The Fight

"Whatever happened to you?" my wife asked, standing calmly at the door of the bathroom with her arms folded, watching.

            "What the hell do you mean?" I answered, slurring my words, just before vomiting again into the toilet for what seemed like the tenth time that night. "What in god's good name are you talking about?" I added for good measure when I was done. Then I slumped to the floor and rested my burning forehead against the cool base of the porcelain sink. It felt good. Comforting. I waited for Linda, my wife of forty-four years to come and get me up, help guide me to bed, and get me settled like she'd done so many times in the past. But she didn't. She left me laying there for the first time in my life.

            I awoke the next morning, curled next to the bath tub, freezing to death on the cold tile floor, hugging a towel that I must have pulled off the rack. It took a few minutes to come around and collect myself. Then I made an attempt to stand, weaving to my feet before grasping the tub and trying to sit on the edge where I promptly fell backwards, knocking my head on the wall and causing my stomach to heave once again. I felt a cauldron of bile bubbling around down there but nothing came up. I decided to rest. Five minutes later, after I had climbed out, rinsed my mouth in the sink, made my way down the hall, down the stairs and into the kitchen, it dawned on me that the house was eerily empty. Suddenly I was worried. Where was Linda?

            It took a minute for me looking around through blurry, watery eyes before I saw the Post-it note on the counter next to the coffee pot. Enjoy your life, Dave. I've moved out to start over. Don't bother calling. What the hell was this all about? I read it over and over again, not believing what she had written. With shaking hands I took filter out of the box, fit it into the basket, put in the coffee and water and turned the pot on. Then I went to the kitchen table by the window overlooking the backyard. I looked outside, barely registering the blue sky and bright October sunshine. Then saw the other note she left me: Whatever happened to you? Through the fog in my brain the words she had written seemed to ring a bell. Did she say the same thing to me last night? Outside the window, chickadee's were feeding at the feeder and juncos were scratching around on the ground. I watched them for while, for a long while, actually, before I realized I was crying.

            I never told Linda about Danny and I don't know why. A few months earlier I gone (against my better judgment) to my fiftieth high school class reunion and bumped into him and we'd started talking. Danny was still as lean and muscular as he was back in twelfth grade when his nickname was The Snake because he was so quick to strike. He was a fighter, is what he was, and was tough to boot, often taking down two or three guys when his little gang fought other gangs in the Minneapolis area. Rumor was that he never even carried a knife, preferring to use his fists instead, liking, I guess, the idea of man-to-man combat where the toughest and quickest usually won. And that's what Danny was: the toughest and the quickest.

            I should be clear here - he and I were never friends, but we knew each other due to an incident after gym class when three guys from a rival gang in our school bushwhacked Danny in the boy's locker room.  When I came upon them they were pounding the crap out of him as he valiantly fought back, barely holding his own. I didn't like that it wasn't a fair fight and I jumped in to help  (my first and only fist fight in my life) and landed a lucky punch to the jaw of a jerk named Ed, knocking him on his ass, breaking my middle finger. That punch turned the tide in Danny's favor and he went after them with a renewed and sustained furry that caused the three hoods to run off. Danny chased after them and I, grimacing in agony, gamely followed behind, unable to do anything more than not scream due to the pain.

            "Fuck off," he yelled, flipping the bird at them as they ran through a door that lead outside. Then he stopped and turned to me with a big smile, the beginnings of a shiner and a little bit of blood dripping from his nose, "Wow, what a bunch of assholes, right Dave Baby?"

            I was shocked because I didn't realize he knew my name. "Yeah," I said, groaning gingerly cradling my hand.

            Danny took one look at it and said, "Well, buddy, let's get you to the nurse. I think you broke that motherfucker."

            Profanity aside, I appreciated his concern, and let him lead me to Miss Borchert's office where she put a split on my finger and taped it up, looking a askance at each of us, fortunately not questioning too much my story that I'd broken it falling down the stairs (nor the tiny bit of blood still leaking from Danny's nose).

            When we left and were out in the hall, he laughed good naturedly, slapped me on the back, (thankfully respecting my throbbing hand) and thanked me again before heading off in a different direction. That was it. We never hung out together since we weren't even close to running in the same crowd, but he and I did nod and say Hi to each other occasionally in the hallway between classes, but that was all. After I graduated I never saw or heard from him again. Not for fifty years.

