This Too Shall Pass Read Free Page A

rickety-ness. Renny left too, monsoonal tears railing down her face, determined that no matter what I’d said, I would never break it off with Dave. ‘Marriage,’ she told me bitterly, ‘has too powerful a hold on people.’
    Somehow Dave and I had a normal evening with friends despite flashes of lunacy poking at my thoughts. We roamed through our usual array of topics: news, weather, work, house matters, politics, art, children, back to news, and so on. The more mundane the conversation, the more madness prodded at my composure. On the inside I was emblazoned, on the out I remained – somehow – cool. It was a duality that tested me. I hung on.
    The next morning, after a breakfast of croissants and coffee, we hopped in the car and drove four and a half hours to Sorrento for Xmas with Dave’s family. That evening I told Dave this was it, our last night together. He didn’t believe me, which made it easier and was, perhaps, another folly on his part because the next day after lunch, after we’d packed and said our goodbyes – his family none the wiser – I asked him to pull up as we got to the train station at Frankston.
    â€˜You’re really doing this?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Dave.’
    â€˜Where are you going?’
    â€˜Michael’s.’ (Michael, my brother, lived in Melbourne at the time. I could ring Renny, see if she could pick me up from there.)
    â€˜If you go, it’s over.’
    â€˜I know,’ I said, desperate for him to understand. I turned to Marcus, strapped-in in the dim interior of Dave’s van. His small face was taut, a ghostly stare plastered to it. He was taking it all in. I remember my heart booming in my chest, heralding my actions with deafening clarity. I just didn’t know what else to do but to stay calm and trust that I was making a decision, that at least I was taking action. I’d been attracted to women for years by then – for as long as Marcus had been in the world – and there was that nagging, burning question, the one Dave had himself repeated ad nauseam: So WHAT’S going to happen now? I couldn’t fool anyone, particularly myself, any longer.
    I slowly opened my door and disembarked carefully – gravity having deserted me – and walked around the vehicle to the side door to get out a bag I’d packed.
    â€˜I’m going,’ I repeated.
    â€˜This is it,’ Dave threatened a little more desperately.
    â€˜Bye, Dave.’
    I waved meekly to Marcus who seemed to understand the solemness of the moment and didn’t respond.
    It occurs to me now, writing this, that my actions might appear cold, that it would look as if I’d just left Marcus there, in the dingy interior of Dave’s van, without hugs and goodbyes. I had, of course, already explained to Marcus that I was going away for a week and would be back. And all I can say in my defence is that playing down my departure was a calculated move. I didn’t want to start a scene of tears or terse words in front of him. Physical contact may have produced an arm around the neck that I’d have a hard time extracting myself from. Also, not for a millisecond did I think I was leaving him. He was with his dad. And to be honest, it was Dave’s turn – he could make up for a little of the last six years. No, my relationship with Marcus would not change. Back then I actually thought I had to leave before I could continue mothering him. But there’s that flapping adolescent naivety at work, reducing a foghorn-emotion to a convenient detail. Still, I’m neglecting the most compelling aspect: necessity had taken over, and was shifting me to some other longitude. All the trifling messages I was busily feeding myself were really just the props I needed to keep me from tripping up.
    As I turned away from them I was clinging to the thought that at least I was keeping my word to Renny. I couldn’t bear to