Rest of the Story

I’m not going to sit here and say that I, Katie Turner Starr Khoury Evinrude, would have done it differently. The world doesn’t work that way. You close your eyes asleep and when the dream erupts, are you telling me that you have control over that dream? If you do, just stop right now. Because when we say we wish it were all a dream we mean we might wake up and find that world gone. No one dreams pleasant dreams, no one I know. Maybe I only know myself, maybe every dream I’ve ever had has been a nightmare.

I wish Nairobi was a dream, that Matt in Nairobi was a dream. Not Matt was a dream, no, I love Matt. At times, I think he was the only one I really loved, certainly the only one I ever wanted to have children with. Him and I. To build that, in a little rolling shrieking bundle of joy, that would have made my life. It didn’t. So I wish Matt in Nairobi was a dream, because, if it was, everything would be different.

Matt wanted to go, he begged at his office to go. Kenya is civilized for Africa. It was going to hurt like hell to let him go. Three months, and maybe three more! We hadn’t even been married that long! My husband, my baby husband, off to do his part to change the world. We were raised to do good, in that old-fashioned Midwestern way, Matt and I, and that was part of the attraction, the trust, the us. That’s what had brought us to Washington, and that’s what took Matt to Nairobi.

When it happens, it’s like a car accident. This can’t really be happening AND WHY IS IT TAKING SO LONG TO HAPPEN? A phone call. Turn on the TV. Why hasn’t he called? Where was he when the bomb went off? He wasn’t there, I know he wasn’t there, but he could have been there, so I don’t know he wasn’t there but I don’t know that he’s dead, I know he isn’t dead, have I ever been wrong before I have been wrong before but I’ve been right before too, right about Matt, about us, of course he hasn’t called, it’s chaos and since when did the phones ever work there (ha ha) and that was before but look at all the smoke and fire and glass except they would say if a westerner was dead – it’s not fair that’s just how it is unless he was right there when it went off and that’s where he’s supposed to be oh my god help!

That was the worst day of my life. What can your mom say, or Matt’s boss Larry? No one knows anything beyond their thoughts and prayers and silly little hopes, you know. When the phone rang I knew it was him. I didn’t stop crying, but you can’t tell tears just by looking at them.

He was two blocks away when it went off. Just dumb luck – like the night back in school when we both needed to read the same reserve book. Was it fate? Of course, the world that is is, and we just swim in it, facing the current, presenting the illusion of the fight, because when you turn your back that’s when you get swept away, lose your bearings, slam into the concrete wall.

None of us were prepared for what happened next. The Nairobi office closed, of course, and the staff flew back home. On the plane, Matt was reading a book and the next minute he felt a little dizzy, his fingers tingled, and then his heart stopped. You want a miracle? The pilot had a defibrillator on board, and he knew how to use it. How do you say thank you to that?

Would you be nervous if you were me? Would you wonder if those simple dreams of living and growing and being together were going to happen? Yes you would. For a while it seemed we cried every night, we were just so happy to be together. And that first night, I said I want a child right there and then, but Matt said let’s stick to our plan, nothing’s changed. A year is not going to matter. He’s here now, and he’s not going to die. All he has to do is take his medication. You have to protect your career, he said, we’re in this together, it’s not just about me.

July 4th. We had a fight, we never fight. But why did he want to go overseas again? Why did he tell me now, on this boat in this stupid filthy river? Yeah, I’m pissed. This is a decision that is ours together. No, I don’t want you to go. Why? Gee, I don’t know, what happened the last time? I love you, I know you love me, but why take the risk. Even the office doesn’t want you to go. I know it will make you a better person, but it won’t make me a better person and I don’t want to be alone for three months and Yes I need some air and I’m going up top.

