I've tried explaining my sadness to Robo-Hubs for the last two years, he's just not programmed to understand my language. So instead of the Ex-Bot, I decide to describe my sadness to the professional listener hired to help us sift through our marriage rubble. At least he'll nod and pretend to be genuinely concerned.

"We were soul mates. I knew it from the moment we met. There was an instant connection between us, unlike anything I'd ever experienced before."

CounselPuff hands me a tissue. "How was it different?"

I inhale through my nose, making that nasty snot gargle. "You know all the love at first sight clichés you laugh at because they sound too hokey to be real? That's how it was different. It was like stepping into a fairy tale—like stepping into a magical world I thought only existed in books and movies."

CounselfPuff sits quietly with his forefinger and thumb propping up his head, waiting for my next sentence. Ex-Bot, on the other hand, stares blankly out the large window. His body is stiff as a board, like an ugly park statue. The room is silent, typical for our counseling sessions. I think CounselPuff is convinced the absence of sound is where truth's clarity hides. 

"I'm smart," I continue. "I'm careful. I don't jump into things blindly or foolishly. I research, compile data and weigh the pros and cons. But with the Ex-Bot it was different. I didn't need to know the history of his past or be given a report outlining the details of his future plans. I just knew. I can't explain it. I just knew I was supposed to be with him." I pause. Taking a breath I add, "Do you know what the tagline at our wedding was?"

"What was it?" CounselPuff politely asks.

"6—5—4—3—2—1."

"What does that mean?"

"The countdown to doom," the Ex-Bot says, apparently attempting to add humor to the situation.

He's a detached robot, I yell inside my mind. What did I ever see in him?

The Ex-Bot scoffs at my body language as I react to his comment. "There used to be a time when she would've thought that was funny."

"There used to be a time when my happiness was at the top of your priority list," I snap back.

CounselPuff holds a hand up to the both of us, but directs his comment to Ex-Bot. "Please—just listen. Don't think about how you want to respond. Just listen to what she has to say." Turning his attention back to me, CounselPuff asks, "Why was 6—5—4—3—2—1 the tagline at your wedding?"

I shake my head not wanting to continue. "Please," CounselPuff begs. "For yourself. Speak the truth if only for you."

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I would speak these words for my own benefit. I would speak them only to see what's on the other side of fear's door. "We got married on June 5, 2004. June is—of course—the sixth month of the year. So our tagline was: On 06-05-04 at 3:00 PM, 2 become 1." I wipe away the river now flowing down my cheek with the back of my hand, and whisper, "2 become 1. We were two hearts with one soul. We were soul mates. There was a time when it felt like we shared a single soul."

"Your thoughts? Feelings?" CounselPuff asks Robo-Hubs.

He doesn't move, still staring aimlessly out a large window with a view of a parking lot. Eventually he shrugs. "I don't feel anything."

It's because the feelings exist outside the realms of happiness and anger, I shout in my mind. You're such a robotic asshole!

This is what slaughters me from within. How can my soul mate not even recognize me anymore? That isn't how it works! Soul mates are supposed to know what the other is thinking without saying a word. They finish each other's sentences. Erase the other's pain with a glance or gentle touch. Yet my soul mate is as far away from me as he can possibly be right now. I'm an arm's reach away and he turns his back to let me die inside. I'm no longer the place he comes home to, I'm the situation he can't wait to run away from.

"Why can't you see me anymore?" I bite my bottom lip, fearful of what his response will be. Tears stream from my eyes and snot gushes from my nose. It's an ugly image. Pain is always an ugly image.

The Ex-Bot won't even look at me. He appears to be talking to someone on the other side of the window pane out in the parking lot. "We used to reflect back our best selves to each other. Now when I look at you, I only see a mirror image of my worst self. I'm sorry, but I need a new mirror. You don't reflect back an image I like anymore."

I can't breathe. Throwing the covers off my body, I wrap myself in a fleece blanket and slide out of bed—wandering to my front porch for some fresh air. The temperature is cool and invigorating—surroundings illuminated by an almost full moon. I curl up on my outdoor bench to absorb the stillness of the moment. Well, it would be still if my neighbors down the road would turn off their music. Why on Earth anyone needs to listen to Bobby Brown at this time of night, or ever, is beyond me.

A spider web hangs overhead, its silky strands glistening in the moonlight. I suddenly feel like a breathless pig gazing up at Charlotte's web. And like the big 'ol swine in the classic children's story, I find myself searching for a friend to talk to—or an archenemy. Clearly I'm not picky.

"I just don't get it, Fiddy Cent," I whisper in the direction of the sticky bugnapping threads. "I don't get why life constantly feels so damn empty and cruel. It's like my soul is lost and I can't find my way home."

Like an asshole, Fiddy Cent doesn't respond, so I continue the one-sided conversation on my own. "It's like I'm a big, fat pig—the punchline of other people's jokes. That's all I see when I look in the mirror, Fiddy Cent—an unlovable pig. Maybe I AM nothing more than the countdown to doomsday. Instead of reflecting beauty in mirrors, I just shatter them."

I can hear Bobby Brown's My Prerogative being carried on the gentle, early morning winds. Unknowingly, my foot begins to tap to the beat on the arm of the bench. Before I know it, I softly whisper the lyrics to myself.

[sings] Everybody's talkin' all this stuff about me
Why don't they just let me live
I don't need permission
Make my own decisions
That's my prerogative

Why is it I can forget what I ate for breakfast or the names of important government officials, yet I can remember the words to a song that used to play on my radio in high school? It's crazy. The information and images allowed or not allowed to go through one's filter of thoughts seems to be as mysterious as life itself.

In just a few hours, I'll learn how truly magical this very insignificant moment was.

I sit up and make my best attempt to inhale deeply. The fresh air has in fact made me sleepy, and I wander back towards the front door. But before I enter the warmth of my tiny condo, I look towards the spider's web and smile. "Why don't you weave some advice for me in your web, Fiddy Cent. I could really use a sign." 

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

"On 06-05-04 at 3PM, 2 become 1." That was on my wedding invitation. For real.

MUSIC: Bonnie Raitt. Can't make you love me. One of the worst feelings when you want something that's not going to happen.

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!
MarilynHepburn.com

(This chapter is a second edit)