Fine With Me

Summer was over, and so were we. Most wildflowers in the field were nothing but dead heads. It was nearly drought conditions. The heat had been burning that summer. Suffocating. All-consuming. The tempers were hot, too. Matilde had read in the paper that there had been more than an average amount of domestic situations and murders in her county, in the newspaper. A local psychiatrist blamed the heat, and they all discussed the physiological changes, which seemed to make sense.

She stopped and thought, “Have I been angrier?” She felt she had indeed been at least irritable if not angry. Frustrated. Tired but bored and too hot to do what she was supposed to be doing out of the house. Air-conditioning was a nice escape, but there was no serious motivation to get anything done until the heat passed. David had not gone out in three days, either. Besides discussing dinner and basic coordinating conversations, they weren’t even motivated to talk.

Since Elizabeth moved out entirely after college, their to-do list was just maintaining their current lifestyle and eating habits. Goals? Those were wrapped up in their child and careers. They were done with that stuff. The nest was emptier than ever, and so were their plates. Elizabeth was 23, but young for 23 and not planning a family soon. Her career was moving along just fine without their assistance. What was there at this point? Daily life seemed so hollow that her morning orange juice would echo as she filled the glass.

"I feel it, David," Matilde whispered, her hands trembling as she looked at the glass on the counter. "Like the walls are closing in, or like I'm finally slipping. The intrusive thoughts—about death, about the end—it's like a countdown I can't stop. I'm convinced I'm either dying or losing my mind."

David leaned against the counter, his eyes heavy. "You aren't dying, Matilde. And you aren't going crazy." He looked out the window, his voice quiet. "Maybe it’s not the end. Maybe you're on the edge of a breakthrough. A spiritual one. Or maybe we win the lottery. Or find something entirely new that we haven't even named yet." He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I just... I'm terrified that in your search for 'new,' you're going to decide that I'm just part of the old. That you'll leave me."

Matilde turned to him, her expression softening despite the fear still etched in her features. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "David, no. It’s not you. I’m not unhappy with you. I’m just... I’m aimless. We're both just drifting in this quiet house, and the silence is so loud it makes me question everything. I’m scared, but it’s not because of us. It’s just... what happens next?"

David sighed, the weight of their shared stagnation hanging between them. "I don't know," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "I don't know what will happen next for either of us."

The middle-aged years were so much extra that she could barely sleep. Same with college, although it was easier then. But now? She found herself contemplating mortality and what it all really meant lately. She was having all those sorts of things run through her mind that you think about at funerals, or when you read Edgar Allen Poe, or a good ghost story.

She found herself thinking about it so much that it frightened her all of a sudden one night on the porch when she realized that she could not even read a good novel in her lap because of these intrusive thoughts on life and death. Was she becoming a mental case, or worse, psychic about her own demise? She felt that maybe some type of nervous breakdown or her own death was on its way. She stewed for a while and slept terribly.

The sun came up, the birds started their nervous racket, but Matilde just lingered in bed. It was unlike her. She was never in the habit of hanging around in bed awake. Some weight was dragging her down.

Finally, she rejoined her husband David as he was watching the morning talk shows. “You sure slept late,” said David.

“No, no… I just didn’t do anything about waking up. What am I rushing about, anyway? I don’t have anything urgent to accomplish. If it isn’t urgent, I’m not supposed to be out in this heat with my blood pressure medication.”

“I do have some things to do, but it will be in the 70s tomorrow – I can just wait. You must have some things to do that are less urgent; we can get it all done together tomorrow.”

“We are both retired, childless, and barely have hobbies and friends. I’m sure we will clear our to-do list by lunch. I’ll be wracked with existential angst in time to catch heartburn over it with dinner.” She sighed and laughed as she said it.

She continued, “Is this just how a human feels without real problems? Am I one of those people who need to do charity work? Walk-a-thon, or walk dogs at the shelter?”

David replied, “There you go, that is a better direction to think in. Do something positive about your strange feelings. What will it really cost you to do that but some time and driving? I’m just not plagued by this stuff like you are, but I feel lazy, lately. I thought about some kind of home improvement project, but the house is fine. I’m an accountant, I’d probably mess it up.”

“Maybe we could do a garden together?” Asked Matilde.

“I either don’t want to eat it if we grow it, or it’s going to make me sneeze. I don’t mind helping a little, if we plant the sneezy stuff far enough away from the porch…” he replied.

“Of course, at this point in the year, we would be doing this stuff for next year. I’m gonna hit Google and see if I can sign up for something to look forward to sooner.” She said.

“Suit yourself. I’m only in it for shits, giggles, boredom, and emotional support. I feel fine about my life. I’ve never been romantic about an individual's lifetime. Do no harm, and you are fine with me, hun.”