DIVORCE I
I Want a Divorce
Word Count 1176
For years my husband has uttered the words, “I want a divorce” at least twice a week. Over time these words have lost their power to upset me but this hasn’t always been the case. When he first started saying it, about five years into our marriage, I took him seriously. At the time we were going through a rough patch and it wasn’t our first. Since I thought he really wanted a divorce, I began making plans.
The first thing I did was talk to my divorced women friends.
They all said the same thing which was, “You have to get an attorney.”
This seemed like a lot of work.
One friend, who was already three years into obtaining her divorce, advised me to hire a forensic accountant.
The Gentleman Rapist
Word Count 1315
I came home from work one night to find my door unlocked: someone had picked the lock and broken in. When I left my husband, I brought very few possessions to my new home: a rust-colored futon, the sole living room furniture by day and the bed at night; a small table with a single chair for eating; and a chest of drawers just beyond the arch that defined the two sections of the room.
Now the first thing I saw when I walked in was a soiled white gardening glove on that chest of drawers—a taunt in plain sight. My heart rushed upward into my chest, constricting my breath. I’d felt nested in my new home; now I was utterly exposed.
The Tears of a Clown
Word Count 1650
I was on my second glass of Pouilly-Fuissé at a black-tie charity benefit in the Plaza Hotel’s penthouse ballroom when I spotted him walking jauntily toward me: a small man sporting a tiny toothbrush mustache, black morning coat and bowtie, high-collar white shirt, baggy pants and bowler hat.
He stopped suddenly, tipped his hat and danced in a circle, attracting a few other guests, drinks in hand. Reaching one arm above his head and then pulling it earthward, he circled again, lifted his hat and bowed with a flourish, charming the captive audience who laughed and applauded as he took another sweeping bow. When he stood up again, smiling, he looked my way and winked.
Other Fish in the Sea
Word Count 727
In first grade, mean old Miss May slapped me on the hand for writing my 7's backwards and my words on the wrong lines. I couldn’t seem to do anything right in her room, but one magical day at the school carnival, I won a game of musical chairs. My prize was a goldfish extracted from a tank full of other doomed fish anxiously holding their collective breath.
Fun fact: Goldfish can live for up to 40 years!
I was thrilled to receive the goldfish in a twist-tied baggie of water. I couldn't wait to get a fishbowl and spend hours gazing at it through the glass. I was still fantasizing about names for it when I crawled under the covers that night, but by morning the fish was dead. Sadly, there was no fond farewell, no ceremony. My father flushed it. Fish tank to septic tank in less than 24 hours.
Road To El Dorado
Word Count 1192
I was sitting in the kitchen of our big house with the winding mahogany staircase, eating a bowl of Grape-Nuts before school (my father’s favorite cereal, mine too) when the phone rang. It was my best friend, who lived across the street. She was upset because I hadn’t told her we were moving. “What are you talking about?” I asked. She told me there was a “For Sale” sign on our front lawn. I rushed out to look. There it was, in front of my favorite dogwood tree, not unlike one of my stamps commemorating a cataclysmic moment in history. My mother explained that moving had something to do with my father being away so much, but a few weeks later, she attached the word “divorce” to the situation, and I suddenly realized why the television actors on “Divorce Court” were always sobbing.
The Damage Done
Word Count 1051
In a valiant attempt to triage the marriage, you and your husband take off on the Vespa to Barbrix, the local spot in your LA neighborhood. You order some small plate delights, and share a bottle of Malbec. You feel light and amorous as you laugh and reminisce about adventures you’ve had over the past seventeen years. Remember when we went down to Baja for your show and we got stopped by the federales…
In those moments, the two of you are transformed. You become the young, unstoppable, creatures you loved, trusted, and married. But you finish the evening in a late-night row, blaming each other for being yourselves. You’re not sure if your husband is as frightened as you are by the realization that you’re actually going to separate and eventually divorce, until he says: Of course I am, I’m losing my best friend.
Dandy Dad
Word Count 1078
My father was the only dad in town who wore scarves. When his famous tomato sauce erupted from the stove onto his tailored lavender button-down shirt he already had another one ironed and ready to wear.
“Oh, shit!” he’d exclaim. “I mean, shoot! I’ll be right back. Sophia, stir the sauce!”
Not once did I consider that my father was gay. But when he came out to fifteen-year-old me and my thirteen-year-old brother, I can’t say I was shocked. I don’t intend to perpetuate stereotypes and antiquated ideas of sexuality, but I could see how the man who grew distressed over the textural flaws in our Venetian plaster walls and played only two songs on the piano— “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” and “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina”—was possibly not, and had never been, straight. As my high-school boyfriend reminded me when I shared the news, “Well, he does wear scarves.”
D-I-V-O-R-C-E
Word Count 926
divorce, v.: transitive, intransitive; active, passive
divorce, n.: subject or direct object; more rarely, indirect object
My parents divorced; they were divorced. To say “They are divorced” would be inappropriate, would seem to negate their deaths, depending on what happens or doesn’t happen in any possible afterlife. They divorced in the early 1960s, before divorce was as common as it became.
When they told me they were getting divorced—“getting a divorce”—I was not surprised: for a year, my father had been living in the North and my mother and I in the South, but even before that obvious separation, I had and still have no memory of their being together. They both cried (“were crying”) when they told me. I bought each of them a present. These are the only things I remember of that day. I do not even remember what presents I chose for them. I was ten.