Part 1: I Don't Think I Can Do That

So it's mid-January after the mid-December discovery of Connie's relationship with Bruce. I am in the worst pain of my life.

I try to talk to her, but she says she can't talk about it. In the evening, if we are in the same room, she drifts silently away. She is dead to me. In public, she pretends everything is okay. In church, we sit together as a family like we have for over a decade and a half. In the evenings, she is gone several hours a week at string quartet practice, Symphony practice, Symphony Board meetings, Symphony committee meetings, string quartet performances, and Symphony performances. All with Bruce. She speaks almost normally in front of Phillip at home, but does not talk to me when we are alone.

I'm reeling, staggering through emotional white noise, blinded by emotional pain. Several times a day I'm locking myself in the faculty restroom and sobbing through the class breaks. When the bell rings, I go teach class. At night, I can't sleep. Each night Connie climbs into our bed, refuses to talk about "it," turns her back to me and goes immediately to sleep. After an hour or so listening to her even breathing, I get up, clean, launder, read, pray, sob, cry, or sit leadenly in front of the fireplace. When morning comes, I shower and go to school.

So like I said it's mid-January and we are presenting our Winter Cabaret performances. Bruce's daughter is one of my star performers. He attends the performance. I am in a pain bubble, distant from the events around me, but smiling, meeting parents, congratulating the students--all the little details of a performance night. After the program the parents begin to drift away, and the students begin strike. I notice Bruce is headed toward the parking lot. I catch up with him in the hallway, and ask if I may speak with him.

He stops, glances around, and looks at me. I tell him I understand how he can be in love with Connie because I love her too, but that she is married and what they are doing is wrong. I tell him I'm sure he is a man of integrity and honor, and I expect him to do the right thing.

He moves his head closer to me and tilts it slightly to the side saying, "I am so. . . so. . . sorry this has happened. We didn't choose this. It just happened. We couldn't help it."

The tear pressure behind my eyes is enormous. I squeeze out, "Apparently there are things wrong in our marriage that I didn't know about, but I still love Connie and want to try and save our marriage--to try to keep our family together. I ask you to stop seeing her for six months so we can work on our marriage without you standing there inviting her out. If she still feels the same after six months, I will step out of the way." I stand there, looking at him, controlling the tear pressure.

After a pause, he says, "I don't think I can do that."