It was the start of the new year when I learned my lesson about medication. I glanced out the window of our cabin on the outskirts of Sunnyside, Washington. In the backyard, tufts of dead grass poked through drifts of accumulated white lacy flakes and blended into rows of evergreen trees that spread for miles.
I struggled with aches in my bed.
“Sit still,” Karolyn said calmly, placing a cool towel over my glistening forehead.
“Awww.” I closed my eyes and released
the tension in my chest as the condensation
fought the heat that arrived with double vision.
Something worse than the flu clawed at my lungs.
Karolyn retrieved a brown bottle from the dresser, untwisted the white cap, and tipped it over for two brown capsules. She returned the bottle and approached me. “Take these.” She extended her hand, her palm open.
“Screw you!” I said, my face beat red, and my narrow eyes turned to crinkled slits. “I don’t need medication.”
“You need to stop talking to me like that.” Karolyn brushed her finger across her eyes to catch tears.
I leaned forward. “Oh, cry,” I said, mocking Karolyn’s charity. “Cry a river.” I returned my head to the pillow.
Karolyn wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted her weight to her back foot. “Keep it up…” she paused, “and I’m going to my mothers.”
I laughed. “We’re 20 and newlyweds.”
“And?”
“She’ll send you back.” I winked.
“You’re a fucking asshole.” Karolyn lifted her arms and slapped her thighs. “When it’s good, it’s good with you.” Karolyn’s eyes glossed over as she stared into seclusion. “You were such a gentleman.”
“Still am.”
She shot me a glare. “Says you.”
“We bought this cabin in Sunnyside, just like you wanted,” I said.
“I’d rather be in a single-wide trailer with the old you.”
“I am who I am,” I said.
“You know what?” Karolyn waved. “I’m going to Mom’s.”
My heart sank. “What?”
“Call me when you get better.”
Karolyn kissed my cheek, grabbed her coat, and closed the door behind her. Her Jeep’s engine started, and the radio played pop/punk. The melody faded as she drove away.
The still air told me I told you so, as the silence of my anger wrapped around my self-confidence like razor blades dicing stardust. I shifted my focus throughout the room. Our wedding picture hung on the wall. The fireplace cracked over maple logs.
I haven’t been a horrible person. I hacked and blew my nose. Nothing worse than my dad. I paused. Dad was an evil man. He beat Mom. He did the same to me. I learned what I did from my dead father. I thought strong men should tell their wives what to do and how to do it. Dating was like window shopping. But this person I’d become wasn’t me. It was his disorganized attachment style speaking vicariously through me.
For weeks, I read books and sought the help I’d needed for some time.
I prayed for myself, for Karolyn, and for our marriage. I gained the strength to repeat to myself that I was good enough. I didn’t think so before, but I know it now.
It was a January evening when I mustered the courage to come for Karolyn.
Rain splashed against the window. The gel in my thick, dark hair streamed with the quick downpour.
I had a single red rose, hoping not to remain single.
I knocked on the door and took a step back.
Karolyn cracked open the door. She saw it was me and slipped outside.
My tears spoke for what I’d taken for granted.
“You look different,” she said, eyeing the window to my soul.
“I thought what I did was right,” I said. “I didn’t realize how wrong I was.”
“I kept tabs on you,” Karolyn said.
“How?” I wiped my brow.
“I have cameras in the house.”
I waved my finger. “The security cameras.”
“I saw you reading, praying, and leaving for counseling.”
“I had to realize that I wasn’t my father,” I said. “And I don’t have to make his mistakes.” I choked back a lump in my throat. “You’re the medication that I can’t live without.”
Relief washed across her face. She spilled into my arms. “I love you, Mark.” Karolyn squeezed tighter. “I think you need a dose of me.” She bit her bottom lip.