Part I ~ Part II ~ Part III ~ Part IV ~ Part V ~ Part VI ~ Part VII ~ Part VIII ~ Part IX ~ Part X ~ Part XI ~ Part XII ~ Part XIII ~ Part XIV

The Kris Story, Part XV
or...Epiphany
7.2.8

What did we talk about for all those hours? It all blends together now.

I know that I asked about her recent sneaky escape from Zio's. Steve had, of course, lied when he told me that he didn't know anything about it. Beforehand, they had planned out the staged goodbyes that had led to their rendezvous behind the restaurant.

I also asked about the journal entries I had found, questioning how two years of love could disappear overnight.

She fell back on her previous accusations of my controlling behavior, this time expounding upon them. Now it was also I who had "made" her quit drugs. This, of course, despite the heartfelt letter she had once written thanking me for my role in ending those "dark times." When she quit smoking pot, she had told me that it was because being with me made her want to be a better person.

She also blamed me for her not having gone to college.

Most horrendously, she correlated this supposed control issue to what she had said outside of Zio's the day before. Our shitty sex life, her sudden lack of love for me, the excessive drinking, her nights out...she placed most of the blame for all of this on one thing. "Every time I look at you, I just see the man who made me kill my baby."

I defended myself, obviously, because I had specifically left the final decision up to her. Afterwards, I had even begged her not to hold anything in, warning against this exact scenario. However, as with each and every problem she saw in our relationship, she never said a thing. She did exactly the opposite, holding everything in until it summarily destroyed us.

She attributed all of these sudden realizations on her part to one thing: Shortly before The Dunes a month earlier, I had taken a week long trip to visit my family in Florida. Kris stayed behind because we didn't have the money for both of us to go. That whole week I called her constantly...but was never able to reach her. It practically ruined my vacation, because I was worried about her the whole time. I was only able to finally reach her (and confirm that she was OK) just before heading to the airport to catch my return flight. By that time, I had already been forced to arrange another ride home. Looking back, this was the true beginning of her "relationship" with Steve, of course (even before my first meeting with him at the bar).

She saw things differently, though.

In her mind, that week had simply awakened her to the fact that she had never really been alone in her life. She learned what it was like to have her own apartment, to do whatever she wanted, yada yada yada...

She began questioning her love for me, which led to her belief that I somehow controlled every aspect of her life, which led to her hanging out with Steve and his friends more often, which in turn led to the situation we were in. In her twisted perception of things, I was to blame for everything and she was merely an innocent victim of circumstance. Perhaps if I had brought her on that last trip, she seemed to insinuate, none of this would have ever happened.

Her planned solution to everything was to just move out. If she could have some time away from me, she claimed it could only be good for our relationship in the end. The flaw in her logic was that she didn't have anywhere to go. I knew damn well that moving out would only mean her moving in...with Steve. She claimed that she would be doing it for us, though, assuring me that she wasn't leaving me for him.

This became much harder to believe when I noticed the hickey on her neck (and later, another on her upper chest). "Well, yes," she admitted...she had slept with him, but only the previous night (never before), and only because she was so distraught and angry thinking that I had broken up with her!

Gee...the very afternoon I took the ring, hadn't I called her to explain that I didn't want to break up with her? It didn't matter, though. She was talking, moment to moment, in circles. Her only goal was to blame me for all of our/her problems.

It worked, in a way.

We had grown too tired that evening to continue our discussion and decided to sleep on it. The next morning I woke up first. Having somehow swallowed all of the bullshit she had fed me, I began developing a plan. I certainly didn't want her living with him, so I came up with the only thing I could think of to stop it.

I pulled out my trusty Rand McNally road map. With a black Sharpie, I began tracing out the roads I would take. East on I-70 to St. Louis. I-64 to I-57...it was essentially The Walk, except this time I would be driving and this time I would go all the way to Coral Springs, where I would stay with my mother and stepdad for awhile. In this way, Kris could have her time away from me without having to live with him. She would also have more time to experience the "life on her own" that she supposedly regretted missing out on.

When she awoke, I told her about my idea. The only thing I wanted was for her to use that time to figure out a way to go to the college she wanted to attend. I also asked, for the first time ever, that she stop hanging out with someone: Steve.

She refused to cut ties with him, calling him her best friend. She assured me that nothing else would happen between them, though. She still wanted things to work out between us and qualified our new arrangement only as being "on a break."

The rest of the day was spent planning. I quit my job, gathered the things I would need and called my mom to again ask for her assistance with a place to live. I told her only that I was moving because Kris and I were "having some problems."

