A Conversation with the Ex

I don't know what I expected to see when I opened my eyes, but I know it wasn't the face of my ex-wife. Nevertheless, there she was, standing beside the hospital bed with an almost affectionate look in her eyes. It was really kind of creepy.

“What are you doing here?” The thought slipped out of my mouth before I'd finished thinking it.

“Sorry to just show up. The kids called. They're in the waiting room down the hall.” She must have noticed something in my expression, because in the next breath, she said, “Don't hold it against them. You know they always wanted us to stay friends afterward.”

I wasn't feeling like playing nice. “So, are you here to gloat? Want to rush things along by turning off the IV pump?”

“Look, I know I deserve whatever you want to lash out with. I was hoping we could just talk, before...” She lowered her eyes as her voice trailed off.

“You can say it. Before I die. And what could we possibly have to talk about?” The alarm on the heart monitor chimed softly, as my temper began to flare.

She placed a hand on my shoulder, which, to my amazement, calmed me. As if realizing she'd overstepped, she quickly moved the hand to the bed rail. “Please. This is important.”

What the hell? This woman had used me in every possible way and made my life miserable for the last five years of a 14-year marriage. In the end, I'd fought for my kids and backed her into a corner to force her to surrender custody. For the kids' sake, I'd stipulated completely unrestricted visiting rights. I'd also agreed to assume all of the outstanding debts. Shit, I'd even bought her a car, so they'd have transportation while they were at her place. Put up the deposit on the house she rented. Signed for the utilities. All for the kids' sake.

Now, after 35 years of nothing but the contact necessary for the kids' sake, she decides to show up at my deathbed? To talk? Still, something in her tone and her expression was definitely off. I gave her an overly-exasperated sigh for effect, laid my head back and said, “Fine. Let's talk.”

She smiled at the dramatics – a smile I hadn't seen for a long, long time – and replied, softly, “Thanks. Now, where do I start? I guess by admitting I wasn't the best wife.”

“Ya' think?” It came out a little louder than I'd intended, and I waved off the nurse that moved the curtain aside. I lowered my voice and continued, “You couldn't even wait until after the wedding to cheat!”

“You're right. It was an awful thing to do. He wanted one more time for old time's sake. I went along, and then you figured it out, and we fought, and you drove off. I honestly thought that was it.”

“It probably should have been.”

“But it wasn't, because you forgave me and we decided not to wait and got married 2 weeks later.” There was that smile again. That damnable smile.

“Yeah, well, I was young and stupid and in looooove.” I didn't want to go to the effort of “air quotes” to emphasize the sarcasm, and judging from her slow head shake, I didn't need to.

“You weren't just in love, you were loving. And kind. And forgiving.”

My mood wasn't improving and I was getting tired. “So you're here to remind me of what a stupid, gullible ass I've been, then? Itemize all the stupid shit I've done, so I can take it all with me?”

The smile was still there, but there was a tiny, almost imperceptible flash in those eyes. Something just under the surface was trying to break free, but she was holding it back. Her hand left the bed rail and covered mine, which had taken a white-knuckled grip on the rail, unbeknownst to me. The sensation was oddly cool.

“Relax,” she said, and somehow I did. My head returned to the pillow, though I hadn't realized I had almost raised myself to a sitting position. “Give it a rest – give yourself a rest and let me explain. I swear, there's a point to be made.”

It was obvious she was going to be heard, and I resigned myself to it, closing my eyes to avoid continued reminders of why I'd loved her in the first place.

“I'm not trying to remind you. I'm telling you that I know. I know how much I put you through. I did everything I could to piss you off and I managed to do that a lot. But you just kept on trying.

“I cheated. More than once. I dragged the kids across the country. I used them to beg you to let me come back, although I had no intention of trying to make things work. After you did, I cheated again. Openly. I told you I didn't love you, and then continued to prove it until you finally gave up on us.

“I made the divorce as complicated as I could. I made you fight for custody of the kids, when I didn't really want the responsibility, anyway. I knew you'd let me stay in their lives. I knew you'd take care of everything, but I made you go through all the motions anyway. When you finally found someone else, I did my best to convince the kids that she was evil. I was an absolute bitch.

“Every step of the way, I knew exactly what I was doing. But there's a reason, and that's what I'm trying to explain. And you need to know before you go.”

I couldn't make sense of that part. “Why in the hell does it matter now? What fucking difference does it make?” I was getting short of breath, but tried to make it a resentful retort.

“Two reasons. First, you need to know that you're going to a wonderful place. You've earned it, and there really is a reward for being the person you've been. Don't get me wrong, you've been an asshole yourself at times, but when it was really important, you did the right thing. And though you tried to convince yourself otherwise, it wasn't always just for the kids.”

“And how in the hell would you know all of this?”

“Well, that's an interesting choice of words, and it brings me to the other thing. Please, just open your eyes.”

Slowly, I complied, letting my eyes adjust to the room light gradually. The red blur directly above my face gradually came into focus, and I found myself staring into huge, catlike eyes, bright yellow, with elongated, vertical pupils. They were set in a face with red, leather-like skin, sporting a pair of small, but obvious horns in its forehead. The features were still hers, and so was the smile, though when the lips parted, they exposed a mouthful of gleaming, needle sharp fangs that rivaled anything in my worst nightmares.

“Because, Honey,” came the throaty reply, “It was my job.”

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