ghost from a wishing well, part 2.5

December 19, 2083 - Leila Watts is 28, Matt is 32, Felicity is 5, Hunter and Flint are 2. (Charlotte Gallagher is 28.)

* note: meant to be read after this one. warning: box of tissues? *

Soundtrack: "If You Could Read My Mind," as performed by Johnny Cash.

The days go by, one and then another, and then another, and you know the feeling of something long before you ever have the words to explain it. Because feeling isn't stagnant, it isn't concrete. The spark of energy between two people, ebbing and flowing and changing like the wind warms and cools over a year. Did she change? Did he? Something changed, but at the same time, they're both the exact same people they were twelve years ago. She knows she's the same at least. She's the same girl with the bright spirit, the precocious smile, the wild and curious imagination, kissing the back of her hand in her bedroom to see what kissing might feel like. In her heart, in the depths of her soul, she's exactly the same.

She waited so long, compared to some. Living in her head, with her fantasies, she knew the feel of her own touch in her darkened bedroom before she ever knew the feel of a real boy. She was sixteen, confident and sure, she didn't need some teenage boy to tell her she was pretty - she knew it. Grown men knew it. And one day, she met him, as he was crossing the street with a crate of tomatoes in his hands. She knew how to work her hips, she knew how to flip her hair, and it worked. He stopped, admired, and dropped the whole crate of tomatoes right there in the middle of the road.

That day, that very moment, she picked him. She wrote her phone number on his arm with a black shop marker, while tomatoes rolled around the concrete near their feet. This one, he'd be the one.

But what were her criteria? She liked the way he wore his hat? She liked his smile, shy and meek. She felt a sort of power over him - her, a virgin, seducing this grown man. It made her wild. He'd be her first kiss, her first touch, her first everything. And he was.

They made a game of that, for a time. They thought it could go on forever.

But then they grew up.

***

They still bring the kids over to visit Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Paul. They leave the five of them to roll around on the floor, toddle and drool, while the grown-ups get to have an hour or two of adult conversation. The biggest shame is how with all their work, she and Charlotte hardly get to hang out together except at work. They close on Sundays, even now, in the middle of Christmas season. They have to make time to remember that they were friends first. They've been friends since they were just girls, before any of this started.

And if there's anything wrong in the world, they don't talk about it anymore. Charlotte doesn't say those things anymore - it will fade, it will pass, it's for the best. Maybe she doesn't believe it herself anymore. Or maybe she's just given up. None of it ever sounded true anyway.

Instead, they talk about other things, happier things.

They talk about the kids, and their work, and make jokes about how much breastmilk Charlotte can pump so she can imbibe in one single glass of wine. Leila remembers trying to breastfeed her own twins. She made it about six weeks. But anything is worth laughing about these days. Any small moment of joy, and she'll cling to it. The babies are happy, and the kids are happy, and there's peace.

Paul comes up behind them then, takes Charlotte's shoulder in his hand like it's the most precious thing he's ever held. Just because he wanted to. Just because he could. Because part of him needed to connect with her, in this moment, before he asked her, "Would you like some tea, darling?"

And her smile, the way she stops talking completely, the way she'd forgotten she was even talking at all. Their connection in that moment, both of them dissolving into this moment, was like they wished they could stop time.

If Leila wants to be honest with herself, she knows what love looks like. She isn't holding on to any ridiculous ideals. Yes, love fades, it becomes calm and comfortable. But she also knows that sometimes, in that comfort, love still manages to light up the room.

When the children get sleepy, they walk back home. They'll get the kids ready for bed, and he'll settle in front of the TV, and maybe she'll read a book, or write in her journal, or if she's feeling ambitious, sew something. It's what they do. That isn't the problem though, but all those spaces in between. The moments they could choose to connect with each other, if they wanted, but have nothing to grab on to.

