thought seemed to lead to
another thought, than to another though, and so on. I could never come to a
conclusion. It was also like this was happening to me, and not to me, but rather
to some other person.

 I sat there drinking coffee until my cup was
finished. Than I got up and called my office saying that I would not be in on
Friday either. The only person that I was close enough to, to be able to talk
with, about something like this, was Aunt Madge. I packed some clothes in a bag.
I left a note on the table saying where I was going, than left.

 I never got to talk to Aunt Madge. On the way down, I
started to think about how she would react. I could not do this to her. Better I
keep what I knew, what was going on, to myself. I stopped, and spent an almost
sleepless night, at a motel, in a small town, off of highway 287.

 That Friday morning, after finally getting a couple
of hours sleep, I decided to force Andrea into talking with me. Maybe we needed
consoling. Maybe we needed to just talk, and clear the air. Maybe, it wasn’t
as bad, as I thought, it was. Maybe, she did love me, but had some reason why
she was cheating on me. Maybe, there was something we could do, to get things
back in line. I didn’t want to lose Andrea. I loved her too deeply. I needed
her. I depended on her. She was my one and only, the love of my life. Without
her… I could not think.

 I spent my time traveling very slowly, and trying to
think clearly. I stopped off a couple of times, to breathe some fresh air, or to
get a cup of coffee.

 I arrived home at around six o’clock in the
evening. I dropped my bag at the front door, and went looking for Andrea. Andrea
was not there.

 I realized that I had not eaten anything that day. So
thinking Andrea would not be home early; I decided to go eat at a café, not far
from us.

 I returned at about half past nine, and there were
lights on in the living room, and in the bedroom. Andrea was home.

 When I opened the door, I almost stumbled over my own
bag I had left there. Lying on the living room floor were two pair of women’s
heels, and two pair of men’s shoes. Draped over the couch were various
clothing articles from obviously multiple persons of both sexes. On the living
room table, and on the kitchen table, were four empty glasses, and a half full
wine bottle. No one was in the living room, or in the kitchen. Down the hallway,
I could see that the bedroom door was open, and I walked towards it.

 Standing at the bedroom door, I could see Andrea, and
another woman, locked in a 69 position, with Andrea on top. Behind each of the
women, was a man fucking them. The men were not wearing condoms. I could see the
mixture of cum and Andrea’s juices squelching out from between the man’s
cock and Andrea’s sex lips, as he fucked into her.   

 No one had noticed me. I stumbled back into the
living room, and out the door. I got into my car, and started driving. I had no
idea where.

 They say that when someone is injured badly, that one
goes into shock, and cannot feel pain at first. I don’t think that is true. I
think one feels pain, only can’t fathom the pain, or the extent of the pain.

I made it maybe two blocks before I abruptly vomited all
over the car dash, the windshield, and myself. The last few days had finally
caught up to me. My head was throbbing it ached so badly. I was crying, and had
been crying for some time, but only than realized, that I was doing so.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but I was driving
again. I didn’t know where.

I stopped at a park-and-ride parking area on the I-25 north
of town. I felt the need to vomit again. I got out of the car and made it over
to a grassy area, before I emptied my stomach again, and again.

After there was nothing left in my stomach but bile, I got
up and walked to the top of a bridge crossing the freeway. I stood there
watching the semis zooming underneath me in the darkness. Watching those big
truck come screaming out of the darkness, than under me, and back into the
darkness, I though of how easy it would be for me to step out beyond the
guardrail of the bridge, and into the front of one of those massive trucks.
Death would be painful, but short in coming.

I wanted to do it, but than I didn’t. I walked back to my
car and sat down on the ground watching the traffic zooming by me. I questioned
myself, asking now after what had happened, everything that had happened in my
life, what reason I had not to do it.

After debating with myself, I got up once more, and walked
to the bridge, and stared down.

I didn’t have it in me. I walked away. I crawled onto the
back seat of my car, and slept the sleep of the exhausted, until the early
morning sunlight, and the cold, woke me.

Still exhausted, and not knowing where to go, I drove back
to the apartment. When I entered the apartment, I noticed that my bag was no
longer sitting by the door.  In the
bedroom Andrea was awake, and changing the sheets on the bed. When she saw me,
she only blankly stared at me.

Seeing Andrea holding those crusted and cum soaked sheets,
I turned and made it only to the bathroom sink, before emptying my stomach of
its bile, once again.

