314. A Seat (May 16, 2011)

A Seat

There was no reason why the sound should have soothed him so much.  It was just water catching the plug, swirling around, whirling down, pouring in.  Catching the plug, swirling around, whirling down, pouring in.  He stood staring as the water went through its sequence over and over again, moving only to tap the handle once more to start a new cycle.  Catching the plug, swirling around, whirling down, pouring in.  His breathing followed the comforting rhythm of the water.  It sucked with the plug, swirled through his lungs, whirled through his body, and poured out. 

The spell was broken as he heard his secretary leave for lunch with her husband.  He hadn’t realized it was time.  With one last flush, Martin left the small water closet and slumped into his tall desk chair.  The warm, brown leather tugged on his shirt as his body sank slowly further into the chair.  Glancing at the row of pictures on his shelves, he ran through each memory again.  His graduation from Harvard.  The trip to New Zealand.  His marriage to Charlotte.  Their first home. The Grand Opening of the Winston branch.  His son’s first birthday.  As always, two tears fell on his left cheek when he finished his contemplation.  He straightened himself and looked at the clock.  Twelve minutes had passed.  He was ahead of schedule.  He picked up the shiny apple that was sitting to the left of his coffee cup and moved it to the opposite side of his desk, aligning it on the right of the two pens, the pencil sharpened like a lance, and the white, square eraser.  Twenty seconds.  He pushed his chair back from the desk in agitation.  He walked to the door.  He walked back.  He walked to the window behind his desk.  He returned to his seat.  He picked up the apple to the left of his coffee cup and moved it to the right of the two pens, the sharpened pencil, and the white eraser.  Forty-two seconds.  He walked to the door.  He walked back.  His breathing quickened.  He picked up the apple to the left of his coffee cup and moved it to the right of the pens, the pencil, and the eraser.  The door to the bathroom beckoned him, standing open to the same angle at which he always left it any time it was empty.  He marched to his sheltered solace.  Catching the plug, swirling around, whirling down, pouring in.  He calmed. 

The apple rolled quietly through the open door and bumped his foot.  He started at the unexpected movement, picked the apple up, and peered around the white door at the clear figure of his wife.  Her hair had returned to its regular mass, tumbling behind her slight shoulders; it lacked the lustrous black shine it had been only a few months ago.  He moved to his desk, placing the apple to the right of the eraser.  She approached him and spoke in her old voice, clearer than the last time he had heard it. 

“It’s a good apple.  You used to choose the worst ones.”

“I picked it up this morning” he replied neatly.

“I know.  At Karim’s stand on 5^th.  One spotless, shined red apple with a stem and no sticker.  A plain bagel, no cream cheese.  A bottle of filtered spring water.  Same as yesterday.  The same as every day.  Why is that, Martin?  You used to complain if you ate eggs twice in the same week.”

Martin left his seat and approached the slight form, settling directly in front of her.  He missed the deep blue colour that had been in her eyes.  She wasn’t his Charlotte anymore without them.  She had ceased to be his Charlotte the moment he had been asked to identify her charred remains. “Things changed after you left.  I needed to take care of Brett.  I had more to do.  I had to learn to be efficient.  I had to be two parents.”  Only then did he realize he had been harbouring resentment for her.

She looked up at him in that same way she had always done before, her head tilted to the left.  “You know you don’t need to be like this.  Brett needs a father that cares for him like he’s a son, not another task to deal with.  He needs your love and your physical support.  I can only do so much for him now.”

“I had to pick up everything you left behind, Lottie.”

For the first time since she’d come, the graceful figure moved, turning her back on him and walking toward the bookcase.  A streak on her cheek shined brighter as she looked at the pictures of her son and husband.  “I meant to come back.  I didn’t know any more than you did that the plane would crash.”

“You could have been on the earlier plane.  You didn’t have to give your seat up.”

“She needed it more than I did.”  He started to retaliate again but she cut him off, catching him off guard.  “It’s done, Marty.  I can’t change that decision.” She swirled around and approached him, her crystalline eyes burning with sudden determination.  “Brett can’t have me back, but he can have you.  You’ve got to stop trying for perfection.  You’re shutting out the one who needs you most right now.  Stop trying to be me.”  Her hair whirled around her face as she circled him.  She stopped close to his side and gently whispered in his ear, “Let me go, Marty.”  The hug she gave him was like nothing he had experienced before.  He felt as if she was pouring her whole soul into his body, bringing with it the bits of his own soul which he hadn’t even realized he had lost.  And then she was gone.

Martin turned toward his desk, ready to eat.  He reached for his pristine lunch next to the eraser and found in its place a slightly shriveled, stemless, freckled, and bruised apple.  He picked it up and took a bite.  Swallowing, he walked toward the bathroom.  The light was still on and he entered.  Steadily, Martin reached forward and triggered the cycle.  He listened to the water catching the plug, swirling around, whirling down, pouring in.  As it finished he exited the little room, turning the light off and quietly shutting the door.  The phone rang and he answered it.  Sitting on the edge of his desk, Martin ate his lunch and chatted with his son.