Sarah
5:24 p.m. Kulp Residence Hall, Goshen College. Goshen, Indiana. Thursday, December 2, 1999.
It is our four year anniversary and Tom has called. He wants to tell me something, but it is difficult for him. My gut twists. He mentions the class he previously attended that afternoon, and how they spoke of love and honesty and what those ideals are in actuality, in practice, in connection to one another. My gut twists again.
He says he decided after class that he knew he had to tell me. Oh, I know it, and my gut stops twisting but my breathing slows sharply, and tears rise to my eyes aware of their coming need. He says it has to do with a question I have asked several times and he hasn't answered. Rather, he has dodged. They are ready, and the tears slip one by one, taking turns, left eye to right eye, dropping, falling, landing across my jeans and shirt sleeves.
Tom asks if I know what he is referring to. All I can think is how ridiculous it is that I should have to say it. So he stumbles, and pauses, and tries, and then he tells me that I had asked if he was attracted to anyone out there. Out there, right, Oregon. He is in Oregon, and there is a girl. Oh my God. Oh my God.
These tears are so hot now, so very hot. And they force their way into my eyes, recklessly, clamoring for release from the rush behind them. My inner being swells and my body doesn't feel capable of maintaining the way I feel. My frame can not hold anything in anymore. I can't speak, but I try. The only words that escape are, "Is it mutual?" His reply is yes, and the pain rises, choking my throat.
I stand up quickly and rush into the bedroom, shutting the door and throwing the phone onto the bed. I drop beside it, holding my head in my hands. The sobs choke me, and I feel my entire body moaning and aching. Hattie rushes over and I whisper in between sobs to tell him to call back. I can not talk to him now. She takes the phone and talks to Tom as I cry. He won't hang up.
Suddenly I grab the phone. I want to wail into that phone. "Fuck! Why didn't you tell me?" I want to scream and wail and shout. "Why? Why? I asked you so many times! Point blank, Tom, why?! Why couldn't you tell me?" His answer is jumbled. There are several reasons....He was afraid of hurting me. He didn't understand it himself. He keeps talking and all I can think is, "Love? Honesty and love? No, this is easing your guilt. This is shit. This is all shit. This is not happening." But it is.
And I ask, "Is it Sarah?" His reply is "Yeah." And he wants to know how I knew. I have no answer, other than my body told me. Something inside of me told me back in that damned handicapped hotel room in portland, Oregon. I saw her in a picture and I thought; Now here is a girl Tom would like. Here is the perfect girl for Tom. Not me. It was her dreads, or her presence, or her mind, or something else I didn't know about her. It was something, and I felt it settle inside of me like a sinking ship on the ocean floor. Only that was a month ago, and this is now.
And the hope of every day in between is gone.
