The Look of Love. Jill Egizii

rarely, hardly ever, surprisingly isolated instances, considering. Considering how effectively he managed to sap her life force, tapping her like a sugar maple. He continued antagonizing her to keep her emotions boiling so he could leach more of her energy from her.

      There were less than a few isolated instances of physical contact from him. A rare swipe or push, but they hadn’t frightened her, rattled her, or confused her in any way. She was almost relieved to have her suppressed suspicions portrayed in flesh, in three dimensions. The confusion descended after the instant confirmation, after the truth was revealed.

      This raw truth did not compute with the idea that she’d chosen him. His callousness and narcissism were such a constant surprise and shock, so contrary to the glib and charming man she’d met, that Anna never quite fully believed what she was experiencing. This paradox pinned her there in limbo. How could two such conflicting truths exist? The truth was, once upon a time…she trusted him. Despite her long ago intuition not to trust him with her hopes, Anna made a choice to share her life with him, to confide in him. Admitting that her choice was wrong would take years to fully wrap her mind around.

      Admitting that she betrayed her own best interest, her own best potential, by choosing him would have destroyed her back then. Staying with him, growing immune to his faults and weaknesses, compensating for his breaches, filling his gaps, and in general running around plugging up holes in his dike was easier than admitting she’d deluded herself. How had she fooled herself effectively enough to let a man who turned out as he had, to father her children? It took her years to compile enough evidence for logic to overwhelm her emotions and wrench her from delusion.

      As she floats in her parents’ empty house in the dark sea before sleep, Anna recalls the precise instant the tide turned. She pinpoints the second the camel’s back broke and she came face to face with the folly of staying married, of staying with him. She registered the cost and the consequence of not leaving Erik, getting the kids away from Erik sooner the instant she recognized in Drew his father’s subtle attack, his father’s derisive words toward her. When she recognized in Andrew’s manner a miniature reproduction of Erik’s conceited tolerance of her, any illusions she’d been secreting away shattered.

      Her life irrevocably altered. Her perspective drastically changed the afternoon Anna recognized Erik’s barely tangible sneer on Drew’s face. Two years ago, when Drew turned old enough to play league golf at the country club, the two of them became immensely closer. Anna guessed that Erik encouraged Drew to develop a taste for what Erik considered the finer things in life…expensive cigars, expensive whiskey, expensive meals, and the finest brandies and wines.

      When she confronted Erik about Drew being too young to ‘taste’ the wine and whiskey, when she suggested that he was too young to distinguish a ‘true’ Cuban cigar he balked. “Are you crazy?” he asked her. “Do you know how far ahead in life I would have been if I’d had someone to teach me these things…you’re never too young to learn what quality is.” Somewhere in the back of Erik’s mind, he longed to be one of the ‘Park Avenue Set’ from the black and white movies of his childhood.

      Erik liked to pretend to know about the best vintages and classic art, but he’d gleaned what little he knew from skimming glossy magazines. He thought of himself at times as a Midwestern branch of the Rat Pack—slick, smooth, and top of the line. Other moments he portrayed himself as some twisted Rhett Butler. She’d heard him brag about confederate roots, boast about being descended from slave owners. And these attitudes were suddenly also a part of Drew when he turned into a real teenager last year.

      Of course, because Erik’s favored object of mockery and derision was Anna, she wasn’t sure why she was stunned when Drew turned to strike her in Erik’s fashion. Back then, as Anna’d laid yet another exquisite evening meal on the table, Erik turned away in distaste, asking Drew…“Don’t you want some decent food for a change?” Drew sneered at her, “What, is she trying to make the rest of us as fat as her…please…I’d rather have Steak N Shake Dad. Can we please?” And Erik would get up and reward his son with a chuck on the chin and throw his arms over the boy’s shoulder as they strolled to the Porsche.

      That particular evening as the two ‘guys’ turned their backs on her, Anna realized that she’d irrevocably lost some portion of Drew forever. Recognizing this in Drew finally gave her a hint to the true danger of staying as long as she had. She wondered if it was maybe too late to extricate her children from Erik’s overriding negative imprint, and knew they would wear scars despite her strategy of throwing herself on every land mine and into the crevice of every conflict with Erik.

      Until that moment she’d mistakenly believed that she stood as a bulwark between Erik’s less exemplary self and the kids for all those years. Coming face to face with the fact that she hadn’t succeeded inspired her push for a real divorce, a true divorce this time. This time he was moving out. Sure, she’d been at her parents for a few months now, but this time it would be fair and not a secret and Anna would have her house…maybe even her restaurant pending the settlement.

      Visions of her own kitchen, her own home, her own life lull her as she lies exhausted from the strange day. First being accused of assault and drunkenness, and then being harassed by Cambrige’s finest. To get free is Anna’s focus as she slips into unconsciousness.