Free Through the Heart by Kate Morgenroth Page B

walked out on him, I never gave him another thought?
    The truth was that even as I was walking out, my brain was screaming at me, “What are you doing? Did you even look at him? Do you have any idea what you’re walking out on?”
    That was what it was like to be inside my head that afternoon. I don’t think another thought got any play time in my brain. That’s the downside of working a job that doesn’t require you to think—it leaves you at the mercy of whatever thoughts are tormenting you. I hadn’t realized how peaceful I’d become over the past few years. Or maybe I was just empty. There was nothing to want. There is great peace in that. Boredom too. But also peace.
    But I have to tell you—when it came back, it came back with a vengeance. By the time I left work my mind had him at Jeanette’s place in a bad soap-opera scene. I had myself so convinced that I even drove by Jeanette’s house on my way home to see if his car was parked outside.
    I know it undermined my bold move in walking out on him. I wish I could take credit for strength and self-respect, but since I’m confessing, I might as well go all the way. I didn’t walk out on him thinking that I wouldn’t let a man treat me that way. I didn’t look at the situation and realize that, no matter how good-looking he was, if he was flirting with another woman right in front of me on what had to be considered a date, he would only bring me misery—no matter how much I wanted him.
    No, it wasn’t like that at all. Even if I can see the truth in that kind of reasoning, I still wanted him. And seeing how much Jeanette wanted him only made me want him more. If I had any question in my mind about how desirable he was, I could see the answer reflected in Jeanette’s eyes.
    So why did I walk out?
    All I can say is that I didn’t do it.
    It was like when you jump onto the tracks in front of an oncoming train to save a person who has fallen, and after it’s over, there was no sense of you having done it. Suddenly I found myself getting up and walking out, when no part of my conscious brain wanted to do it.
    Because, truthfully, I can’t say I’m any different from Jeanette in her search for a man. The only difference between us is that I don’t try so hard. In fact, I don’t really try at all. So who, between the two of us, is the more honest?
    How could I escape being like Jeanette when it had been my mother’s favorite theme for my entire life? I know it was out of love, on her part. It was because she equated a man with stability, security, and happiness. She had raised two girls without any help, and her life had been hard, but her belief made my life harder. Practically every day when I got home from work, she would say to me, “How are you ever going to get a man when it looks like you’ve been digging ditches all day?” (The coffee grounds left black lines under my fingernails.)
    I hated the way she said “get a man.” It wasn’t “meet a man.” It was always “get a man.” Like you might go to the pound or the pet store and get a dog. But in the way my mother said it, it was clear that it wasn’t something that simple. It was more like a hunter getting the big game: hard to track, tough to bring down, requiring time and planning and patience and strategy. But then, of course, the hunter hangs the prize trophy on the wall. That’s how I imagined it. I would go out, “get” a man, and hang his head on the wall—because there was never any discussion about what my mother thought I should do with the man when I got him. Just the getting. That was of paramount importance. Without that one accomplishment, my mother always seemed to imply, life wasn’t really worth living.
    I had a feeling that Jeanette and my mother would be in perfect agreement. And I’m sure neither my mother or Jeanette would have walked out on Timothy. And when I walked out, I thought that would be it.
    But he walked right back in.
     
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