She and Matt have their third marriage therapy session coming up on Wednesday, but she's not sure if they'll go. It's a hassle, this time of year, but their therapist encourages them to continue. Holidays are a very stressful time of year. But one week missed can't hurt. It can't do any more damage than was already done. She isn't even really sure it's working. They just answer questions and explore their feelings and leave wide open but with nothing to say. One of the questions she's supposed to ask is why did she love each of them - why does she love Corbin, why does she love Matt? She's supposed to make lists. But that isn't what she wants to know. That was never the problem. She wants to know from Matt, why does he love her?

She sits on the couch, what could be miles away from him. She feels nauseous, like the world is spinning. Her world has been spinning for about a year now, and it's about time to stop.

This question feels so big, bigger than it should be, and nauseous as it makes her, she can't help but ask it. "Why do you love me?"

He looks at her, confused. "Of course I love you. Don't you believe me?"

"I know that you love me, but why? Why me?"

"I don't know, there are tons of reasons." He grabs his neck then, he kneads it in his hand. "You're the mother of my children. You're beautiful and kind and loving. I appreciate everything you do for me."

She's thinking of Paul, with Charlotte's shoulder in his hand, like the most precious thing he's ever held. She's thinking about Corbin. When Corbin looked at her, he saw her, for everything she was and ever could be, and he understood it, and he cherished it. The way Corbin saw her was like he'd seen every woman in the world and ended up here, and she was the one. The way he looked at her, with such familiarity, was like he'd just come back home.

Doesn't a woman know when she's cherished? He doesn't have to say it, I care about you. It's not in the words at all. Because when a woman isn't cherished, she knows it. She feels crushed in the pit of her soul.

"I'm smart," she tells him. "I'm very smart, you don't even have any idea how smart."

"I love that you're smart too."

"But it doesn't matter to you," she says. "If I wasn't smart, you'd be just fine. If I wasn't smart, creative, full of passion and soul - none of those things matter to you. You don't even see me. You don't hear me. You accommodate me into your life. Me and all my silly ideas. You put up with me, allot me my quirky fixes, you endure me, but you don't need me. You might need me to raise your children and take care of your home, but you don't need me."

"What do you actually want from me?"

"I want to feel precious. I want to feel cherished. I want you to ask me about the books I'm reading and listen to my response. I want you to have read those books too. I want to travel more, I want to go places. I want to have conversations, I want you to talk back. I want you to surprise me with something I don't already know. I want you to be surprised by everything I know. I want you to have opinions, and get passionate about them. I want to talk about the war, and about politics, and about history, and debate the existence of God. Dammit, I want to feel inspired."

Matt falls back away from her. "Like he inspired you."

She doesn't know how to answer. It's true. He isn't Corbin, and he never will be. She wouldn't even want him to try. Her husband is a good man, and he's perfect just the way he is. They have a family, a whole life full of these moments of sufficiency that she hoped might some day be enough. But he doesn't see her. And if she wants to be honest with herself, the lack for what he can't see is crushing.

Who are we anyway but what we see reflected in other people's eyes? When she saw herself, the way Corbin saw her, the way he understood and adored and cherished even the places she hadn't discovered yet herself, for that short perfect time, she's never felt more alive.

And this is why she was so afraid to say it out loud. Because the answer to their problem is also the end of everything. "This isn't about him," she says. "But if you want to know the truth, he loved all those things you don't care about. When he looked at me, I felt cherished. With you, I feel invisible."

"That's not true. You think I don't love you? You're my wife, of course I love you. You and the kids, you're my whole world."

She knows he doesn't understand the lack. He feels it, but he doesn't understand it. He'd carry on just like this if she could stand it. But she can't stand it. Once you've been so cherished, how do you ever go back?

"My role is irreplaceable to you," she says. "Not me. I want you to need me. I want you to need everything that I am. Or even anything at all. You don't need me. Go on if you want, tell me it's not true."

He stalls. She can feel his eyes on her in the silence. "I don't know what you want me to say. I feel like you have some answer in mind, and I'm not guessing it right."

She could choke holding back all this panic, so she just lets it out. "That's the problem, Matt. You've had ten years. You shouldn't have to guess."

