Soul Mate | Teen Ink

Soul Mate

February 15, 2016
By Anonymous

When I was fifteen, I remember sitting on the kitchen counter and my mom talking about finding one’s soul mate in life. She wistfully spoke about it as if she were still holding onto a piece from her past. Her definition of a person that you could have a deep connection with on a physical, intellectual, spiritual, and emotional level seemed completely unrealistic to me, like something straight out of a Nicholas Sparks movie or a Harlequin romance novel. As mom looked out of the kitchen window, she seemed lost in her thoughts. Perhaps she still yearned to find her soul mate, who wasn’t dad. She and dad didn’t talk much anymore, but she pretended that nothing was wrong. As she continued to talk, her words would float pass me as I focused intently on the melted morsels of my chocolate chip cookie. The Pepperidge Farm cookies were my favorite, and I had one nearly everyday after school. It was something to looked forward to after a long day at school. They gave me relief and comfort, as if all my problems were gone for at that moment. I thought about what finding a soul mate might be like - would it create the same feelings of warmth and familiarity that I got when I reached for my chocolate chip cookie? It would be nice to find someone that could such comfort and positive feelings. Mom always said I would be a lucky man if I could find my soul mate in life.

 

Mom’s talk occurred sixteen years ago before I had even started dating. When I finally got around to seeing girls, mom’s words would appear in my head from time to time. I always got an amused look when I would ask whomever I was dating at the time, “do you believe in soul mates?” Even though I was usually skeptical, on a bright sunny day the thought of meeting one’s soul mate seemed possible. But today is not a sunny day full of hope. It’s a dark and cold night, and I don’t believe in search for one’s soul mate anymore. The red numbers on the digital clock remind me that it is 11:00 pm and time for bed. From the living room couch, I trudge upstairs and make my way to bed. The sheets are cold like the porch swing outside. I try to find warmth under the comforter and my feathered pillow. My hand sweeps over to the other side, the empty side of the bed. Sara, my wife, is not home yet. I feel unsettled and am bothered by the fact that she is still out and has not bothered to call home.

 

I start to drift off until the click of the front door lock stirs me from my troubled sleep. I can hear my wife jingling the house keys and the thud of her bag as it hits the floor. She is mumbling to herself, barely audible. Most likely she is complaining about her day at the office. As she nears our bedroom, I smell alcohol on her. It lingers in the air and is not an uncommon smell in our small house. She doesn’t bother to acknowledge me as she stumbles around trying to get ready for bed. She keeps hitting the corner of the bed, waking me up in my half-asleep state. I turn my head away from her when she crawls into bed. She pulls the sheets tight over her shoulders and rolls over to the far edge of the bed away from me. The sound of her heavy breathing finishes the night.

 

This same scenario repeats itself practically every night. Too many nights, I find myself sitting in the dark, mindlessly staring at a black box of moving images. Beer in hand, I try not to think too much about my lonely existence but thoughts of my failing marriage find their way into my mind. I think about how nice it would be to come home to dinner with Sara and look forward to talking to each other about the events of the day. But that is a scene for another happy couple at another time. Sara decided she didn’t want to have kids yet, so there are no signs of life when I pull up the driveway every night. Instead I come home to a dark, empty house. Hours in front of the TV pass before I realize it is time to go to bed without Sara by my side again. Waiting for her to come home has become a familiar norm.

 

I am unsure of what to do with our marital state. It wasn’t always like this between us but now all connection is missing and unrecoverable. Sara, who I married seven years ago, is a different person. Instead of the loving, energetic person that I was drawn to, she has become cold, withdrawn, and emotionless. On the rare nights that she is home early, we barely speak during dinner, and her recount of her day at work is terse and negative. At times, she makes me feel like an unwelcome visitor in my home.

 

I can’t pinpoint when things started to disintegrate between us. First, there were more night outs with the “girls,” and then late night dinner meetings became a regular occurrence. The late night texts became more regular and made me wonder if she had found the company of someone else more interesting. Her evasive explanations left me with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Angry and disappointed, I confronted her on several occasions. This only lead to a regretful exchange of words. Now I don’t try to understand her behavior and keep my feelings to myself. It seems like, no matter what I do, there is an inseparable wall between us.

 

Although we are not even middle age, our marriage seems to have reached a midlife crisis where we have grown apart. There was a time when we did enjoy other’s company and had great times together with her parents during the holidays and going out with friends on the weekend. I still remember how it felt when we first met in college, our first date. and our first kiss on New Year’s when the clock struck at midnight. We had plans for the future and were excited about the possibilities of what to do with our life. We were such ambitious individuals who were hoping to share a life together, but soon, we realized that our plans were not just one step away. The memories and our ambition seem so distant now, like it was borrowed from another lifetime. Those happy feelings from the past have been replaced with resentment and disappointment in the daily grind of life. I didn’t get to be the musician that I trained for and she didn’t become the successful manager that she imagined.

 

I compare what it was to what it is now. We brush past one another in the hallway in silence. We are like two ships passing in the night, trying to avoid any form of communication. The night always closes with a “goodnight” from my end, without a response from her. We are like two roommates with nothing to say and nothing in common.

 

Tonight is no different from any other night. With our backs towards each other, I listen to her breathing. Her breaths are staggered and inconsistent. The only sound filling my ears is the sound of her breathing. I turn over and stare at her back facing to me. Who is this stranger next to me and why am I at this uncertain point in my life? I put a hand on her back, feeling it rise and fall. This causes her to stir, and she shifts and pulls the sheets further to her side. I lean over her body and whisper in a low voice, “My mom was wrong; soul mates don’t exist.”

 

I thought she was asleep, but she surprises me when she mumbles a few words to herself. She doesn’t bother to shift, but I know she is awake. I can barely hear her when she says, “Don’t worry; I know.”



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