I felt it, and I had to grab the rail with both hands just to stay up. I felt it, and I’ll always feel it. I’ll never forgive myself, never. The slightest thought of it brings it back stewing steaming in the cauldron of my heart. That surge in your bottom of the heart pain. There has to be some medical term besides a broken heart. A snapping too, just then, at the instant. And I heard him inside of me, calling for me, calling for help, calling for hope, for life, for anything “KATIE SAVE ME” he shouted inside of me. Why wasn’t I there? Why did I have to stomp off? Why did I trigger this? Why didn’t I die instead?

I ran and ran and ran and pushed and pushed and pushed – where’s my angel? – no no no and finally there he was, it couldn’t have been more than seconds and I smothered him, let my love bring him back and then they were there with the defibrillator –

That moment I cannot escape. In a flash it’s all back, part of me now forever, but I can’t dwell there and stay on the deck like I did for so long. Moving on is more important, now. Not then, though. It was everything. Every little thought. Every suggestion, every moment of the sun, or not sun. We had that conversation 10,000 times, 10,000 times we hugged we kissed, we conceived, we lived forever. Only once-

After that it just didn’t matter. I’m not a crier, but there was no point. Mom came, I love her, but what can she do? She can’t bring back Matt. Oh and everyone else - only the floor seemed true. Because I had hit the floor and I couldn’t get up. I wasn’t planning on being on the floor, I didn’t expect it, really, but until Matt comes back or it’s clear he never left for the first time –

I laugh at those little girls who need constant approval from the outside to have any little smidge of self-worth. Have a spine! So it’s not like, oh Matt is gone now I am nothing. It was Matt is gone, and really, I just don’t want to be here.
I stopped swimming and the current swept me away. I left DC, I was never one for haunted houses. New York is the place to go to get lost. New York doesn’t hide it, either. You are alone, and New York let’s you know that you are alone. You walk the streets, there’s no one, no one you know. No looks of sorrowed pity, of there but the grace of god. No one calls you, and surprisingly, no where to go really. In New York there is no joy because there is no joy.

When the settlement money was gone – and what a joke that was – I took a job. Not a bad job, in my field, a public/private service job to help the less fortunate. But 65k in New York isn’t much. I took another job, a writing gig, on the side. Stay busy. time is bad is time to dwell and that’s Matt except he is not here. So move on. Move on to being alone, move on to my all black exterior and interior. Move on to this best of all possible worlds, thank you God.

New York is there for you when you need a slap in the face. Yes, you will meet some people at work, but all the men seem gay, all the women, somehow different. A few polite demurrals from social obligations and everyone gets the hint. Don’t ask don’t tell. And the rest of New York? The ones you see at the deli and Spin City, at the DMV and the MTA? These people do not talk to you, why would they? No one cares. Does it hurt? Yeah, it hurts, it’s supposed to hurt. Time will desensitize, that’s the best you can hope for. Death would be welcomed, but there are many forms of suicide.

Sometimes you splurge. That once a month surge of hope. You get dressed up, you put on make-up. You go to dance class or go eat sushi alone. Mostly you just go home and sigh at the end, because you are not a hedonist and this just isn’t reason enough. Still, you are surprised when it happens. He was just there talking to me, so easy so natural, like maybe we had met before, and it makes you smile, beam even. Your body does have a mind of it’s own, oh, yes of course I want it, him, my Khoury. He says let’s go see a movie and it’s a surprise to hear yes.

Khoury is over the next night. I give him the grand tour of my now cleaned squalor. Boys are curious, and even older boy are still boys, still curious, and Khoury saw all the pictures and the plaques and the memorabilia. He even snooped around a bit on his own. So I gave him the big test “Did you notice?”. He failed. That should have been it, the end, but somehow it endeared me to him even more. We never were apart again after that night.

Don’t jump on me here. Life wasn’t all that pleasant. His me and my me were very different, and can anyone sit there and say his me wasn’t the better me? In his me, I wasn’t a widow, I wasn’t crying myself to sleep every night, I had never vowed not to have sex again, or laugh again, or live again. He didn’t send flowers and he didn’t apologize for being insensitive and every now and then he introduced me to the kids in the hood as the widow. And he wanted sex.

