Choices (1109 hits)
Category: RomanceRating: 1.81 on 36 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Ashlee (View user info) at 2005-01-06 13:50:00 EST
I woke up alone this morning, just as I have nearly every morning. Not that I slept alone, mind you; my boyfriend had already left for work. He goes to work early, I stay in bed until nine or so. Then I get up, walk the dog, do the errands, maybe a little painting, make dinner. That's how it goes. Every day is the same, has been for a long time.
Sometimes, I remember when every day WASN'T the same. I remember the one bedroom on the third floor in the Village. I remember lying in his bed til three A.M., talking about art and books and the places I'd been and the ones he wanted to see. I asked him if he'd like to see the rest of the world with me. I remember the French quarter in New Orleans, that little park where there were artists and musicians and performers everywhere. I remember dusty streets and tiny cafés in Italy. I remember backpacking through South America. I remember uncomfortable beds in tiny, cramped rented attic rooms. I remember not worrying about schedules and budgets and saving and plans. Sure, we had some money saved, and there were times when we'd work in whatever country we were in, just enough to pay for food and sometimes lodging if we needed it. But we never had to worry about rent or utilities or any of that. I remember knowing that this was the best time of my life, and thinking it would never end.
And then it did. Not all at once, these things never happen all at once, do they? I guess it was my fault, really. I sensed something in him, something that hadn't been there before. A longing. For what, I didn't know, at least consciously. On a deeper level, though, I think I did. He was tired of the life. He never loved it the way I did, I knew that on the same level that I knew he wanted out. I always craved the adventure, the thrill of not knowing where we would be next week. He wanted stability, a house and a car and all those other boring, normal things. He knew, though, how happy I was with just a few clothes and some paintings to my name. So he never said anything.
Until I suggested we go visit his parents. It seemed, at first, like I was doing something for him. I thought he'd love something calm. Something to slow the pace. In reality, I was being selfish, I know that now. I thought that if I let him rest for a bit, that he'd regain the energy he needed to go spend some time in Mexico or Brazil. Instead, he fell back in love with the suburbs. This is what he wanted, the ranch-style house with the two-car garage and the neat, manicured lawn and mailbox out front. The house that looked like all the other houses around it.
We bought the magazine house with the garden and the picket fence and the stupid musical doorbell. For awhile, we would still take trips, not like before, but it was a compromise. I still got to go back to Louisiana for Mardi Gras (that was always my favorite) and we still went to Mexico, only this time it was for a week instead of a summer, and this time we stayed in a generic resort hotel.
Soon, he decided we needed a dog. So we went to the animal shelter (upon my insistence, he wanted to go to a pet store.) and found a sweet little golden retriever puppy. At first, we took the dog with us on trips, but those were already coming fewer and farther between. When he got his promotion, they stopped completely. So now he had it all. The great job, the great house with the great yard, the great car, the great dog. All he needed to make his life complete was the great family, but that was the one thing I wouldn't give in on. I wasn't ready for kids yet.
He never proposed to me. I assume it's because he knew I would say no. I had already given up so much for him, and he knew it, to give up that one last shred of my former identity was just too much for him to ask. So here we are, in his perfect little suburban fantasy, together seven years now - can you believe that? Seven whole years - and the really weird part is, we're not married and the neighbor's don't talk about it. The perfect little housewives and soccer moms with their perfect stepford-wives haircuts don't gossip about the couple down the road living in sin, they don't share that knowing smile when I walk past with the dog. I guess maybe they don't know, but that seems so unlikely in this place. They sure know everything else, or they think they do.
A few months ago, I changed the routine. Just slightly, and nothing permanent. Just a tiny little thing, really. I wrote a letter to an old friend in London. We met in India, and he had traveled with me on a few of my excursions. He shared my lust for the world, loved to absorb different cultures the same way I did. He had been the first to know when I started falling for the boyfriend. The two had met, and not liked each other. They were polite, even friendly, but there was always the unspoken knowledge that they got along only for my sake hanging in the air. It never occurred to me to wonder why he wouldn't like the boyfriend, or why he would put so much effort into getting along with him just to please me.
I don't know what made me write to him. Maybe I was starting to fall out of love with the boyfriend. Maybe the life he loved, the one that kept me trapped in the pretty house on the pretty street in the pretty neighborhood, had driven us apart. Maybe I just needed someone to talk to, and didn't have the courage to talk to him. Whatever the reason, once my pen touched the paper, everything poured out of me and onto that note. I told my friend about how perfect my new life was. How perfectly boring. I was miserable, and I told him about that. I wrote about how I missed the adventure, the total unpredictability, the freedom that I had loved so much.
