Page 123 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

“Eyes closed.” Reluctantly, I close my eyes, tuning out the woman with long gray hair and purple glasses sitting in an egg chair.

“I want you to picture Georgia. A version of her you’d look back on fondly.”She was wearing a dress, it was maroon with white polka dots, and she had on white high heels, and she was happy. Dancing in the kitchen while she cooked dinner, singing to me.

“Now, Georgia, she’s going to tell you she’s sorry. She says it. See it in your mind as she says, ‘I’m sorry, Alexander, for failing you.’”I can see it. I can see Georgia take my hands in hers and say it.

“We’re going to choose to believe her. That sheissorry. Can you do that, Alexander?”

I open my eyes. I don’t know.

“Can you forgive her?” Maureen asks again.

I think about Connie telling me all she endured. I think about the morning she woke me up to go to Arizona and how her face was black and blue. I think of the woman who had to make choices and probably did the best she could with what she had.

“I don’t know if I can.”

Maureen hums, “I think that’s fair, too,” and then checks the clock. “I’ll leave you with this to think about today: Forgiveness doesn’t change our past,”no shit. “Butit does render our future.”Goddamnit, Maureen.

It’s all I can think about for two days straight. I think about it while I’m lying in bed staring at a ceiling fan. I think about it the second I wake up.

Forgiveness doesn’t change our past, but it does render our future.

Forgiveness is another one of those childhood lessons I think I missed. How would my life look if I hadn’t, though?

The difference is easy. I’d be married to Jess right now. And I don’t even want to be married to her.

But maybe I wouldn’t end up married to her, because she would still need to say sorry in order for me to forgive her. Andshe hadn’t. Still hasn’t and likely never would because I don’t think she is sorry.

She’s twisted our reality as such that she has no fault in our story.

I pictured Georgia and Jess as two sides of the same coin. I was always conflating the two of them, resenting one for the other’s mistakes. But the difference is, Georgia was sorry and couldn’t say it. Jess wasn’t sorry and, therefore, never did.

I make the decision, right then, to forgive them both. Or at least try to because at the end of the day, I can’t waste any more time thinking about either of them.

october

“How are you feeling today?” Maureen’s classic opening line.

“Let’s just cut to the chase?” I’m not in the best of moods today. Some days are better than others. This isn’t one.

“You’ve been coming twice a week, for nine weeks now, and aside from telling me some very basic information about how you met, you haven’t brought up your wife at all…”Fuck. I want to go back, and answer the first question with something that will distract her. Something along the lines of, ‘How can I reparent my inner child?’ Something she could monologue on for an entire session.

I don’t want to talk about this. Anything butthis.

I clear my throat, adjusting the way I’m sitting. I look up to the ceiling, and clear my throat, again.

“What do you want to know?” I ask Maureen.

“Where is she?” I don’t know. I’ve looked too. She isn’t at our house in Spearhead. She isn’t at her condo in town. Hadn’tgone to her trailer in Vegas. She hadn’t used our credit card, hadn’t touched our bank accounts. She isn’t on social media. Becks hadn’t heard from her, and neither had Brit. Blanks wasn’t talking to me.

So I really don’t know. My last resort is to call her…and I won’t be doing that.

“No clue.”

“Did she leave you?” Maureen asks.

“No.”

“You left her?”Not exactly.