Matt, I realized for the first time, didn’t want it that much, that often, or that anything. Once a week was what I thought was normal, or was it that I didn’t want it either. But now I did. It made me feel good, it made me forget, and being wanted was being wanted and trust me I was not wanted before, not by me even. Okay, enough on that.

Like I said, we were together every night. When we first met, I said, under my breath (why did I say this?) that “this is my New York fantasy”. Of course, Khoury heard that, although I promptly denied saying it. But isn’t that the way it should be. You meet someone, you like them, and then you are together? It was that way with Matt. Why can’t it be simple? It’s not like the other person has to be perfect – God knows Khoury has his list of too quiet, too loud, aggressive, a boor, arrogant, cold, unrealistic, overly romantic, and almost a loser, I mean what had he done with his life up till then? – but they just have to be about as perfect as you. And happy, happy helps.

Because life with Khoury was so much better than life before Khoury. Call it the honeymoon period but that’s all we knew. It seemed like Matt and I had been brother and sister. Khoury said of the all the people he met, and he met everyone, I was the only one he ever considered marrying. Mostly, he just made me happy in a million little ways. I knew he was going to ask, and I was going to say yes.

We decided to go upstate for Memorial Day. Khoury had a boat, an inflatable boat, so we were going to put in as he called it. He knew a great little motel, not too expensive, right on the river, the Cottonwoods, and the guy who ran it, Jeff. Used to be one of those forlorn motels on the abandoned federal highway, but nothing’s abandoned in the Hudson Valley anymore and they built a hallway to cover all the exterior doors and redid the rooms in retro and ours had it’s own hot tub. 99 dollars a night. Yes Khoury earned more than me, and together we earned enough to be comfortable, to splurge, but that just wasn’t who we were. We’d rather save. There were going to be life changes. We had to prepare. Khoury was a planner.

Now I should have been the one with the doubts. Plus Khoury had a bad heart! His father hadn’t busted out of the 40’s, he could be next. Yes, I felt a little pop in my heart, a little pop of that memory, but I swallowed it. Oh, he said, I am too old, too slow, for someone as sexy as you. Maybe he just said this to get a rise out of me, it always
worked. Maybe he was afraid. I wasn’t, I’d been there before.

He asked in the hot tub! Of course I cried, but like I said, you can’t tell tears. The ring was wonderful, understated. It fit (how did he figure that out?). Should we start right now I said? Yes, but let’s go into the river first. It’s great once you’re all heated up. Trust me I was already heated, my nipples had never been that hard before, but off we went over the cold ground to the river, naked! Khoury slapping around half up already. We laughed as we jumped in. It wasn’t deep, but it was like a tub of cold concrete. I jumped up, and out but Khoury didn’t. He was still in, hunched over. NO! I jumped in and pulled him out. He wasn’t breathing. This cannot be happening!

It was. It did. I tried, Jeff tried, the paramedics tried. We went to the hospital to try. They jumped him up out of the surgery bed with the voltage. Nothing. I can’t tell you who was more numb, Khoury or me. I couldn’t envision this nor close my eyes and believe it wasn’t real. Wake me, please.

The tide was going down, and so I went until the floor was there. Hard and fast, flat. I dissolved. What was in my heart, that caustic mix of self-immolation spilled into all of me and then washed me out until I was as thin as a pool of water on an infinitely flat surface.

Despair is hard to encapsulate. To describe to share. Do you want some of this, I would have said but I could never have hated you that much. Rather then I was silent, numb. Now, looking back on it, I can let it out, I can share, I can vent, I can rage, but that’s not how it was. I wouldn’t let it out then. The sergeant on the grenade to save the troops. Because if it had spilled out, if I had gotten up off the floor, if homicide and blame and why has God abandoned me been part of me – but that’s not me. Silent me. Timeless me.