Andrea was now standing at the bathroom door, watching me.
Her face was still blank and expressionless.

Exhausted, I moved past her, and into the guestroom, where
I fell on the bed, and slept.

It’s easy in retrospect, to say what one should have
done, or not done. But, when you have your mind set, and you’re deeply
involved, not wanting to give up on something of great value to you, sometimes
you push things, or accept what shouldn’t be, even though you know better.

 Again I
didn’t sleep long. My rest had been interrupted by a nightmare. In the
nightmare, I jumped off of a bridge, and into an oncoming truck. I awoke just
before the truck hit me.

Even though I was coated in sweat, mentally I did not care.
My whole attitude in waking was still of exhaustion, but also of lethargy.
Nothing mattered to me anymore.

Not having the strength, or will, to do anything, I just
lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Time pasted until I took notice of Andrea standing in the
doorsill staring at me. All my thoughts, in seeing her, were just of the
awareness that she had just finished her shower. Nothing of the past hours, or
thoughts of the future were on my mind. Just that that person standing in the
doorway I knew. It was Andrea, and she was dressed in a bathrobe, and her hair
was wet, therefore she had just finished taking a shower. I thought nothing else
in seeing her. I felt nothing else in seeing her. Everything else was blank.

The first words she spoke were, “Guess maybe we should
talk.” Than she paused, “You saw last night didn’t you?”

 I only
continued to stare wordlessly back at her.

After a while, a slight nervousness begin to appear in her
facial expression, as she continued, “It’s nothing serious… We’re
only friends… It’s just sex… nothing more… They’re all married… They
all have their own families.”  She
stammered out the last, than dropped her eyes from mine.

Remembering slowly last night and what had happened before,
I asked, perplexed, and wondering, “And the condoms?”

Her head jerk a little, but she did not look at me. Not
saying anything for a long time, “Those are for with others.” 

Pondering over the magnitude, of what she had just stated,
I asked, “Are you doing this for some kind of revenge? Do you hate me?”   

Her answer was first quick, “Maybe.” Than she
paused for a moment, “No, I don’t think so… I’m not sure. I don’t
know. You did hurt me a lot, you know.”

After that she got a very sad, tearful look on her face, “No
I don’t hate you. I still love you, just as much as ever. That’s the
problem. I wish I could just hate you, and let it go at that. I can’t do that.
I just can’t.”

Just pondering the thought, because it seemed logical, I
asked, “What if I were to cheat on you?”

There her eyes snapped back to mine. There was fire in them
when she angrily answered me, “Conner, don’t be foolish.”

“I love you because of your personality and how
understanding and caring you are. I fell in love with you because I felt you
were the best of both worlds. You had the softer caring touch of a woman. Some
times making love to you was like making love to another woman.”

“You even seemed to think like us. At times, in
talking with you, I felt I was talking to my best girl friend.”

“But, you were a man, and I could have sex with you
like with a man. I could live with you, and have a family, like I could with a
man.”

“Take a look at yourself. Take a good look. Some times
I think you look so feminine… too feminine.

“Didn’t the doctor say that too?”

“Do you know, that people have asked me, if you’re
gay?”

“Maybe your mother was right. Maybe you should have
been born a girl.” 

“Other people don’t know how you are. They only see
how you look. They don’t know you like I do.”

“How many women have you ever had?”

Waving her arm in the direction of the window, “Go
ahead and go to bars. See if you can pick up anyone. What woman is going to have
anything to do with you?” Than with a snort and a sneer, “ All
you’ll be able to get is a hooker… or a queer.”

It looked as if she was going to continue, but she stopped.
She turned her head to the side, as if trying to calm herself, and get her
thoughts back under control.

At one point, she almost turned and walked away from the
door, but thought better of it.

She sighed sadly, “Conner, I didn’t want this talk
to go this way. I know you’re hurt, and I’m sorry that you are.”

“But, I’m having troubles coming to grips with your
sterility. I need to work this out my own way. I told you that I didn’t know
what I wanted to do, and I still don’t know what I want.”

“Just please give me time, and don’t do anything
rash. Maybe, there’s still a chance for us. I just don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you first, what I decide, as soon as I
have decided.”

“I won’t hurt you any more than I have to.”

After saying that, she turned and walked away.

I went back to staring at
the ceiling, but some time or another I nodded off to sleep.

Again, I woke up a short
time later, having dreamt that I was falling. Falling in front of an oncoming
semi. Waking, I could still hear the screaming of the air horn, and the squeal
of the tires.