            The reunion was held in the banquet room of the International Market Square in south Minneapolis. I'd made my rounds, greeting the few people I knew, finding I didn't have much to say and even less in common, wondering why I'd even bothered to come to the thing in the first place. The answer was that I guess I was just curious about the people I'd gone to school with back in the late sixties: what had they ended up doing with their lives, what were they doing now - that kind of thing. If it sounds like a fool's errand and a waste of time to you, you are not alone. Linda, for her part, could have cared less. Not only did she go to a different high school, but she wasn't a fan of those kinds of reunions anyway, finding them a waste of time and preferring, as she often said, to 'Live in the present.' Now, standing by myself against a wall off to the side, watching the crowd start to get loose and loud, her words were beginning to ring true and make a lot of sense.

            I was looking toward the bar wondering if I should get my third JD and coke, chug it down and then go home, when someone clapped me firmly on the shoulder. "Dave Baby, is that you buddy?"

            I turned and faced a tall, lean looking man in clean jeans, boots and a black tee-shirt that revealed a series of tattoos on both of his arms. He was smooth shaven and had swept back gray hair with a prominent widows peak. He smiled, showing white teeth against a tan, outdoorsy complexion. He looked healthy and fit. It was Danny.

            "Yeah, it is," I stammered, It's me, Dave," I added, clarifying my name. (I never really cared for Dave Baby, like in Dave 'Baby' Cortez, a '50's musician I actually kind of liked.) "How are you doing?" I smiled a little, not knowing what to expect from him, and politely put out my hand.

            He shook it firmly and smiled back at me, friendly like, "Life is good, my man. Real good. It's nice to see you." Then he stepped back, frowning, and looked me over once or twice, seeming to make a decision as he did so. "Let me get you a beverage, Dave, you look like you could use it."

            Well, that was unexpected. I laughed a nervous little laugh, "Why's that?"

            "I can just tell," he said and motioned to the guy behind the bar, "Could you please get him..." he looked at me and I said, "A JD and coke." He made a motion to the bartender, "and I'll have a bottled water." When our drinks came, he put his arm around my shoulder and guided me to an empty table where we sat down. He looked around, the crowd building, music blaring, people glad handing long lost acquaintances, laughing and cutting up, just like a half a century earlier when we were naive kids in senior high. It was beginning to remind me of a high school dance after a Friday night football game except fifty years had passed.

            As if reading my thoughts, Danny said, "Man, what a zoo, right?"

            "Agreed," I said. He smiled again, and we clinked our drinks. Then, with that common ground established, we started talking and catching up.

            Danny had served in Vietnam, married a Vietnamese woman while stationed there, came home, settled, had two kids, raised a family, started and ran his own business and had lived a complete and full life. I had gone to college, avoided the draft with a student deferment, graduated with a degree in business, got a job working for a nationally known insurance company, had three kids, raised a family and lived a complete and full life. Almost like Danny's right? Well, not quite.

            After we had talked for a while, filling each other in on how our lives had played out, Danny sat back, took a sip of his water and looked at me. In my mind I pictured him seeing a balding, jowly guy about fifteen pounds over the optimum weight for my five foot ten inch medium build frame. I must have looked soft to him and I probably was. Well, forget probably, I was soft, not ever feeling a need to exercise and keep in shape. Not like Linda, who regular jogged, did yoga and worked out with her girl friends at the health club she'd attended for years. But he ignored my appearance and instead got to the point, "I've got one question for you, Dave."

            "What's that?" I asked, feeling loose and more friendly now with our conversation and the accumulative affects of the JD and no food. I was also glad he had dropped the 'Baby' from my nickname, letting us off the hook to be able to move away from our high school years.

            "Are you happy?"

            Well...Whatever question I'd been expecting it wasn't that and it definitely caught me by surprise. "Sure," I answered quickly, "Why wouldn't I be?" I added, feeling a little defensive.

            And there was the rub. The big question. It's the question that came back to me now that I was sitting alone in my kitchen with a note from my dear wife telling me she was leaving me. I'd given Danny what I told myself at the time was an honest answer. I'd told him I was happy, my reasoning being simple: I had my job, my wife, my kids, even a few grandkids. Who wouldn't be? The thought came back to me now two months later, and through the alcohol fog in my brain, I realized the question had some merit. A lot of merit, actually. Was I happy with my life?

