The People Change (short story)

The People Change


“All right,” said Diane Horn, “what’s it all about?”
“Oh,” said Fred Wilcox, “it’s hard to tell!”
“You mean you won’t?”
“I can’t,” said her friend, “that’s all I really mean.”
“Tell me what you can tell me then.”
“You’ve known me for a long, long time,” said Fred.
It was early afternoon and Fred had left his wife, not willingly but because she asked him to. It was the beginning of spring 1996, and his wife had gotten a second job at a “Target,” store working making sandwiches in the deli, not that she needed the money, or need to even work, she was a twenty-year employee of the state, a teacher, who worked on the east side of town of St. Paul, Minnesota, and had told him, she had fallen in love with the manager.
Diane sat in her Oakdale, home, her green cotton sweater on, long sleeve, attentive to Fred’s needs, his hurtful heart, both sitting on the coach, a few feet from each other. Her reddish hair combed back, out of her face, away from her forehead. Fred looked at her with near tears in his eyes, seemingly quite, broken up.
“Please don’t think like that,” said Diane. She put out her hands to hold his; they were slim, and white and still youthful even at forty-eight years old, Fred a year younger than she.
“I’d like to, I sure would like to.”
“It won’t make you happy.”
“I don’t know,” he said, in a confusing manner; Linda, my silly wife, says she’s in love with the man.”
She held his hands tight, now, gave him a look of empathy. He pulled his hands away after a minute or two.
“It doesn’t do any good to try and put the marriage back together when she’s in love with someone else, I should have known better.”
“Yes,” said Diane, “you kind of knew this about her before didn’t you? I mean you always said she was flirtatious.”
“I loved her very much,” he quickly said, and then hesitantly started thinking in his mind how true, really true was that statesman? A question that never occurred to him before.
“Yes, you’ve proved you were devoted to her, and her kids.”
“I don’t understand, it troubles me what did I do wrong?”
“Wrong,” she said. “That makes it worse, when you take the blame for her cause of action.”
“I guess so,” he said, “sure, I’m content I don’t have to worry about it any longer.”
“Worry about what?” asked Diane.
“I’m sorry,” Fred said, “Linda went out with her old boyfriend when we were engaged, had sex with him in his car, or van, whatever, she told me so, asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it, never brought it up to her as I promised I’d not do.
“She said she was very sorry, but it was just a word, no more I see, I should have realized she was not trustworthy, and that makes me gullible.”
“I didn’t know that,” replied Diane, a little surprised.
“That’s funny, you two talk a lot, and you and I talk a lot and neither one of us mentioned it to you.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, “that’s all we both seem to say, but when we don’t—both of us—understand why people do such things no use to say we do, all we can be is sorry. And that will have to suffice.”
“Yes,” he said, “I guess o, I should have seen it coming thought”
“Would you go back to her if she wanted you to,” asked Diane.
“No. I don’t ant to,” he answered.
Then here was a long pause, a silence, Fred had some tears on his cheeks.
“You don’t believe she really loved you?” Stated Diane, as if she knew something.
“No, not in the beginning, but I think she grew to love me in time, that’s what she said anyhow, until I got ill, and she fell out of love with me, somehow.”
“Maybe we should change the subject,” the woman said.
“Don’t you really think I loved her?” asked Fred, inquisitively.
“She came to you in the hospital, when you had your heart attack, and stroke, and I think that impressed you somewhat, but you two were fighting even then, that didn’t seem right.”
“She’s a funny girl.” Said Fred, somewhat, feverously.
“You were pretty up front with her,” said Diane, supportively.
“You have to let go,” said Diane with a salty grin.
“Yes,” he said, “I have to and I will:”
She was quite and so was he, she had held his hand for the second time, she noticed he was more calm now, more at ease, with her and with himself, more settled with talking about Linda, his anger, his hurt, but not yet his future—talking more freely about things he didn’t want to talk about at first, and somehow he was being healed and he felt it (while in this talk like therapy process, which really wasn’t meant to be therapeutic in nature, but was), a little more wholesome, less arbitrary.
His face was no longer pale no longer withdrawn. He looked his old self to Diane, handsome and witty. He sounded even better, his thinking was quicker, and something was taking place, and fast.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked Fred in a concerned and friendly manner.

Her daughter came through the door, said ‘Hello’ to Fred, and moved onto her bedroom, to freshen up.
“You don’t think you two will get back together, haw?” said Diane again.
“Distorted,” he said, “she’s twisted.”
“Fred,” said Jackie, from a distance, Diane’s fifteen years old, brushing her hair, “you’re looking very well, haven’t seen you in a long while.”
“Fred’s not feeling well, Jackie.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that, I’m going mom to the park, bye Fred!” Commented Jackie.
“Bye, Jackie,” murmured Fred.
The two, Diane and Fred, looked at one another, and then looked around the room, looking for more to talk about, words to say.
“You asked what am I now going to do,” said Fred, a little more energetic, and positive than when he came.
“No,” she replied, “you don’t have to answer that, you’ve been though enough.”
“All right, I’ll tell you.”
“You mean you got a plan already?”
“No, not completely, but somewhat, but I’m not going back to her. You’ll see.”
“Really…!” she murmured, leaning closer to him to hear what else he had to say.
He was looking at her real focused like, “You were too good for her,” she said.
“Yes,” he agreed, in a serious tone of voice, and more positive, his eyes became more alive, more at peace. “I’m a different person, I’ve changed, believe it or not, before I came here, and right now, even more so, I called my mother up, told her I was moving in with her if she didn’t mind, and she said she had a spare bedroom, and I called Brad up, a friend in Real-estate, I’m looking at a house to buy shortly, and my mother will move in it with me. I got some strategy I want to work out.”
“Yes,” she said, “I see you do, and you are different, a changed man, I don’t even see any revenge in your face, but I suppose success is the best revenge of all, kind of.”
“Yaw, I kind of feel lukewarm over all this now, and I suppose that is a good way to feel, not hot or cold, just blank, no feelings at all on the matter, let the manager have her, if indeed he can deal with it.”
Fred looked toward the door, said, “When I left her, or when she asked me to leave, and I was ready to leave, she was standing in the garage, I was about to get into my car, the garage door open, I really at that moment, really felt different, free, unburdened.”
“You’re right Fred; you do look different, said Diane, “more comfortable.”
“I said I was a different man, and I meant it, now I feel it, its true. Sometimes you can’t put your finger on it exactly, until you empty out the mind and your heart, you know those old seeds of metaphysical abstractness.”
Somehow his eyes went back to the door, as if he had things to do, better things to do than hash over new wounds that appeared to be aging quickly, “Look,” said Fred, “I really got to go, see about that house I’m going to walk through tomorrow.”
“Oh yes, yes,” said Diane, “it sounds like you’re going to be a busy man for a long while,” and they both smiled at one another.

2-18-2009 Dedicated to Diane (eh)