I sat on the bed, looking at our room in the dim light of the small lamp on my side table. My husband Jamie snored softly beside me, his hand on my thigh. He always fell asleep pretty directly after sex. Sated from our completely okay, acceptable sex. He always wanted to touch me, whether we were sitting in the car or on the couch, whether he was awake or sleeping, he always reached out to have his hand there. Touching me, usually rummaging about until he found skin to touch. It was his connection, his ‘happy place’ he told me. It was sweet and mostly comforting, except for nights like tonight when the feeling hit me.
These feelings of discontent that seemed to come from out of nowhere. I looked at the paintings on the walls that our two children had done. They made me smile. The big painting that he’d bought for me for our 5th anniversary. It was abstract and he didn’t get it, but it just evoked some sort of deep sensual thrill in me. I loved seeing it when I sat in bed.
To my left was our closet, perfectly divided down the middle. The perfectly respectable work suits on his side, my business “acceptable” artsy clothes on my side. I loved my work at the gallery, but still. Lately I just felt so unfulfilled. When had we become so normal? So boring? We had been so adventurous. What happened?
Don’t get me wrong, I loved our life most of the time. I loved this room, the softness of it, the comfort of our things, the visual representation of our lives together. It had been ten years. Ten YEARS. I sighed and he snuggled closer to me, murmuring in his sleep. I put my hand on his, loving his touch even as my mind and my heart flew about, looking, wondering ‘what if?’
What if I hadn’t met Jamie that day on the quad? What if I had stayed with my friends and kept walking that day? What if I had went to that wild and crazy party that everyone else was going to that night, instead of finding myself walking through the streets, hand in hand with this new guy.
That made me wonder, how many choices had I made that led me to this moment? How many things would change if I could just go back and change one little thing?
Even if I could make a different choice, would I really do it? I didn’t wish for my life to be completely different, but I kind of wish that Jamie and I had met just a little later. Maybe after I’d gotten away from my strict upbringing, maybe after I had a little more time to spread my wings and fly before I ended up here, married, respectable, conservatively ‘just so.’
Maybe if Jamie and I had just taken more time to enjoy life. To appreciate the freedom we had before we gave it all up for this. A life of responsibility and respectability.
I shook my head, knowing I was being silly and picked up the book on my bedside table. Time for my regular nighttime ritual of reading myself to sleep. I was so distracted by the ‘what if’ that I knew I was going to have really weird dreams tonight.
**To Be Continued**
Crossposted to my Steemit Blog