Yesterday I had to take my car in for service. The Lexus dealership where I get my vehicle serviced is far enough away from home that if it’s going to take more than a couple of hours, I usually get a loaner and drive back. But this service was supposed to only take two hours so I chose to stay in Glendale and spend some of the time in the Glendale Galleria Mall.
I informed Jim and told him that he could call me if he had questions about anything. During the time that I was in the mall, I called to check on him but he didn’t pick up. Most of the time, he forgets to carry his phone or he just doesn’t hear the ring in his pocket but I figured he would call me if needed.
My first stop at the Galleria was Peet’s Coffee where I sat with a non-fat latte and read through some research material for a book project. Tedious and very confusing stuff on sectarian conflicts in the Middle East; not necessarily my choice of projects but as a neophyte in the freelance world, I’m tackling it. I doubt anything I write is going to screw up chances for peace in the Middle East.
The Glendale Galleria is pretty big so I took my time and strolled all the floors, stopping in just a couple of the stores to look around. By ninety minutes, I had had enough of the noise and crowds and called for a ride back to the car dealership. Fortunately, by the time I got there my car was serviced, newly washed and waiting for me. Apart from the fact that I have to go back in a month for new front brakes (something I was expecting) all was well and I thanked Fred, my longtime service rep.
I called Jim to tell him I was on my way home but, once again, no answer. I wasn’t concerned, however, and expected to find him right where I left him, sitting at the family room table, coloring or looking at a movie on his iPad. I was almost right.
He was standing on the front lawn waiting for me. “I’ve been so worried,” he said, hurrying over to me and hugging me, purse, bags and all. I put my arms around him and felt his shirt, wet and sweaty and sticking to his back. I looked up at him. “Why are you so hot and sweaty?” I asked.
“I’ve been walking to the end of the block and back looking for you,” he said. “I was worried.”
“Out walking back and forth in 104° heat?! Babe, why didn’t you just call me?”
“I was afraid you might be driving and try to answer the phone. It might be dangerous.”
He knows I have Bluetooth in the car; I just have to touch a button on the car’s steering wheel and the phone call is connected. He knows … but now it’s ‘he knew.’ What still should be in the present is now in the past. Not just a past that’s remembered but a past that’s forgotten.
“Let’s get in the house out of the hot sun,” I say and we go inside. Bags are barely on the floor before he hugs me again. “I was so worried.”
I kiss him and say, “I’m gonna change my clothes and then make us lunch.” I head to the closet and my eyes are already tearing. I know there are terrible and difficult things coming that I can’t even imagine going through but this, for now, is my biggest fear. I don’t want him to ever be afraid. I don’t want him to be scared.
Yes, there are times I am so frustrated with him, with our situation, I could scream. But to see him scared and vulnerable; this intelligent, wonderful, caring man with the incredibly crazy sense of humor; this doctor who could relieve a patient’s pain so quickly that they cried in sheer relief; to know that he is so dependent on me, so much so that my absence can bring about such panic and fear; the weight of such responsibility is overwhelming. I know I must try harder to not let that happen again. I also know I will fail; it’s just inevitable. But I must try.
I take a deep breath, wipe my eyes, and after changing my clothes, head into the kitchen to make us lunch. “How about grilled turkey and cheese?” I ask.
Writing Through Challenges & Change 
Very touching, Alicia. Jim is very fortunate to have such a loving wife.
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