That was the worst of it, the endlessness of it all. This was not going to get better, this me. Time rolls on thinning out even that infinitely thin existence, that paper wisp by which I clung to life. Why was I the destroyer instead of the creator? Why was this, the blackest of black, the swelling of death in me, this eviscerating omnicity of my pain, why was this still better than my dreams? I must be strong now, and never sleep again, the risk is too great, and those imagined worlds of pain somehow worse than this unbearable collapse.

Without sleep, without reason, without promise, without leaving my shuttered apartment, what was left but delusional escape? My period, I’ll miss my period, we had been fooling around, why not? Why not me? The future can be different, or was that just a brief stab of light, a false retinal impression from skewering your lids too tight?

And then my period was late! I’m never late! I wanted to dance! I wanted to be me, the other me, of all those mes I was so tired of this me.

That lasted a day till I bled. July 4th. Funny, ha ha. I can’t say I was thinking, I’m not sure what you call in when you are in that state. You have something to do, and it’s not like you work out a plan, you merely grab and go. A greater consciousness is at work, your body the mere tool. For once I was free.

The tide was going to the east river, but now I was back to swimming. I sling the sack on my back and went to the Hudson, across the Hudson, on a water taxi. To under the Colgate clock. Next to the toxic waste dump, right at the marina. Symbolic sense, finally. The ticking clock of my life next to the pile of shit and the water, the graves of my love, my destination. Does it hurt to drown? More than to be me on the floor? This was the time to not swim, to let the tide do the work.

I made it to the end of the pier. Boats all over, heading out to the fireworks. I pulled Khoury’s inflatable boat from the sack. I’d done it once before, it wasn’t too hard. 10 minutes of sweat. Did I pause once or twice? Did I have to beat down once more the caustic spill of my brokenness? So. I can do it.

I was just about ready to put in when I heard the shouts and the shot. He was half-running towards me, this most beautiful man in a suit. With a champagne bottle.

You’re not putting that in, are you? It’s my boat, of course I am. Why don’t you come one my boat instead? He waved behind him to a solid 118 feet. I froze. Should I let his dissuade me? This was my opportunity now. To give it up would be mostly for forever. Or should I let him be the one? Or just, should I stay here a bit? I’m Raf Jacman, and that’s my boat. What’s your name. Katie Turner Starr. No, I know you, you have the financial column online, or you used to anyway, right? Sadly I shook my head yes. That settles it, he said. He thrust the bottle at me, took the boat over his shoulder, and the rest of the gear, and off we went.

Now what were the odds that he knew me? Or that I should be saved? What had I done to be here in the first place? Nothing, and so why now the rescue? I was half-expecting his boat to be the black widow, but it was the Evvy. Evinrude, he said. Son of the scion and his second wife, well she had the boat when he died and then we got married and then she died and now I have the boat, and well cheers.

I let my plan slide. If I jumped from the boat they would have fished me out anyway. And Raf, he was like a father to me, especially since we never could do it, this being in the days before Viagra and all. And then he proposed! How sweet!

I am not insane. I told Raf what was going to happen to him. He laughed. Every day he wakes up is a surprise to him, so he didn’t care. But I have to live with myself I said. In mere seconds I would have been afloat ready to find the swirls under the Narrows. There was going to be no tomorrow. And what, I am just supposed to add this on top? That you are the next? That your silver hair, your compassion, your carefree smiles, that this too, I shall undo? He laughed. What you need is an agent. I liked his me.

We got married at sea, and he was buried at sea. Didn’t even both to go into port. Why? No one was there, and I knew what was in his will, I wrote it. The crew knows what to do, Florida in the summer, Newfoundland in the winter. I figure we have enough for 50 cycles. They’re my boys now.

Yes, that’s my picture on the bow. How do I look? You see, on the one hand, nothing’s changed. I’m not getting married again, I’m not even going to so much as hold the hand of a man. Because I am the widow. The floor is still there under my feet, and the tide still swirls and the real question is to swim or not swim and sometimes it is black on black.

On the other hand, that’s a million dollar smile.