Weeks went by without an answer, and I pushed the letter to the back of my mind. I didn't want to think that the friend had not wanted to talk to me, maybe because I had just sort of dropped off the planet without a word to him. In all the time I'd known him, we'd seen each other probably twice a year, even after the boyfriend, and now three had gone by without a word between us. I knew he had every right to be resentful, to not want to hear from me, but I didn't want to think about that, so I just didn't think about any of it. I went back to waking up and walking the dog and keeping the perfect house clean and suppressing the urge to run, to just get on a plane (or even a bus) and stay there until I was far, far away. Today was the same. As I sat on the sofa, preparing a grocery list, I heard the click of the mailbox, and went outside to collect whatever the postman had left for us.
As I walked back into the house, I flipped through the magazines and donation requests and newsletters. When I set the mail on the little table in the foyer, something fluttered to the ground. I bent to pick it up, and saw that it was a postcard. I looked at the picture of the two Bengal tigers on the front, and my breath caught in my throat. Tentatively, almost afraid, I turned the card over to read the words scrawled on the back.
Let me take you away from your Hell. We'll go see the tigers again.
-Wes
I read the scribbled lines over and over. My old traveling companion was inviting me to come back to the life of near poverty and adventure that I missed so dearly. He was offering me an escape, offering to rescue me from the prison I was trapped in. Those two little sentences spoke so much more to me than any romantic, drawn-out letter ever could have. I knew then why he had put up with the boyfriend for me, and why he hadn't liked him in the first place. He never said it in so many words, but I realized that he had been telling me he loved me ever since that first day in India. And in that moment, I knew I loved him too.
But I also loved the boyfriend. Despite the way he had me trapped, I loved him. I knew that, in his own way, he wanted to make me happy. He spent so long following after me as I haggled over jewelry in street markets and ate things that made his stomach turn, because it was what the locals of wherever we were ate. And now, he tried to provide a life for me here in this place. He wanted me to have the best car and the best clothes and the best anything else I wanted. Could I fault him for trying? Could I leave him now, alone with his perfect little life, after seven years of it had been spent trying to make me happy?
He's sleeping next to me now, as I consider what I'm going to do. I could gather my things (none of the expensive gifts the boyfriend has given me. Just my old backpack, a few clothes, maybe a painting or two) and be on my way to London before he gets home from work tomorrow. I'm older now, but I could still go back to the life I miss so fiercely. Or I could stop being selfish, I could marry the boyfriend, give him the wife and the family he deserves. He's committed so much to me. Do I owe him anything? Do I owe MYESLF anything?
What would you do?
User Reviews
Submitted by Girlwithaclue (user info) at 2005-01-07 00:48:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Excellent.....Makes me want to go travel and see all those things I gave up to start a family. However I would not trade my kids for the world.
Submitted by stevie_says (user info) at 2005-01-07 00:37:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good stuff.
Submitted by macadamia (user info) at 2005-01-07 00:29:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Queen Ashley you've got some serious talent.
Submitted by Pharathyse (user info) at 2005-01-06 23:19:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You're 19? <blinks> The emotional quality of the piece was really good.
I can relate to that "torn in two" feeling to an extent myself. I enjoy the descriptive elements as well. I'd look forward to seeing your next story.
Submitted by strider (user info) at 2005-01-06 18:18:25 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:19:44 (#)
Ranking: 2
The truth of the matter is, the woman in this post has already cheated on her boyfriend. Intimacy isn't just about sex. If she was holding those feelings inside, and they were that powerful, her boyfriend is the FIRST person she should have told about it, not secretly poured out her heart so to some other guy.
-------------------------
My thoughts exactly. Good writing Ashlee.
Submitted by i_walk_alone (user info) at 2005-01-06 18:12:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
well done
Submitted by Stin (user info) at 2005-01-06 17:56:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I really felt this as a piece of writing. It's somewhere I've been, although not to that extent.
As an aside, I never knew you are only 19, and I would never have guessed from the way that you write. You come across as older and wiser than your years would suggest.
Submitted by Loren1 (user info) at 2005-01-06 17:13:22 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
So you started dating this man when you were 11?
Just kidding, just kidding, I know it's fiction.
I thought it was written quite well. Keep it up Ashlee.
Submitted by Rocktsrgn (user info) at 2005-01-06 17:11:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh god, it's time for me to start traveling again.
Submitted by ruthless (user info) at 2005-01-06 17:05:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Sassmasterr (user info) at 2005-01-06 16:55:11 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
that's a lot to read
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:54:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
I'd probably blow me.