"I like our life," he says. His voice is quiet, resolved. "I never wanted anything more than this, this farm, and this family. You said you wanted it too."

"I was eighteen," she says softly. "I was barely eighteen. How could I have known? I was a baby. What did you expect?"

"I wasn't that old either, and I knew. Don't you think I've sacrificed too? I was going to be an accountant."

"You only wanted to study accounting so you could help run the farm. You know you love this farm. You never wanted to do anything else."

"Don't blame me because you didn't go to college, you could have gone. Why didn't you go? I would have waited for you."

"It wouldn't have worked. It was three hours away. We wouldn't have worked."

"I would have waited," he says again. "Wouldn't you have waited?"

She remembers visiting her big brother at college one weekend. She was seventeen, already dating Matt. She was so young, just a baby. And there were all these boys, and she felt attracted to all of them. So many boys, smart boys, interesting boys, handsome boys, a whole world full of them. It terrified her.

"I was eighteen. I was boy-crazy. If I went to college, we wouldn't have made it."

"And you knew it then? You knew we wouldn't work, but you married me anyway."

"You were my first. Don't you know what that means to a girl? I was in love. I hoped."

"For God's sake, Leila, you don't get married for hope!"

She leaps to her feet and squeezes her fists, the blood draining from her hands. "You don't ask a little girl to promise you anything!"

And then there's silence. There's the sound of their heated breaths, and nothing. After they've spewed everything out, reached the pit, the deep empty pit, there's nothing left to say, only silence.

And child sized feet on the stairs running back to bed. Felicity.

Leila goes to her. In the dark, Felicity has pulled herself back under her covers, squeezing her eyes shut tight like she's sleeping. Leila smooths out the covers, kisses her on the top of her head. It's six days before Christmas. They've got to do better. This is not okay. They'll pull it together and have a nice quiet Christmas for the kids. They should be good at quiet by now. At least for that long.

"I'm sorry, baby," Leila says. "Go back to sleep. I'm so, so sorry."

Leila has said all she has to say to Matt right now, so she slips off her boots and climbs into bed next to her daughter. Every moment of their lives is a lesson to this little girl. Every word, every movement, every feeling, and she feels it too. And it means to her, this is what it means to be a woman. This is what she's allowed, what she's entitled to, or instead, what she's not. And Leila can't help but feel responsible for what she learns.

A woman, only the sum of her promises? Bound to her choices? Obligated to her place? No, but that she has to live with the most honest of intentions, and own her own consequences. That her life is her own, and she is worthy of feeling precious. She's entitled to it. And that if she needs to, when she's tried as best she knows how, when she's tried all she can, she's even allowed to change her mind.

Leila doesn't expect her to get this right now. In fact, she knows that she won't. But some day, when she's a woman of her own, Leila hopes she'll understand.

*******

notes: This piece reveals two of those terrible teasers I'm always throwing out at you guys ;) First, Leila's secret I was babbling about, that she sort of had the feeling they were a little mismatched even before they were married. I asked her, Why didn't you go to college? Because if their love was strong enough, they could have gotten married after. She was in love, and too young to understand what the consequences of that might be. Even me though, writing the story, feeling that right along with her, I never thought it would matter so much. I guess I was in love with the idea of them too.

Second, some time ago I tweeted about something (I know, I tweet about random "somethings" all the time) that hit me like a ton of bricks, and probably included the words "holy shit!" For serious! I asked Matt, why do you love her? And he drew a complete blank. And then I asked him, why did you ask her to marry you then? And I got a very interesting answer.

I did know this before Matt's last piece though, and tried to hint at it a little there, so hopefully it wasn't too much of a surprise by now. Was this a huge surprise to anyone? He does love her though, in the grown and acquired kind of way. And the losses he's worried about are real, and valid. But losing her, as a defined and irreplaceable person, is not one of them, and that was what killed the marriage for her. Matt will have a chance to add his thoughts in part 4.