Undream the Echoes

Elle
08.15.2003

It has been a little over a month since Liam has come home. I am confused; I don’t know what to feel. The first two weeks were heaven – I had Liam back and we were both so happy and everything was perfect. When we were together, we acted just like we used to, giggling and laughing and kissing and just being happy, and for a moment there I actually thought that things would go back to the way they were before. I tricked myself into believing Liam was the same as he had been before he left for war. I really, truly thought that he hadn’t changed at all.

Once the two weeks of bliss had faded, life transformed back into its usual tediousness. Liam returned to his job as a civil engineer and at first, everything seemed to be all right. We would wake up in the mornings, have breakfast together, and he would leave to his office while I went to open the café. It was not hard for me to realize that this boring, routine-based life was not suitable for Liam anymore. He would fidget all throughout breakfast and when he came home at night, all he would do was brood. It got to a point where he wouldn’t even bother mumbling a ‘hello’ to me before lurking into the bedroom and slamming the door. He spent more and more time alone, and the more I tried to get him to talk to me, the less he would share. He kept saying that what he endured in Afghanistan was his problem, that I shouldn’t be put through it too, and that just got me pissed off. We’ve begun arguing more. We’ve stopped having sex. Now it’s not even like we’re married anymore. We’re just two strangers living in the same house.

I walk into the bedroom quietly as to not disturb Liam. He has all of the blinds down and he’s lying on his side on the bed, turned away from me. I can tell from his breathing that he’s not sleeping. Nevertheless I silently climb onto the bed and lay down next to my husband without making a sound. I drape an arm over his waist and press my body against his back.

“Liam,” I whisper. “Liam.”

He does not respond.

“Liam, I think we need to talk.”

“About what.” His voice is gruff and cold.

“About anything,” I plead, still whispering. “You haven’t spoken to me in days. Why won’t you tell me anything anymore?”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“Yes I do,” I persist.

“No. You don’t have any idea the sort of things I went through – ”

“That’s because you won’t talk about it!” I interrupt, my voice rising to its normal volume, though I am still refraining myself from yelling. “I could understand Liam, I swear I could. I know I wasn’t there and I know I didn’t see the things you saw, but you don’t need to keep reminding me that. And it doesn’t mean that it’s okay for you to bottle it up inside. I want you to talk to me. Please. Please.”

He rolls over to face me, which at first I think is a good thing, but when I see the strangled pain in his eyes my stomach instantly drops. “I slipped on my best friend’s intestines after he was ripped apart by a grenade,” he says in a low voice. There is not an ounce of hurt or anger in voice…it is flat and unemotional, very unlike the caring Liam that I had once known. I am not sure what is going on inside his head: Is he confused? Depressed? Remorseful? Furious? Or all of the above? Either way I cannot tell, because although I used to be able to read the old Liam as easily as a children’s book, this is a Liam that I had never encountered before. “Good luck trying to understand that,” he finishes in a hiss-like whisper, and at that he gets off the bed.

I hear the door slam as he walk out of the room and I shut my eyes for a moment, thinking. What do I do, what do I do. Go after him. No. He wants his time alone. But being alone is bad for him, he needs support, he can’t deal with his emotions alone. Go after him. Go after him. Okay.

I get off the bed and follow him. He’s on the front porch, sitting in one of the white wicker chairs, staring outside with a blank expression on his face. It’s pouring hard outside and the rain is splattering through the screen, moistening Liam’s clothes, but he doesn’t seem care or even notice. The world is dark and bleak and the bullet-like raindrops are murdering my garden of white tulips.

I stand in the doorway and fold my arms over my chest. We are quiet for a very long time. I am looking at Liam and he is looking outside, refusing to even glance my way.

“What do you want from me?” he finally says in that same low, cruel voice.

“I want you to be my husband again,” I reply, forcing myself to keep my voice as steady as his, because I know I am on the brink of losing self-control and tears are threatening to surface. “I want you to come back to me.”

“I can’t fucking do that, Elle.” Suddenly his voice is laced with rage. In one fluid movement he is up from the chair and looking directly at me, and I can see in his eyes that when Liam came back from war, he brought something back with him, something dark. It is a mix of sorrow and loss and gruesome memories. Now it brews inside of him, changes him, and he doesn’t know what to do. “You’re asking too much of me.”

“No, you’re asking too much of me,” I yell in return. “I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand by and watch you suffer. I’m not going to let you push me away like this. Let me help.”

“What do you honestly think you can do?” Liam shot back angrily. “There is nothing. You can do nothing to help.”

“That’s what you think! But in reality, you’re not letting me do anything!”

“Fuck you, Elle,” he snaps and a chill runs through my body. Liam has never, ever spoken to me like that before – but this is not Liam, at least not the one I married. “Do you really think this is all about you? I’m the one who’s fucked up here. So stop fucking complaining. You’re just upset because I keep rejecting you, but it’s not like I want to hurt you.”

“Well it’s too late for that,” I seethe and storm out of the room.

“Elle!” He follows me and grabs my arm, stopping me before I can lock myself in the bedroom. I spin around to face him; now it’s my turn to be furious.

“You are not my husband,” I say fiercely and shove him in the chest as hard as I could. He falls back a step and blinks in surprise. “I want my Liam back. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I don’t want to be around you.”

“I am your Liam, so shut the fuck up and learn to deal with it.”

“Fuck you,” I spit. “I can’t believe I fell in love with a bastard like you.”

“You didn’t, you just said so yourself,” he roared back. We’re both yelling in each other’s faces now. “The war changed me. I’m someone else now and you’re going to have to accept that, or you’re going to have to leave.”

The words sting, but not as much as the tears falling down my cheeks. “Fine,” I choke out. “I’m leaving.”

I spin around and walk off to grab my coat and my keys. He does not try to stop me. He’s just standing in the middle of the room, stunned that he just said something like that, but still angry with me, and also disbelieving that I’ll also go through with it. But I am. I am leaving.

I leave the house and walk slowly to the car, ignoring the fact that the rain is soaking me through and through. I’m giving Liam extra time to snap to his senses and stop me. I want him to beg me to stay, but at the same time I’m telling myself I won’t listen to him even if he tries. But it doesn’t matter because he never comes to the door. He doesn’t care.

I finally get in the car and start the engine. Take a deep breath. Back out of the driveway, begin driving down our road. I don’t want to look back but my eyes are glued to the rearview mirror. Liam never opens the door or even shows his face in one of the windows. This fuels my anger and I push on the gas pedal even harder. I don’t know where I’m going, maybe I’ll stay with my friend, maybe I’ll find my own place, who knows. It doesn’t matter. Soon my home is out of sight.

And I am gone.