Bowties

March 13th, 2012

He loved wearing ties. Nothing made him happier than getting a new bowtie for his birthday, or just randomly throughout the year when we could afford it. Over the years, he had collected dozens upon dozens of them. When we moved in together, we put his entire collection on the wall of our living room. Every morning before work, he would get up on his cinder block to see himself in the mirror and try on almost twelve different bowties before finally picking one to wear.

This day started out as any other day. Nothing was out of the ordinary. So, you can imagine my surprise when I walked into our apartment that afternoon and found that all the bowties were gone. My first instinct was to call the cops, thinking we'd been robbed. But as I reached our bedroom, I knew I was wrong.

My husband's stuff had been taken out of the drawers. His half of the closet was completely bare. All his shoes were gone. But all my clothes and personal items remained where they always had. I continued towards the phone that lied on his nightstand, but instead I dialed the number for my husband's cell phone.

There was no answer. I tried again. Still no answer. As I continued trying, I searched our small apartment for a sign or an explanation. Anything that would tell me what I was thinking was completely wrong. As I waited for an answer for the fifth time, I found a piece of notebook paper on our dining table, folded into thirds and addressed to me. On the phone, there was still no answer.

Rowena,

It causes me great pain to tell you this, but our time together must now come to an end. When we first met, I believed I could tie myself down and stay with you forever. I believed you would be the anchor to hold down my wandering soul, but with each passing day since our wedding I have been feeling as though I am tied to a cinder block at the bottom of the ocean. I love you with all my heart Rowena, but I need to sail like a boat with nothing holding me back. I wish you well dearest Rowena.

Your love,

Michael

I'm not sure how long I spent staring at the words that were, unfortunately, written on the paper in front of me. The messy scrawl was too familiar and I knew it was certainly written by my husband, though my heart wanted to deny this painful truth.

April 13th, 2012

It's been a month since I stepped out of our apartment. I spent the entire first week on the couch in our living room. Despite the words in his letter, I felt a bit of hope in my heart that he would walk through that door any minute, carrying all twenty-eight of his quirky ties that he loved so much. I didn't eat or sleep much, as I was too anxious about missing him walk in. With each passing day, however, that hope eventually faded.

I spent the second week in our bed, careful not to touch his side of the bed in any way. I wanted it to stay exactly as he had left it. But I stayed on my side of the bed, crying off and on throughout that week. My heart was somewhere with him and his bowties, wherever that may be. Thinking about him put an ache in my chest, and I felt more tears ready to fall again. I rolled over and shut my eyes, hoping to sleep the pain away.

The phone on my night stand rang loudly, for the fifth time that day. I knew it was my mother calling to check on me again. By this time, everyone had found out he had left me. I reached over and shut off the phone, cutting off the world. I wouldn't let them in when they came banging on the door. I was too afraid to let anyone in every again.

September 13th, 2012

It's been six months since I've seen the world outside of my small apartment. My friends and family eventually gave up on me. The only knocks on the door came from my grocery deliveries on Sundays. I didn't even talk to the person who delivered them though. I didn't talk to anyone. They simply knocked and then left the groceries in front of my door. I had cut off all ties with the world, or as much as I could.