            I crumpled up the note Linda left me and tossed it on the table. The hell with it, I told myself, suddenly feeling the need to quit thinking and probing too deeply into the inner mysteries of my existence. I needed to do something - anything - anything to escape my thoughts, which were rapidly turning into a whirlwind of conflicting arguments. I turned off the coffee maker, poured a mug, drank it down a couple of scalding gulps, instantly regretting my rash move. Trying to ease the burn, I rinsed my mouth under cold water from the faucet in the sink. Then I went outside to take a walk only to return in a few moments when I realized how disgusting my vomit stained, filthy clothes were. My shirt and pants were streaked with the remnants of last night's toilet bowl hugging experience and, on top of that, I didn't smell too good. I went upstairs to change and glanced at myself in the bathroom mirror: bags under my red eyes and gray stubble on my ashen face. I didn't look too good, either. I decided to take a long, hot shower, hoping it would help my improve my mood and ease my sadness at Linda having left me. It did neither.

            Linda and I have lived in Long Lake, a small town of just under two thousand located about twenty five miles from downtown Minneapolis, for over thirty years. Our home is a story and a half bungalow built in the 30's. I love it and so does (did?) Linda. It has stucco siding with olive green trim around the windows and doors painted rusty red. Trust me, it looks nice. We converted the front and back yards to flower gardens during the first couple of years after we'd moved in with only a slight nod to islands of green grass for accent. People often stop on the street to admire how pretty everything looks and I have to agree with them. Our married life together has been a labor of love and commitment and it's been reflected in our quaint, well kept home and our beautiful, colorful gardens. I couldn't believe it was all starting to implode - just because of me.

            I was thinking about all of those things after I was finally as presentable as I was going to be on this first morning of my life without Linda by my side. I went back outside and made my way down the driveway and turned left, walking slowly, still getting my bearings after last night's drunken debacle. The sunny day helped. So did the cool October weather. I guessed the temperature was in the high forties. Was I really going to have to give up everything Linda and I had worked our entire marriage for? Our home together? Our security of being with each other? Our love? Ok, sure, she'd left me, so I could keep the house and maybe find a way to carry on by myself, but what would be the point? Would it be worth it to go on the living rest of my life alone in the home Linda and I had shared for so many years, reliving all the memories of our life together? A life I was now finding out she wasn't happy in (at least with me it). It was an experience I didn't savor. The truth of the matter was that I liked being married to Linda. She, however, was now making it clear she no longer liked being married to me.

            Thirty minutes of walking brought me to a small, secluded park on the south shore of Long Lake, the lake our town is named after. It measures a mile long by a quarter of a mile wide and the park I was in was as good a place as any to mull over my fate. I went to a wooden bench and sat down, staring across the water, seeing nothing but my own swirling thoughts. Thoughts that weren't helping me find any answers as to what I should do next.

            When I had talked with Danny at the reunion one thing stuck out more than anything and that was this: when he had asked me if was happy, I felt I had stumbled with the answer. In retrospect I can say that I honestly wasn't sure if I was all that happy, even though I'd told him I was. But here's the thing: when Danny said he was happy, he really was. He honestly and truly meant it. He'd started his own auto-rebuilding business when he'd come back from Vietnam and it flourished. His specialty was working on classic cars from the 50's and 60's and he, apparently, was good at it, although he didn't toot his own horn about his success at all (sorry about the pun).

            "When I started it was just me and my shop in the garage attached to our home," he told me that night, "Now I own a good sized garage in south Minneapolis and have three employees, plus my oldest son who pretty much runs things now," he sat back and sipped his water. "He's a way better mechanic than I ever was."

            I liked that he loved his work and took pride in what he had accomplished and I told him so, "Sounds like it's been a good life, for you," I said, "Things worked out really well."

            He grimaced at my observation and told me he'd had his share of 'issues' as he put it, using his fingers to make quote marks in the air. "I don't want to belabor the point," he said, "but I had problems with drugs and alcohol when I came back from 'Nam. I had anger issues, too, with my temper and fighting and all that. Thankfully Kim (his wife, he'd told me earlier) has stuck by me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her."

            I couldn't believe his candor with me; I was only a guy, a person who, more than anything, was a lucky punch and a broken finger away from being a complete stranger to him.

            I reached for my JD and coke and then stopped myself. He looked at me and smiled. "Go ahead, it doesn't bother me. I've been clean and sober for thirty two years."

            Something about the way he said it, though, made me stop. He wasn't judging me, but the way he looked at me made me think that he knew something I didn't know. Maybe I was drinking too much - and, more to the point, relying on it too much. I pushed my drink aside and didn't touch another drop that night. 

