Genesis

After five days of hemming and hawing, Dear Husband finally signed the divorce papers today.

We had agreed to meet on the steps of the downtown library at 3 p.m. I had no idea whether he would show. I got there five minutes early and sat down next to a paper shopping bag full of springform cheesecake pans - the ransom, so to speak.

(He had backed down on his earlier claim on all of my household electronic equipment after I sent him an email that must have burst into flames when he opened it. I think the subject line was 'I can't fucking believe you have the nerve to make demands.')

When he suddenly appeared in front of me, it was like seeing a vaguely familiar stranger. The goatee he's had since I met him had shrunk to a soul patch. But the difference was far greater than that.

The last time I saw him was about six weeks ago, when he came to the apartment to retrieve his things. When I saw him then, I wanted to press my face against his chest and feel his arms around me. In fact, that's what I did. Despite everything that had happened, he was still the person I sought when I was hurting and needed solace.

But today he seemed so alien. I couldn't ever imagine loving him or being in love with him. I couldn't remember spotting him across a crowded newsroom and feeling my heart flutter. I couldn't imagine waiting impatiently to tell him something exciting. I couldn't recall lying in bed with my head on his chest and feeling at peace. I couldn't imagine standing up with him in front of our friends professing our love.

He signed the papers and peeked into the bag that contained his beloved pans. My legs sprang up and started walking into the library almost of their own volition. The whole meeting took less than three minutes.

I thought I might as well get some books while I was there. I selected a stack more on the basis of color than title or author and headed to my car. I didn't feel the relief I had anticipated. I felt hollow and empty and alone.

Driving home on random streets, I happened to pass by the office building where my last job began with such promise and ended in flames, much like my marriage. It occurred to me that I hold in my hand the opportunity to renew myself. Sometimes we must be broken down in order to rebuild. This is my chance to make a fresh start.