Divorce

            Rufus stared blankly in the turquoise wallpaper that hugged his ceiling so warmly, but felt so cold and dark now. He looked at the clock mounted above his bookcase, and heard the ticks of the second hand echo hollowly in his mind.

Tick-tock

Tick-tock

Followed by a light vibrating resonance; it was as if his entire world as he perceived it was encased in the small cave of his immediate thoughts. He would have to choose; sports, barbeque, rock-climbing with his father or reading with, talking to, and cooking with his mother. Mom or dad, one or the other,

Tick…tock...

Tick…tock…

He felt himself getting increasingly agitated by the hollow ticking of the mindless clock, the small bouncing rhythm marking his time in seconds, measuring it, judging his 3 days to decide.

Mom or dad

Tick…tock

In one sweeping motion he threw himself from the bed, strode purposefully and briskly to the wall, jumped and swung at the clock. He landed again, and the clock swung twice back and forth, but did not fall. It continued to mock him, its incessant ticking, mimicking his own private thoughts. This angered Rufus, and he crouched deliberately and after thinking for a moment, threw his weight in one leaping motion, and slammed the clock roughly from the wall with is hand. It hit the ground, but continued to emit a muffled ticking. It mocked him, and he was very angry now, but the anger gave him a focus, it distracted him. He grabbed the clock and plucked the batteries nimbly from the slot, tossing them on the table, where they slid down to the end of the wall and clanked softly together. He looked at the frozen image of the clock, and imagined his time, his world slowing down, stopping, and the annoying, hollowing ticking, his dilemma, slowing down as well. Giving him time to decide, time to choose, time to think what he really wanted, so as not to regret his decision, god no, that he could not let happen. He dropped the clock back on the ground and went back to his bed. He continued to stare at the ceiling, but felt uneasy, his thoughts clouded behind his dissolving anger and frustration. He looked at the wall, and imagined a camera circling him, showing him slowly spinning, laid out on his back, hands hanging over the edge, legs spread a little. He imagined the unanswered question floating in the air, adding mystery to the scene. He shook his head and rolled quickly over on his right side, facing the door, and watched his cat walk elegantly by, her tail twitching, aged and intelligent eyes taking in and measure her surroundings, unaware and indifferent to his predicament. He thought briefly about who would get the cat, but decided it would probably come with him. He mom took care of his cat; she fed the cat in the mornings to help fill her tummy, so that she would not turn to killing innocent bunnies and squirrels, Rufus loved bunnies, especially the little ones. He thought about little bunnies and how they were always cuddling and nuzzling each other, jumping around and playing. They would never get divorced, never have to pick between one parent or the other,

Mom or Dad

Betsy or Pete

Tick…tock…

            “Rufus dear!” His mom called him to dinner. He ignored her. He planned on being a film director when he grew up, and imagined being the star of his own movie. He thought about a name for his movie, a title, but gave up when this brought him to upsetting thoughts, the choosing, the choice, the decision. He didn’t mind so much deciding, it was thinking about what his decision would mean that upset him so much.

            “Rufus! We need to talk!” Rufus sighed, and closed his eyes. It seemed like but a moment, much to short a time, when his mom appeared at his doorway.

            “There you are.” It was a simple statement, they had already talked, of course, and he had no doubt she had come to talk, it was the subject that he did not yet know. Rufus turned his head and stared at his mother’s face, tilting his head, wondering how his parents could possibly be getting a divorce; they seemed so well fit.

            “I was wondering if you’d like some carrots or tomatoes or something…” His mother’s voice trailed off. The thought drifted lazily in the air, until it was blown away by Rufus’s response.

            “How could you not love each other anymore? Sure you argue, but can’t you just talk about it? Why do you have to just…” Rufus couldn’t find the words to finish his thought. His mother thoughtfully and slowly touched his hair, pulling at it gently, watching it slip through her fingers.

            “We did, I mean, talk.” She began.

“We just couldn’t figure out a way to…” She too had trouble finding the words to explain this thought she hadn’t even been able to explain to herself.

“We couldn’t agree, couldn’t make the simplest decision together, we’d argue about everything; the food to buy, the mortgage, money…” She felt this wasn’t quite satisfactory, so she tried to help bring into focus this foggy uncertainty.

“We agreed that if you were with just one of us then we could take better care of you, that as parents we had to do whatever it took to make your life…” He understood what she was saying, but felt there was something else, that they couldn’t have lost a 10-year-old love, that there was something new. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her she was wrong, after all, it was her divorce, hers and Pete’s anyways. It felt strange calling his parents by their first names, but he did it anyways. He felt his bed shift, a hand rest on his shoulder momentarily, then the distinct squeaking of the staircase.

            His father ordered out pizza, and just 20 seconds later he was arguing with Betsy about the pizza, then the tip, then how to set the table. It made more sense now, and Rufus believed her, and realized it was the length of the love, the old worn out love that was the new thing; it was the age, the wearing out of the tolerance, the stretching out of the love like silly putty.

            He looked up, and saw his fathers neatly shaven face, a small “shaven” pattern written out across his cheeks. Rufus had seen his father use the thin cloth template, tape it to his face and shave everything inside the template, then trim the rest a little. His father had invented it, a sort of trademark, since the “shaven” vanished after 2-3 days, the moment the hair started growing again. He watched his mother eat, and saw he worn, tired face look at him and smile a worn smile. Suddenly he knew.

The ticking stopped, and the clock slowly began to speed up again, he had put the batteries back in the clock, and was ready to place it back on the wall, except on the other side of his room.

Mom, dad, I know now. I know who I want to live with.

His father glanced up, and looked at him for a moment, and said, slowly,

“Son, you know you can travel back and forth as often as you’d like?” Rufus nodded, but it was across the US, many miles, many hours.

            “Dad…I, well, mom, you just…you’re so tired, worn out, I think you need a rest…” He paused, and saw his mothers caring and sympathetic face smiled at him.

“I know I’m not so easy to take care of, must not be for you guys, but I think it’s the best thing. Mom, I think you just need some time alone, to enjoy life. Dad…I’ve always loved doing things with you, going out rock climbing and fishing, and you’re always there for me if I want to do something, and at night you always kiss me goodnight…I, well, I love you guys.” They all stood up, and after a few stuttering steps back and forth, managed to meet beside the kitchen table and enveloped each other in a family hug.

            Upon returning to his room, Rufus was not surprised to find his clock running again, the batteries back in the slot, the cover fitted back in. He picked the clock up and carried it across the room. He smiled as it slid down nicely into the fitting groove nailed to the wall. He would not regret his choice, and he knew he had made the right one.●