Джордан Шор - The Search

Friday evening

He could never forgive himself.

However, if his wife might forgive him, then he could live with the guilt for the rest of his life; guilt was all that he deserved. Looking at his wife used to bring him delight and meaning in life, but now it brought him a hollow feeling of remorse and shame. He had to tell her. He could only bear the burden for so long.

When they got married, he’d promised himself never to make her cry, and during seventeen years of marriage, he had never once broken that promise. He was convinced his wife had never shed a single tear because of his actions. However, she was bound to cry this time, and so was he. He had ruined their relationship for both of them. He didn’t have a good response to the question that had been haunting him for the past couple of days.

He was a man.

That was the short and simple answer.

He was a man with too much macho pride, and he was afraid of losing his masculinity. That was the only answer he could come up with, and he knew it wasn’t good enough. He felt nauseous. He wanted to cry, scream, and throw up, all at once.

How could you have been so stupid? he asked himself.

“You want to get some enchiladas?” his wife suggested and looked over at the café counter. “Or are you full?”

The thought of eating made him even more nauseous, but he knew she wanted him to help her finish the enchilada she now eagerly hoped to taste. His wife had a strict policy about not wasting food, and she made sure they never threw away any food at home. She said it was disrespectful to the rest of the world.

“No, I got some room left, but I can’t finish a whole one,” he said. “Perhaps we can share one? If that’s all right with you?”

She left the table as soon as he finished the sentence. Seeing her leave frightened him. His chest started to hurt as he thought of the pain and agony that awaited.

They’d met in college in Vancouver where he was the foreigner, and she was the domestic student who struggled with the language. The attraction wasn’t love at first sight, at least not on his part. But eventually, he was struck by how authentic she was, and how she presented herself to others. She didn’t pretend to be perfect or try to hide her flaws. The impression she made on him was always genuine. She never wore fashionable outfits or fancy lingerie. Her clothes never defined her; they only kept her warm and comfortable.

When they started dating, she insisted on paying for herself because she didn’t want him to do anything on account of his being a man. As husband and wife, they would share every burden equally. She didn’t demand anything more or expect anything less from him. She made him feel special. She told him what a good man he was. He liked himself better when he was around her—she brought out the good side of him.

Her prince, she called him, as she pretended he was the frog she’d kissed as a little girl. ‘It took you a long time to find me, but it was worth the wait,’ she’d told him. Not until years later did she reveal that she’d actually kissed the frog when visiting relatives in America. ‘So, you kissed an American frog?’ he’d asked her. ‘ And now you’re married to an American you met in Canada.’ What he said had rendered his wife speechless and her eyes wet. That was one of the happiest days of his life.

His wife used every opportunity presenting itself to tell the story to others, and she did it with great pride and enthusiasm. She started to introduce him as ‘ the prince, formerly known as frog .’ She wanted to name their son Prince Junior, but he wouldn’t let her—the schoolyard was tough enough to begin with.

She made him feel like the man of her dreams, the best husband in the world, her husband, and that’s all he ever wanted to be. All she expected from him was his honesty, nothing more and nothing less. The thought and memories brought a tear to his eye, and he made sure to wipe it away before she noticed.

His wife returned to the table with a smile almost as big as the enchilada she carried. Seeing her smile reminded him of how beautiful she was. Even if the feeling of remorse cast a shadow over her image, her beauty still amazed him. She had aged so gracefully. The lines only highlighted her face even more, framing and emphasizing her beautiful portrait.

“I love you.”

The words sounded wrong. Even though he said those particular words every day, they sounded different this time, and she must have noticed, because she didn’t return the favor at once.

“I love you too.”

Tears started gathering in the back of his eyes.

“I’m going to use the restroom,” he said, and swallowed a tear.

“Okay, but hurry back before nothing is left.”

He never used the urinal unless he had to. He enjoyed many things in the company of other people, but urinating wasn’t one of them. As he stared down at the toilet bowl, he felt as if he were looking down an abyss. The view reminded him of his recent recklessness, and of his stupidity.

Not only had he betrayed his wife, he had also forsaken their children. He had protected his manhood when he should have protected the welfare of his daughter and son, and the safety of dual parenting. He suddenly realized his wife might replace him with another man, and even worse, that man would have access to his children.

He closed the lid out of habit, only to open it again a second later. He fell down to his knees and threw up the meal he’d just consumed at the airport café. The smell of stomach acid and urine burned his eyes, and again, he asked himself the same question.

How could you have been so stupid?

When he returned to the café, he noticed his wife playing with his phone, and how her facial expression had changed drastically. He wasn’t used to seeing her angry, but this time she appeared to be furious. The light from the screen emphasized the feeling in her face. Her eyebrows were low, and her lips were narrow and thin. Her eyes focused on the screen, and she never blinked.

As soon as she spotted him, she put down his phone, and gave him a bleak smile.

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“It’s nothing. Never mind. Let’s enjoy the enchilada while it’s still hot,” she said with an absent look.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he said. “I thought you started without me.”

His wife remained quiet, and her expression stayed the same: She looked absent.

“Are you sure everything is all right?”

She took her eyes off the food and glanced at his phone with eyes of rage.

“It’s this video that’s going viral. A group of men beating a transsexual to death,” his wife said and shook her head.

“Oh. Where was this?”

“I think somewhere in South America,” his wife replied. “You know, I’m actually afraid of leaving the house these days. In case, some guys decide to beat me to death for wearing too little makeup. Like if I don’t look feminine enough that day or something. To think some men could deprive another person of his life, just because the person’s appearance didn’t appeal to them.”

“The good outnumber the evil ones,” he said.

“What?”

“The majority of men would never think of hurting a woman, or anyone else for that matter,” he said. “Some really good men are out there. Don’t you forget that.”

“I know. I married one of them,” his wife said. “Where is this coming from?”

“You said you’re afraid of men on the street,” he replied and shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want you to be afraid.”