It wasn’t even ajar. It was more like a revolving door. I took nothing at first. Then, over the next weeks and months, I took some clothes, books, records, which I threw into the back of the car. All the chattels passed down through the matriarchies of my family, all the things Clem and I had accumulated over time, most of my clothes and “stuff,” all that stayed in situ, where it belonged. No drama, no fanfare. I moved out so slowly and quietly that Clem never noticed I had gone. So I would tell the story for years, usually getting a fond chuckle over Clem’s obliviousness. But fact is, it was true, and it wasn’t funny. I still tremble at my brashness. One of those people who seem to have all the answers once said to me, “Only if you shut a door completely can you open the next.” How tidy. Tidy as I always was in the way of washing dishes and making my bed, I never could shut doors. I saw my life as a long, drafty corridor, lengthening as I moved from room to room, the doors behind me creaking to and fro in the breeze.
What do You think about A Complicated Marriage (2012)?