            I liked that Danny had his own business - something he believed in and had a passion for. When I was younger, growing up around an uncle and grandfather who enjoyed fishing and hunting and spending time camping in the woods, I was influenced by them to want to have a career working outdoors. Like them, I enjoyed being outside and saw myself going to college and becoming a plant biologist or something like that. Then I could be outside, work at a job I enjoyed and earn a living while I was at it. Nice idea but it never happened. Why? Nothing went wrong per se, but life offered me another path and I took it. When I was at the University of Minnesota I met Linda and we got married right after we graduated. Then we had three kids in quick succession. I decided while she was pregnant with our first child that maybe the best thing I could do was to get a job making more money than a Level 1 Biologist working for the State of Minnesota could make. I answered an ad for an entry level insurance sales position for the largest insurance company in the upper Midwest and was hired immediately. The work was steady, I was good at it, I earned a decent salary and, just like that, I was on my way. But, now, sitting on my bench by the lake, I remembered at the time Linda had questioned my decision.

            "You're sure you want to give up your dream?" she had asked me. "You don't have to, you know. After the kids are older, I'll go back to work (she was just starting out as a fourth grade teacher, and good at it). We can get by until then if we're diligent with our spending. I'm sure we can. We'll just budget a little bit tighter, that's all. Above everything else, I want you to be happy."

            Linda's prophetic words were now coming back to me. I hadn't so much as forgotten about them in all these intervening years, as ignored them. When the kids were old enough, she had made good on her promise: she went back to her teaching job and enjoyed a long and successful career in the Minneapolis school system. She was beloved by both her students and other teachers, once having won Minnesota Teacher of the Year, an award that, really, said it all. She was exceptional, but humble, saying in her acceptance speech at the time, that she owed it all to the amazing students she was privileged to teach and to the wonderful school she worked for. She was right and modest - two characteristics worthy of admiration. I, on the other hand, had chosen to stay with the security of my insurance job, telling myself that I was doing the right thing for my wife and kids. I was neither bright, nor modest, and certainly didn't win any awards. I just did my job, telling myself everything was fine and I was happy.   

            But was I?

            A little while after Danny and I had been talking, a nice looked dark haired woman came up and poked him jokingly in the muscle, "Hey there, big guy," she grinned at him. He turned to her and smiled a bright smile.

            "Well, there you are. Hi sweetheart. Dave, I'd like you to met my better half." He stood up and gave her a big hug. "This is my wife, Kim."

            I stood, too, and we shook hands. She was warm and friendly, and I could tell there was still a connection there between the two of them, even after all these years. I could see it in their eyes and how they were with each other. Their love and affection was still strong. It was good to see. They started talking about how crazy the reunion was getting and I sat back and watched them, appreciating how happy and comfortable they were with each other. I was glad for them, but also slightly envious. I realized I was missing Linda. What was she doing right now at home? Probably working on a knitting project or one of her other many hobbies. I felt myself smiling inside, looking forward to going home to be with her. She was a wonderful person and I was lucky to have her.

            Danny had told me earlier that Kim was the rock of their family.

            "She's the glue, man. Without her, I'd be nothing." He looked hard at me then, making me remember the way he'd fought those three hoods in the locker room all those years ago. Then he told me something that now came back to me as I was sitting on that bench by the lake, "A good woman is hard to find," he told me. "I know it sounds like a cliché, but too bad. It's the truth. If you find one, don't let her go. That's what I've done with Kim. Sure, I made mistakes, but I've tried to deal with them and put them behind me. And I've tried to do everything I can to be a good husband to her and do everything I can to keep her."

            I'll never forget the look in his eye as he stared at me - the look of a fighter. It was deep. It was clear. And he meant every word.

            It came to me now that Linda had also been the glue for our family. She had been there for each of our three kids' birthdays, PTA meetings, sicknesses, marriages (and one divorce), everything. Me, I had deluded myself that I was the 'bread-winner,' an archaic term if there ever was one, and taken a backseat to family life, letting Linda shoulder the burden: one she accepted without complaint, I might add, because she had loved the kids and had loved being a mother. Plus, on top of all that, she had worked full time. God, I'd been a jerk.

            Why was all of this coming to me now? I think that Danny had helped put things in perspective. He had done something I hadn't done. He had acknowledged his faults as a person with his temper and dependence on drugs and booze, accepted them, done something about them and, as a result, become a better person for it all. He had realized that there was more to life than just himself; he had Kim, his kids and his business, things to be proud of. But, more to the point, he realized how important they all were to him. I, on the other hand, had hidden my unhappiness by withdrawing from my kids and my wife, eventually choosing to 'drown my sorrows in alcohol' as they say. I had missed the point completely. What a pathetic, selfish idiot I was. No wonder Linda had left me.