Submitted by Shay (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:40:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Yes, you are an evil CUNT, sleeping in a bed with one man and wishing for another
------------------------
As if men don't do that? Atleast the person in the story had some heart and didn't cheat.
Submitted by Shay (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:35:50 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Oh, it's not true. Silly me...nice writing then...
Submitted by Shay (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:26:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Go.......life's too short.
If this story is real that is.
Submitted by QueenAshlee (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:24:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Cookie: What parts don't add up for you? I was trying to make this as realistic as possible, but I've never been anywhere so it was hard.
Unless you're talking about the fact that I'm 19 and could not have been in a seven year relationship or travled the world as described, which is probably what you mean and I'm gonna shut up now.
Submitted by gbusman (user info) at 2005-01-06 15:00:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I hate this shit. Stupid selfish bitches with fucked up priorities in life. I'm assuming this is fiction, well written, but the sentiments you described are hardly fictional amongst many women. Die bitches, and quit making the men who love you miserable and confused.
-Bus
Submitted by zakalwe (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:57:46 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Were I trapped in a similar situation, I would....
...have sex with you.
Submitted by Monarch (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:53:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Very well written. I always enjoy the Catch 22 styled endings.
Submitted by mystiamoon (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:41:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
good fiction
Submitted by FilthyAssistant (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:39:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:31:48 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Wow. This was good.
Submitted by fluff (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:30:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Dream.
And as far as I'm concerned drift another moment to the pictures you put in my mind with your story. I still can feel the slight breeze of the letter falling to the floor. And I see the woman picking it up. Nice paragraph... Well done.
Submitted by Teephphah (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:19:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Man. It is a good thing this is fiction. Otherwise I would have been really pissed.
The truth of the matter is, the woman in this post has already cheated on her boyfriend. Intimacy isn't just about sex. If she was holding those feelings inside, and they were that powerful, her boyfriend is the FIRST person she should have told about it, not secretly poured out her heart so to some other guy.
Just wrong, wrong, wrong.
I'd say the cheating whore ought to off herself, but as I say, it is a good thing this is fiction.
Submitted by Pentameter (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:18:40 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I really liked this story. Nice work.
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:18:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
the only good thing about travelling to primitve wilderness areas
like india, south america or new orleans is that, when you get back,
you remember how wonderful hot showers are. And that, as long as you
have hot showers, you can endure just about anything. sometimes you
forget, and you have to go outside for awhile, or even sit on the
ground, so you will appreciate hot showers again. also, beer is good.
Submitted by preraphealitedotcom (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:17:23 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by CookieLass (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:16:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This has got to be fiction... the numbers just don't add up. However, it's excellent fiction, written VERY well. Made me miss wandering around in Siberia and all the other eastern european countries that I miss so much. Budapest was incredible. I may come back and +2 it again today if I feel it needs a higher rating than its got.
Submitted by GodChicken (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:12:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
I'd go. The person next to you will never be happy if you are not at peace with yourself.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:07:12 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Good job.
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:07:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
FICTION? Okay, I like you again. Don't be like the girl in thsi story, they SUCK.
Submitted by kai070169 (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:05:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Wow, I think I used to think you were okay...
Do your current boyfriend a big favor, pack your fucking bags and get the fuck out (you should have Loooong ago). Women with duplicitous intentions are evil cunts unfit for ANY man. Yes, you are an evil CUNT, sleeping in a bed with one man and wishing for another. If you sprung shit like that on me after years of building together... I'd be extremely fucking mad. Extremely.
Then again, he should have slapped a ring on your finger at the beginning BEFORE the house etc., or kicked you to the curb. This is a perfect example of why I am not a big fan of living together before marriage. You both fucked up.
Like I said, get out NOW. Just rip the bandaid off & leave. Go find this other guy live the life you want - GO FOR IT, and go in the best peace you can. Please, please, in the future, be more considerate of yourself AND your boyfriends, your wandering eye (and heart!) is about to destroy two lives. I say go travel some more, and when you're 35+, ask yourself if it was worth it. Honestly.
Oh, and you're nuts.
Submitted by tinactin (user info) at 2005-01-06 14:05:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Well written, but it kind of ruins it for me a little bit now that I know it's fiction.
Submitted by QueenAshlee (user info) at 2005-01-06 13:59:41 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Munkey, this is fiction.
Thanks, Ash.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-01-06 13:57:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
This was well written. It makes me want to travel.
Never marry someone you think you should.
Marry someone you know you have to.
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-01-06 13:53:06 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You can't be 19. No way.
How have you done so much living in so little time?