The next morning, September 7th, 2004, I left on a long treacherous journey.

My car was quite the piece of crap at the time. The driver's side windows didn't open, nor could I open the driver's door from the inside. Each time it rained, water would leak in to soak my left arm. One of my tires was a spare donut, one of my headlights was burned out and to top it all off one of my windshield wipers flew over the edge of a bridge while driving through the bad part of Chattanooga. It was as if my car had purposely thrown it.

The next day, I was driving through Georgia with one windshield wiper when I crossed paths with Francis, headed in the opposite direction. As I carefully navigated through the torrential downpour, I finally found myself wondering, "What the hell am I doing?" I had left my job, my apartment, my possessions, my friends, my town...and for what? She was still hanging out with him and almost certainly still sleeping with him. Meanwhile, I was driving through a fucking hurricane! In a way, the drive to Florida had been just the spiritual awakening I'd always imagined The Walk would have been (only with faster results).

Much like slamming into a curb at 3:00 in the morning...at least I was awake now.

When I got to Florida, I explained the whole awful story to my mom. "But!" I continued, I'd had an epiphany during my long drive and therefore wouldn't be staying long. I was going to drive right back to Aurora to reclaim my life. If Kris didn't want to live with me anymore, she could fucking leave. My third day there, I headed to Ft. Myers to explain everything to my dad. That night, we stood by the pool at the Kahlua Beach House, a place I had spent many wonderful summers as a child. Now it was dark, boarded up and vacant, with red X's spray painted across the walls...all temporary remnants of the onslaught of the 2004 hurricane season. It was an appropriate setting in which to tell the story about how Kris, too, had changed.

He didn't even let me finish, though. "Yeah, yeah, yeah...I get it. She's a cunt. That's all there is to it." His version was short and blunt, but essentially got the point across. Like my mom, he agreed that I needed to go back home.

This theory was further confirmed by the fact that Kris didn't answer the phone the entire time I was in Florida. At least, not for me...dialing into the answering machine revealed several messages from Steve saying, "Hey, it's me. Pick up the phone." She promptly did each time, proving that she was screening my calls. So much for wanting things to work out between us, eh?

I left on the 14th, in the late afternoon. I had planned on spending the night at my Aunt's house in Valdosta, GA, but as I neared it, I realized that I didn't want to stop. I was a road-warrior on a mission. I powered through the trip, 2000 miles from Florida to Colorado, in one sitting. I drove all night. When the sun came up, I just kept going. When the sun went down again, I just kept going.

I arrived a little before midnight the next day. I walked up the steps to the apartment, prepared for anything, half expecting to barge in on them having sex on my bed. I opened the door and...

They weren't there but the story of her week of independence was laid out before me. The place was trashed from whatever parties she had thrown in my absence. Pot was scattered across the coffee table (I promptly sent it to a watery grave in the toilet). Our camcorder was lying on the floor, having been removed from its usual storage bag. Reluctantly, I picked it up and pressed play. Expecting the worst, I was relieved to find that it only contained some audio-free footage from one of the shindigs she had held. What I saw was enough, though...about halfway through the video, Kris and Steve disappeared for awhile before returning with telling smirks on their faces. At one point, I also noticed Steve flipping off the camera. Without sound, I could only assume that this was his natural immature reaction to being placed before a camera. I did wonder, though, if the gesture was somehow intended for me to see one day.

As tired as I was, I immediately went about the business of cleaning the apartment. My apartment. I staked my claim, marking territory with Windex and Formula 409. By the time I had finished my task, it was way past closing time for the bars. Since they obviously weren't coming back that night, I locked the deadbolt and went to sleep on the couch.

In the morning, I awoke to the sound of them coming up the stairs. I got up, unbolted the deadbolt and let them in. They must have stopped by in the night and seen the light on because they didn't seem the least bit surprised (and to be frank, this was a bit disappointing for me). "I just need to get my work clothes," she said, passing me and heading for the bedroom. She looked terrible, as if she had been the one who had driven 2,000 miles the night before.

Steve just stood in the living room, occasionally uttering an incredulous little laugh under his breath, registering his apparent disgusted exasperation at my being there. Eventually, I grew irritated with his repetitive attempt at belittling me, so I responded, "Would you mind getting out of my apartment?"

He looked almost appalled at the question, but headed toward the door regardless. "Fine," he said, before letting out one more snarky "hmph" while closing the door behind him.

Soon, Kris returned with a bag of clothes and headed for the door. As she descended the stairs, I called out to her, "Let me know when you want to come get your stuff." Then I closed the door.

Our final battle was soon to begin.