Page 7 of Caging Liberty
And while I could never fully comprehend his struggles, I do understand the loneliness. I feel it too. Every single moment of the day that I’m not speaking to saltyshells.
How has my life come to this? I used to be vibrant and strong. I used to love life and wake up every day with an enthusiasm I no longer recognize. Why? Why the fuck did I let this become my life?
I type out a message and hit send before I can think it through.
manhattanpeasant: I’m only happy when I’m talking to you too.
saltyshells123: Yeah?
manhattanpeasant: Yes.
saltyshells123: Then let’s meet.
I type out a quick ‘That would be inappropriate. What would our spouses think?’ response, but my finger hovers over the return key.
Am I actually considering it?
No. I would never cheat on my husband…
Right?
Damn it, saltyshells. Why the fuck are you doing this to me?
I slowly hit the backspace key until all my words are gone, then I start typing.
manhattanpeasant: As friends?
saltyshells123: Is that what you really want?
I pull my hands away from the computer and rub my temples.
No, it isn’t what I want, and of course, he knows this. He knows almost every intimate detail about me, far more than my own husband does. My dirty secrets, my insecurities... I’ve spilled it all to him, and he’s spilled it all to me. Iknowhim. Better than I know anyone.
As stupid as I know it is, and as guilty as it makes me feel, I’m falling in love with him. I’ve never seen his face, but I know what’s in his heart, and I’ve stayed awake many nights trying not to wonder what would happen if neither of us were married.
I’ve known the feelings were there, but I’ve done my best to never let my thoughts go that far. Hoping he doesn’t feel the same connection I feel while secretly hoping he does.
I take several deep breaths, then lower my hands and stare at the screen. I don’t know what to say or do. I know what’s right, but what’s right doesn’t align with what I want.
A door upstairs slams, and footsteps pound on the staircase. I close the laptop and perk up just as Elsie, my husband’s niece, comes sprinting into view.
“Mail’s here!” she announces with so much enthusiasm it’s contagious. She bursts out the front door, and I quickly put my laptop away in my bag.
Elsie reappears with a stack of envelopes in hand, then she hurries to the couch and starts sorting through the mail. I move beside her and scan each envelope as she does.
Elsie is a senior in high school and in the process of applying to college. She’s a bright and kind kid, and I’m honored to be her sort-of aunt, although we’ve only known each other for about a year and a half. Tragically, her mother died of breast cancer last year, and Robert, my husband, is her only known relative. Which I thought was odd considering I hadn’t been aware that he had a sister.
Elsie and I took a while to hit it off, mainly because she had a preconceived notion that I was a bimbo trophy wife, and she was a tad judgmental. Once we got over that, we became best friends. She’s admitted to me that I feel more like family than her uncle does. Which makes sense. My husband can be cold, and he isn’t exactly thrilled to have his only niece here until she graduates. But I try to keep Elsie from knowing that.
She flips to an envelope with Harvard’s logo, and I feel the energy in the room shift as soon as she sees it. It’s the small envelope. We both know what that means.
I put my hand on her back while she gingerly opens the flap and removes the piece of paper that’ll be the source of her insecurity for the near future.
She unfolds it, scans the first few sentences, then lowers the paper to her lap.
“Shit,” she mutters, emotion clogging her voice.
I rub her back and try to think of the right words to say. I know the truth… This rejection? This rejection is nothing. It doesn’t mean shit. Every senior in high school with a high GPA thinks it does, but the reality is, life is full of heartbreak, and not getting into your first-choice school is only the beginning of a string of failures.