Status: active: re-write
Who'd Of Known
Free
Hold out your hands; now close them tightly into fists. Okay, now press your two closed fists together and that’s the approximate size of your heart. The human heart is an amazing organ; in one day it beats nearly a hundred thousand times just to sustain life. Sometimes for reasons known and unknown our skips a beat, or even stops completely which more often then not ends in fatality. However if you’re one of those lucky ones to survive your heart will never be the same. The doctor in charge of dealing with your heart is a cardiothoracic surgeon, who is liable to give the patient a full run down of any procedures that he or she may do to them. They blatantly tell a patient before a coronary bypass surgery that there is fifteen percent chance they wont even survive the procedure. Thus the patient can make a complete informed decision.
When dealing with matters of the heart this is vital, and I am an advocate for people receiving all the facts. Like why doesn’t city hall inform you that in this day and age nearly fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce before they let you sign that paper noose. I know its not a life and death situation, but I know for sure that this is the most pain my heart has endured in its short twenty-eight years of existence. My marriage was ending in the most clichéd way of all; the certificate simply reads “irreconcilable differences”.
After nine years together (eight of those happily married), all I was left with was a shell of my former self. I never used to be this prim and proper step ford wife. I used to be the wild child, the life of the party with bright pink hair and equally exciting personality to match. However that all changed the moment I first laid eyes on Alex. He was sitting on the tattered couch in his designer jeans and shirt, sipping on his imported beer whilst chatting to several members of the local universities hockey team. Chad, who was my brothers best friend and the host of the party all but laughed at me when I enquired about the stranger on the couch. Apparently Alex was only into good girls, the ones who didn’t speak their mind in public; the kind that senators married. Lets just say lust does weird things to you, within a week I had ditched my corsets and flimsy tops and developed a more mature style. Within the month I had him talking to me, and within six we were a couple. The age difference didn’t bother us, him being twenty-three and just graduating college and me being eighteen and just graduating high school. He stayed around during the summer following, eventually telling me he loved me and convincing me to move to Buffalo, New York with him. In 2002 we married in an elaborate ceremony on his parents estate, and every thing in my life felt complete.
The fading tan line and my broken heart was all that was left now of our eight year marriage. I had given him everything, and somehow had been so blind to think that those feelings were reciprocated. When in fact my ‘loving’ husband was so in love with me that every second weekend he was off in Toronto on ‘business’ screwing with his mistress. The same mistress that was now giving him the one thing he wanted, the one thing I had tried for years to give him. She was giving him a son.
“Okay Bec, one more signature and you’ll no longer be Mrs. Rebecca Karloff, but Ms Rebecca Adair,” Margret my divorce lawyer said pushing the official looking paper and expensive looking pen towards me. Picking up the pen I secretly hated that my broken marriage was paying for her life’s pleasures. I put the pen tip onto the paper and quickly signed the signature I signed so many times before for the last time. “Thank you Bec, it’s been wonderful doing business with you,” she said standing up straightening out the waist high pencil skirt pushing her expensive glasses up her nose. I stood up and shook her hand returning my thanks for all her help. “Until next time,” she said smiling, as I too returned a fake smile. Did you know that the rate of divorce increases for second and third marriages? Another interesting fact I learnt from my lawyer, a fact that soon had me believing that I would be banished to a life of being alone for the rest on my life.
I couldn’t get out of that small office quick enough, I was thankful that our divorce had gone smoothly and it was uncontested by both of us. Though I am pretty sure my lawyer was disappointed that I hadn’t gone in for the kill and went for every last penny. Picking up my Gucci handbag I carefully placed it on my shoulder before walking down the corridor to the elevator. I ignored the sympathetic stares of the employees as I waited for the elevator to reach my floor and practically jumped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. The ride down was shorter then expected, but I found myself in desperate need for fresh air and I set off across the marble lobby as fast as my black stiletto clad feet could take me. The glass doors slid open automatically as I approached them ensuring that my exit from hell to the slightly cooler Buffalo streets went smoothly. I took a few steps away from the building before I stopped, closing my eyes for a moment taking in everything that has happened over the last year, and even though I was heartbroken I was finally free.
When dealing with matters of the heart this is vital, and I am an advocate for people receiving all the facts. Like why doesn’t city hall inform you that in this day and age nearly fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce before they let you sign that paper noose. I know its not a life and death situation, but I know for sure that this is the most pain my heart has endured in its short twenty-eight years of existence. My marriage was ending in the most clichéd way of all; the certificate simply reads “irreconcilable differences”.
After nine years together (eight of those happily married), all I was left with was a shell of my former self. I never used to be this prim and proper step ford wife. I used to be the wild child, the life of the party with bright pink hair and equally exciting personality to match. However that all changed the moment I first laid eyes on Alex. He was sitting on the tattered couch in his designer jeans and shirt, sipping on his imported beer whilst chatting to several members of the local universities hockey team. Chad, who was my brothers best friend and the host of the party all but laughed at me when I enquired about the stranger on the couch. Apparently Alex was only into good girls, the ones who didn’t speak their mind in public; the kind that senators married. Lets just say lust does weird things to you, within a week I had ditched my corsets and flimsy tops and developed a more mature style. Within the month I had him talking to me, and within six we were a couple. The age difference didn’t bother us, him being twenty-three and just graduating college and me being eighteen and just graduating high school. He stayed around during the summer following, eventually telling me he loved me and convincing me to move to Buffalo, New York with him. In 2002 we married in an elaborate ceremony on his parents estate, and every thing in my life felt complete.
The fading tan line and my broken heart was all that was left now of our eight year marriage. I had given him everything, and somehow had been so blind to think that those feelings were reciprocated. When in fact my ‘loving’ husband was so in love with me that every second weekend he was off in Toronto on ‘business’ screwing with his mistress. The same mistress that was now giving him the one thing he wanted, the one thing I had tried for years to give him. She was giving him a son.
“Okay Bec, one more signature and you’ll no longer be Mrs. Rebecca Karloff, but Ms Rebecca Adair,” Margret my divorce lawyer said pushing the official looking paper and expensive looking pen towards me. Picking up the pen I secretly hated that my broken marriage was paying for her life’s pleasures. I put the pen tip onto the paper and quickly signed the signature I signed so many times before for the last time. “Thank you Bec, it’s been wonderful doing business with you,” she said standing up straightening out the waist high pencil skirt pushing her expensive glasses up her nose. I stood up and shook her hand returning my thanks for all her help. “Until next time,” she said smiling, as I too returned a fake smile. Did you know that the rate of divorce increases for second and third marriages? Another interesting fact I learnt from my lawyer, a fact that soon had me believing that I would be banished to a life of being alone for the rest on my life.
I couldn’t get out of that small office quick enough, I was thankful that our divorce had gone smoothly and it was uncontested by both of us. Though I am pretty sure my lawyer was disappointed that I hadn’t gone in for the kill and went for every last penny. Picking up my Gucci handbag I carefully placed it on my shoulder before walking down the corridor to the elevator. I ignored the sympathetic stares of the employees as I waited for the elevator to reach my floor and practically jumped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. The ride down was shorter then expected, but I found myself in desperate need for fresh air and I set off across the marble lobby as fast as my black stiletto clad feet could take me. The glass doors slid open automatically as I approached them ensuring that my exit from hell to the slightly cooler Buffalo streets went smoothly. I took a few steps away from the building before I stopped, closing my eyes for a moment taking in everything that has happened over the last year, and even though I was heartbroken I was finally free.