ANITA

 

Photo by Green Chameleon on Unsplash

“Don’t do it,” his voice was almost pleading. Back then she did not see the wisdom behind his words. All she could think of was her new man, a new life. What could a job as a small-time sub editor of a local magazine be in comparison to marrying the man of her dreams?

“What difference could it have made?” she wondered from time to time over the course of the next 16 years. Adam's voice was still clear in her mind as the day he had called her and almost begged her not to quit her new job as sub-editor. “You will be editor someday, you will grow and do so much,” he had said. “I will help you.” Not small promises from a man respected in his field, who had built a solid career in journalism over decades. And who was she beyond a mere 27-year-old who spoke and wrote decently?

Anita sighed. Sixteen years had passed since that phone call. She had married the man of her dreams and left her country, parents, home, and job, all for him. It had been the worst mistake of her life. Her two beautiful children were the only good to come of it besides the divorce. But even their births had only succeeded in binding her forever to a man who only seemed to want to see her fail.

Mired as it were, in oceans of failure, guilt, disappointment, and pain, Anita found every day a struggle at 43. She worked hard on herself, kept her spirits up, took care of herself well and the world thought she was fine. And no one understood why she kept failing. If failure is the only thing you’re good at in life, in stands to reason then that that is what you tirelessly pursue, she mused.

She pursued relationships destined to fail from the get-go. She pursued careers that only served to reinforce her lack of confidence. She did not have a head for numbers and did a shoddy job of saving money. The only things she managed to do well was make a few decent friends who, for whatever reason, seemed to value her. But even they, she thought, would soon realize their mistake and leave her.

Photo by Kenny Krosky on Unsplash

She watched her children grow and swore that she would do everything in her power to ensure they followed their dreams and honed their talents. She did her best to be a present mother and nurturing caregiver. But at every turn she doubted herself and her ability to deliver. She listened as they, now teens, praised their father’s newly discovered culinary skills. She broke down when she couldn’t balance her work with cooking and found herself ordering in food. She cried herself to sleep when she couldn’t get the kids to bed in time to wake up fresh for school the nest morning. Although she knew she was doing her best, she also knew that it was never enough.

She smiled every day for the kids. She cheerfully served up vitamins and asked them how their days were. She hugged them as much as she possibly could – or as much as they would allow. She listened to their stories of friends and games and new trends, she also listened to the difference in their voices when they spoke to their dad. And she told herself, that that was not her business. Hers was to bring them up and give them all her love and all she had. Beyond that, what they thought and felt was not in her control. She could only do her duty by them, love them, and no more.

Days when the children were away visiting their father, she would spend hours wondering what her future held. Knowing that there was no point being anxious and yet unable to stop the gnawing pit that seemed to grow in her belly. Loneliness was not a problem for her, or so she had told herself so many times that when it became apparent that it was a problem, she did not hear it.

One day, Anita met a man who was visiting her city on work.

His voice was warm and soothing like a cup of hot tea on a rainy day. His eyes were soft and his look gentle. He listened to her stories and held her hand when she cried. He lived in a different city, and they would talk every day over the phone. Some mornings when it was not a working day, they would both lie in bed (in their respective homes and cities) and linger in the sleepy drawls of morning voices. She felt heard, cared for and… loved. He called her “my darling” and “sweetheart” and “my love” and although she was no naïve schoolgirl, she clung to the endearments while she dropped her defenses. For how could a man who spoke to her every day not be true? How could he not want her? How could he possibly be just… passing time?

Photo by Tom Delanoue on Unsplash

Months passed this way. The feelings in Anita’s chest grew, and she found herself in love, willing once again like she had been 16 years ago, to give up everything for a man. She decided she would tell him. She thought, life is short, everyone says. I don’t know how long he will take to realize that he loves me. I know he does. But why should I wait for him? Why can’t I honestly just tell him what I feel? She told him, in her own way, that she wanted to be with him. She couldn’t bring herself to say it directly. She used analogies of ships and anchors and harbors. Hoping he would understand that she really just wanted him to say something like “I want you, I love you, and I’ll take care of you.”

But he didn’t.

The calls became fewer and less frequent. Slowly she gathered her scattered self and went back to life before the man. She recalled a line she had heard in a movie: “There’s nothing wrong with a broken man; when you’re broken you can start to rebuild.” This was her story, and her personal legend was to keep with this constant cycle of building, breaking and rebuilding. She would learn to accept it.