Short Fiction--The Guy Next Door: Part 5

"It's the yin and the yang!" GND gesticulated with his closed fingers on one hand interlocking with those of the other. He exaggerates the gesture, checking to see that it resembles the icon, and nodding to me in order to emphasize his point.

" Yes, I'm familiar with the principal."

"Well?!" 

He's exasperated with me again. Maybe he even thinks I'm intentionally baiting him, being difficult just to get a rise out of him. But, I'm not and he's at a loss. Because here we are, back at the gist of it.

"Why are your divorcing your wife?" I ask him.

"Because she..."

"No, I'm not asking for the litany of miseries. I'm asking you for the bottom line."

"Because I wasn't happy being married to her anymore. Because our relationship wasn't a marriage. Hell, she hasn't lived with me for the last seven years!" 

"So, your happiness matters?"

"Yes, of course it does." He stares at me, curious where I'm going with this.

"And, no amount of discussion or therapy helped bring you two back into the happy place?"

"She's there and I'm here. There's no...moving her." 

"Do I understand you correctly, then, that you are divorcing your wife not because you want another woman but because you no longer want her, because you are no longer happy being her husband?" 

He didn't answer. Couldn't. He wanted to say that he was tired of being alone, but he knew what I'd say to that and had the decency to refrain. So, he said nothing. 

For years he had thought he was doing the right thing. Built her three houses, took high paying jobs with long term career potential and pensions, which in turn meant he traveled a lot. But, as my brother, whose gone through his own nightmare, will tell you, it was never enough for her. 

Don't get me wrong. GND is a sweetie, a big huggable bear. Everyone who meets him thinks this. He simply didn't want to break up his family and doesn't want to be the bad guy. I get it. I do. Whoever does?

He's converting to Catholicism, which--oddly--seems to be helping him accept his decision and work through this moral dilemma. It's a modern Church and the deacon helps him find the religious answers he's looking for. He's even signed up to sing in the choir because he loves music and has decided that he's going to fill his life now with things that he loves. 

I think that's a good thing and have even begun stringing him a rosary to show my support. I used to make them when I was a child, for the nuns to sell. But, this strand isn't going to be traditional. It's going to be all about him, his heritage, his interests. It's going to be made with all the love I've got in the remnants of my heart to set him off to a grand start. I even found him a lovely outdoor stations of the cross, the shaded path winding through a mature tropical paradise complete with waterfalls.

"Come with me?" he asked softly. "Teach me how."

I tell him that my mother would be the better teacher and he looks at me sadly, as if that's not the answer he wanted to hear. 

I would go with him, because it is a beautiful and tranquil place for meditating, for offering up prayers. Which, I'll have you know, I am in the practice of doing. It's just that I'm walking a thin line with him and admittedly struggle with how to best be his friend. 

I don't like upsetting him with my perspective, and as a rule don't share it unless prompted. Yet, he prompts, repeatedly. Says it's good for him, that our discussions make him think, help him to grow. Which is fine and good. It is a hard role to play, though.

"Well, will you at least dance with me?" 

There is no music aside from the croaking tree frogs and the flit of bat wings and the wind through the palm trees. Probably best that way. Last time I danced with that man we set the seniors to gossiping. Much safer here beneath the moon and the stars in the damp grass scented by my herb garden. He starts humming, but thankfully, it's into my deaf ear. 

And, as the HR mantra goes, "Safety First!"