Again, I was drenched in
sweat, and automatically got up to take a shower.

After the shower, and
without thinking, I wrapped the towel around my waist, and went towards the main
bedroom, to get dressed. I stopped though at the doorway, and could go no
further. I was unable to force myself to go past that door. My body began to
shake, and I was beginning to feel sick to the stomach again.

Within reach, was the bag
I had taken with me, to visit Aunt Madge. With a lunge, I grab the bag, and
rushed to the guest room to dress. The thought of enter the main bedroom, was
too sickening, for me.

Coming into the living
room, I could see that Andrea had stayed home. She was in the kitchen cooking
dinner. She was making a big affair of it. She had the table already set. There
were candles ready to be lit. Wine goblets sitting next to the plates.

Seeing me she smiled, “You’re
right on time. Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go ahead, and sit in the
living room, and rest some more. I’ll call you, when it’s ready.”

I went into the living
room, and sat, in the dark, staring at the wall. It didn’t matter any more.
Nothing mattered anymore.   

I couldn’t eat much at
dinner. It should have tasted good, and I should have been hungry. Everything
tasted like cardboard.

Andrea tried to make
simple conversation, but I couldn’t really concentrate on what she was saying.
Whatever was said, what use did it make? It was all just words. I answered her,
as best I could.

After the meal, Andrea
stood up, and walked over to me. First than did I notice that she wasn’t
wearing, what she would normally wear around the house, but had on a very
pretty, sexy dress, that I had never seen before. I remember wondering why she
would be going out so late in the evening.

Coming around the table,
and standing beside me, Andrea took my hand in hers. At her touch, I felt the
hairs on my body rise. My stomach twisted.

Pulling me up from my
chair, she almost whispered, “Come, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll
show you that everything is still okay. No one has taken anything from you.
I’m still here.”

She led me into the
hallway, and towards the bedroom. At the bedroom door, I stopped and tore my
hand from hers. She turned, “What’s wrong?” 
I couldn’t tell her, how much that bedroom repulsed me. How every time
I looked into that room, and saw that bed, I saw also that scene of her, and
those others. 

When she went to wrap her
arms around my neck, her lips coming closer to mine, my stomach revolted. I tore
her arms from around me, and dived towards the bathroom.

I just barely made it,
before I brought dinner back up. My head was pounding, and everything around me
was spinning. The cold porcelain of the toilet bowl felt comforting, and I was
relieved to be away from the bedroom, and Andrea.

Andrea came into the
bathroom, and knelt down beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder; “Please
don’t do this to me.” The closeness, and
contact to her, set my stomach off again. Only bile rose this time, burning my
throat in passing.

Jerking away from her,
and pressing myself as far away from her, as I could, “Why are you
doing this to me? Don’t you know, how you are hurting me? Looking down at the floor, no longer able to see her, without feel
sick, “Why don’t you just kill me, and put me out of my misery?
People don’t even treat animals, as cruel as you are, to me.” Than in a whisper, “Go, just go, and leave me alone.” 

Andrea stood for a
moment, than again said, “Please, don’t do this to me.” A few minutes later, she left the bathroom, and I could hear her
crying. Next, the bedroom door slammed shut.

It took me another
quarter of an hour of crying, before I too got up, and left the bathroom. I went
into the guest room, closed the door, took off my clothes, and slipped between
the sheets.

During that night, I
awoke twice falling, and hearing again, the howl of an air horn, and screeching
of tires.

The next day, I stayed as
much as I could, behind the closed guestroom door. I only came out, when I knew
that Andrea was not moving around in the apartment. It seemed Andrea was doing
the same.

That next week, I did not
go to work, but stayed home. I didn’t have to stay in the guest room, hiding
from Andrea. On none of the weekdays, did she come home, before midnight. On
Wednesday, she didn’t come home at all. She left again Friday evening, and
only came back Sunday, late in the afternoon. Saturday, when I emptied the
kitchen garbage, I found an empty box of condoms.   

During that week, I
emptied the master bedroom of all my clothes, and possessions, taking all of
Andrea’s from the guest room, and putting them, in her room. I didn’t do
this until Saturday, and than it still took a lot of will power, to enter that
room, and not get sick.

Most nights that week, I
still had the nightmares, about the bridge, and the semi trucks, but the next
Monday, I felt good enough, to go back to work.

So began the time, of Andrea’s and my co-existence.

Notes:

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