We got married way too young. We were both twenty-two on our wedding day, we had only known each other a few months, and we had not even grown into ourselves. I didn’t even know who I was or what I wanted to do with my life, and I actually thought it was a good idea to handcuff myself to another person, who was just as young and clueless.
I try not to judge myself too harshly, but when I think about what an idiot kid I was, I scoff in derision.
Lianne and I were two fools rushing headlong over a cliff when we didn’t know what the future held for us. It only took a year for everything to go to shit.
After the courthouse wedding, we moved into a tiny apartment in Manhattan. The infatuation of our early days started to wear off as we learned more about each other. Lianne didn’t like that I was pursuing the new world of computers and software. She thought I should go into business or banking. Practical, reliable jobs that had clear paths.
When I not only refused to do that, but also made it clear that I didn’t like the city life and wanted to try and move away at some point, Lianne was shocked. She loved living in the city and staying out all night. I thought that was fun and spontaneous when I first met her, but it was taxing to actually live like that.
Lianne wasn’t an awful person though. She was smart and ambitious and funny. It was just that we weren’t compatible. We wanted different things from life.
After a year, we were arguing non-stop. We could barely be in the same room with each other, and I was sleeping on the couch every night. It was the darkest time in my life. My friends told me to just break up and move on. They assured me it wasn’t the end of the world. They didn’t understand what it’s like to fall that deep in love, and then fall out of it so abruptly.
We came to the decision to get divorced together. It wrecked the both of us. We felt like failures, but we were also too unhappy to stay married.
Even with a marriage of only a year between two people with very few assets, the divorce was a nightmare. I shudder over the thought of couples who divorce after decades and have to divide up a house and bank accounts. It was hard enough to get the paperwork taken care of and move out of our rented apartment.
I was a mess for another six months after that. I was so mad at myself, and I was disillusioned with my life and love and all my choices. We weren’t speaking at the time, but I know that Lianne had it rough too. She went off the deep end and became a total party girl. The sad kind who drinks and stays out until the wee hours because she can’t be alone with herself.
Finally, I pulled myself together. I decided that I needed to learn from this. I couldn’t trust my own instincts. I had truly believed that Lianne and I were going to be together forever. I had been wrong. I had to move on and not make the same mistake again. I threw myself into my work and moved out of the city as soon as I could. I saved up every cent to buy a place of my own. I dated, but I kept everything casual.
Lianne got her act together as well. We started talking a few years after the divorce. She had found a job she loved in the city, and she wasn’t going crazy at the clubs every night. We’ve exchanged emails over the years. She ended up getting married to the guy she always wanted. A businessman who loved the city life as much as she did. Lianne made him wait years before she got engaged. She learned caution from our shared disaster of a marriage.
She’s got two kids now, and she sends me a Christmas card every year. I’m happy for her. I’m glad that I didn’t break her heart beyond repair. She deserved a second chance.
I probably do as well, but I’ve long since resigned myself to single life. I’m not going to get married again unless it’s something truly extraordinary. It’s not worth the risk.
Of course, I’ll never say no to a fling. I’m a healthy guy who likes to enjoy myself. A few nights in bed with a beautiful woman – I’ve taken my pleasure over the years.
But I never let anything get too serious. I’ve never even been tempted, to be honest. Something inside me just doesn’t work anymore. I wanted commitment so bad when I was young, probably because my own parents died before I graduated college. Now I’m over that urge. Commitment is not all it’s cracked up to be. That’s what I learned from my trainwreck of a marriage.
I take another sip of my drink and savor the burning in my throat.
I glance out my window to the light shining from the house next door. Cynthia’s room. I can’t see her, but I can picture her in her cozy little apartment. She’s probably studying at that massive desk of hers, her head bent. There’s a tightening in my groin when I picture her reaching up to adjust her glasses.
One night in bed with her. That’s all I want. Just a few hours to devour her body and make her scream with pleasure. That would fulfill all my needs.
It won’t happen though. Even if in some wild scenario, I got her into my bedroom, she’s too young. She’s too good. A girl like Cynthia doesn’t want or deserve a one-night stand. She probably values commitment as much as I did when I was her age. She’s just smart