            I sat back and looked at the lake. The water was like glass and a flotilla of mallards were nearby, resting on their way in migration south. A flock of geese flew overhead, their boisterous honking filling the air. The fall leaf change was in full swing with trees dotting the hillsides exploding in kaleidoscope colors of reds, yellows and oranges. Late blooming purple asters shown in the sun and cattails along the shoreline were bursting with seed. Life was happening all around me, something that I used to appreciate, even love, when I was younger, and had apparently spent years and years forgetting how to do. Instead, here I was, sitting alone, feeling sorry for myself, on the verge of losing the most important person in my life.

            I didn't like that I was such a pathetic figure. No wonder Linda had said good-bye our marriage, our home and me and moved on to start a new chapter in her life - one that didn't include her husband. I pictured what Danny would say I if I called him and asked what I should do. He say, "Get your head out of your ass and call your wife and apologize."

            It was the best advice I'd ever heard and I silently thanked him for it.

            I reached for the phone in my pocket, took it out and dialed her number, ignoring what her note had said about not calling, wondering if the fact I did so would count against me. The hell with it. I had nothing to lose. I listened nervously as it rang once, then a second time. On the third ring she picked up only saying, "What?" I tried to gauge her mood, but couldn't. Was she mad at me, or sick of me, or just plan tired of me? Probably all three, but I just couldn't tell.

            "Hi. It's me," I said, and rushed on before she had a chance to hang up, "Please hear me out. I just want to apologize for everything. I've been an idiot and I know I don't deserve you, but I'm so sorry about so many things. I want to talk with you. I want to change. I want to try and make it up to you. I love you and don't want to lose you. Please forgive me." My words spilled out without my thinking or planning. I only knew they came from my heart, and every one of them was true.

            And I was quiet then, not sure what else to say. In the corner of my eye I caught a movement. It was a beautiful orange and black monarch butterfly, landing delicately on one of the nearby purple asters. I knew it was there to feed and then rest for a few moments before continuing on its remarkable journey thousands of miles across the country to Mexico where it would spend the winter before beginning its journey home. The monarch's beauty and frailty and strength have always been a wonder to me. I took it as a sign...a sign that maybe Linda would forgive me and we could pick up the pieces of our life and start afresh. Together. Was that too much to ask for? Or was I deluding myself? Had I drifted too far from the core of our marriage and the love we once had? I saw in my mind an image of Danny nodding his head, saying, 'You did the right thing by expressing yourself like you did. Now you have to show her. Remember, actions speak louder than words.' Yeah, I know it was another cliché' but that didn't matter - he'd be right. Danny's life had been all about action. First by fighting with his fists when he was young and then by fighting with his heart by changing for the better as he got older. Could I do that? Could I change? I needed to and wanted to and it was clear I was going to have to if I wanted to become a better person and better husband and keep Linda in my life.

            I pictured myself talking to her in the near future and listening closely to her and learning to appreciate anew her and the life she had created for herself (irrespective of me) with her friends and interests and hobbies. I pictured myself paying more attention to her, learning to listen to her concerns and doing what I could to make her life better. I pictured taking her to her favorite restaurant more than once a year (and finding new ones that she would like.) I saw myself doing whatever I could to show to her that I still loved her and wanted to be the kind of guy that she married and believed in all those years ago. I wanted to prove to her that I would never drink again. I wanted to be her friend. And, especially, I wanted to show her that she could count on me to be a dependable and trustworthy husband for the rest of our lives together.

            If she would only give me one chance, I was sure I could prove it to her.

            And held my breath, then, waiting for her to say something.

            Finally she spoke, "Dave?"

            "Yes?"

            "Didn't you read my note?" And she hung up.

I read somewhere once that the pathway to hell was paved with good intentions. Was I naive to think I could talk my long suffering wife into believing that I could change my life and be a better person on the strength of a fifteen second phone call? Most definitely the answer was Yes - I was that naive and probably stupid to boot, as was born out by her quick and decisive answer. But I saw Danny's face in my mind's eye encouraging me not to give up. Was I man enough to step up and fight for my wife and our marriage?

            I got up from the bench with fresh resolve and left the park, my footsteps moving ever faster as I headed home. I had a lot of work to do: I was going to clean the house from top to bottom, dump out all my booze bottles and have a long talk with myself. I had to figure out the next steps in my fight to win Linda back. I knew the road wouldn't be easy, but that was all right. I was willing to face the future. I wanted to change. I wanted to learn how to be a better person, one Linda would want to be with. This was a fight of a different nature than when Danny and I fought those hoods back in high school. Back then it was for some misdirected idea of pride. Now it was my wife, for the person I valued most in my life. My decision was made. I was committed to doing all it took to win her back. I didn't want to lose her.

            I hurried on, eager to move forward. The fight had just begun.