Call and Response: Viewpoints in 100 Words (#10)

It was the first night of autumn. I was half-way home when I finally understood that my marriage had gone from failing to failed. I'd been told that things were over, but like learning about a fatal illness, I'd denied it. At a rest stop, I parked among the diesel rigs. There, I sat and sifted through the cabinets full of stored petty annoyances, frustrating habits, unintentional slights. When they were separated into piles, I tried to assign ownership, but the piles kept falling into each other, and I knew then that there would never be enough highway or darkness.

----

I'm not one for quantification. What's the point? Sometimes--and I said this often--things simply just are. I see everything as organic; everything lives and dies. Frankly, I don't blame either of us--first one stopped trying, then the other one followed suit. And, yes, there's too much blood and time between us to make this easy. When I found the car gone yesterday, I thought things were finished, especially after what I'd said. But after the phone call, I'm not sure of what will happen next. I just sit  watching TV, listening for the garage door to open.