The Modern Magi’s Gift

Five years. Five years, six months, eighteen days. That’s how long John has lived without knowing his father. True, he doesn’t know he doesn’t know his father. But I know. I’m painfully aware, every day. Because I have lived six years, one month and twenty-three days without Marcus.

I miss him so much. I’ll never see him again. That’s how it has to be. He can’t know – we had talked of marriage, but knew it would never really be possible for us. I had dreamed of a lifetime of wandering, three years in China, a pair of years in Africa, five years somewhere on the West Coast, four more somewhere on the East. He had dreamed of being settled, owning his own business, raising his kids in a stable home in some suburban small town ideal for families. We knew we couldn’t get married, because we couldn’t bear to think we’d force each other to give up our dreams.

That’s why I can’t see him again. Maybe he thinks I’m giving tours through the Vatican at the moment. He’s probably about to open a second or third branch for his company. I wonder what field his business is in. Maybe landscaping, and plants. He always did enjoy the green stuff. I wonder what he’s named his kids. How they’re doing.

What his wife’s like.

That’s why I can’t see him again. I want him to remember me as I was, but only in the back of his mind. Because I want him to keep building on his dreams, and he couldn’t do that if I were still a part of his life.

--

It’s been more than six years since I last saw Rebecca. It was one of those hazy late July evenings. We were standing between our cars in the parking lot of the movie theater. I was kissing her goodbye, but I didn’t realize this goodbye was to be our last.

“Reb, I want to marry you.”

She looked down, pressed her forehead against my shoulder. “I know. I want to marry you too… but…”

“Rebecca, look at me.”

She obliged; the eyes that met mine were on the verge of tears.

“I would follow you anywhere.”

“I know…” she said, looking down again. “And I’d be perfectly willing to stay with you right here. That’s…” Her voice broke into a sob.

“That’s why we can’t.” We’d had this conversation a hundred times.

“Marc, I’m going to leave tomorrow.”

The conversation had never gone like this before, though. But there it was. The full meaning of denying ourselves marriage: our relationship would have to end sometime. Apparently, the time was the next day.

She looked up again, and I kissed her like it was the last time. Like there was no tomorrow.

Because there wasn’t.

I can only hope she’s happy. That she’s uncovering centuries-old manuscripts in basements in France or making history in villages heretofore untouched by modernity.

I’m sure she’s doing something amazing, following her dreams. I’m sure she’s sure I’m doing wonderfully. She probably thinks I finally opened that Garden Supply Store. I had wanted to for so long. And then she left.

What would be the point?

I wonder if she’ll ever go back to Burketsville, try to look me up. I doubt it. She moved on and didn’t seem eager to look back. But even if I thought she might, I couldn’t stay. I’m not there anymore. She wouldn’t find me, which would be a mercy. She can’t see me as I am now. I’d much rather she remember me as I was.

I know I’ll never find her again. I don’t actually want to see her, much as I’d love to, because then she would see me.

--

I had known I would have to leave, sometime, for both our sakes. I didn’t know when. But I also knew I wouldn’t be leaving for a lifetime of travel and adventure. Without him, I didn’t care about the rest of the world. The whole place would have seemed so empty.

It still does. But at least I have John, who is looking more and more like his father every day. I adore our son. He’s the only reason I have to keep going. I don’t know if his two younger sisters – half-sisters – have yet noticed how much I favor him. If they will. I try to treat them all the same. A five-year-old, a three-year-old, one just past three months. I can’t treat them all the same. I try, for his sake. But sometimes when I see that face it’s so hard. Sometimes I wonder if I made the wrong decision. But I don’t think I would be able to keep living if I hadn’t.

If I hadn’t gone off birth control. Three months later, the pregnancy test was finally positive. It was what I’d been waiting for, but it was still agonizing. Because I had told myself I would leave, then. Because I wanted Marcus to believe that he was letting me be happy, that I was living my dreams. That was all we had. If we couldn’t make each other happy, at least we could let each other be happy. Life wasn’t fair to us. We just had to do what we could.

I moved to a little place half an hour southwest of New York City. Not too busy, but close enough to the city that it would never be boring. An ideal place to raise a family.

I met Keith within a month. He didn’t mind that I was already pregnant, which was all that really mattered. But he’s a nice guy. Moved down from the city a couple weeks before John was born; everyone thought he was John’s father. We didn’t tell them differently. We’re the only two people in the world who know. Marcus doesn’t know…

All Keith needed to know was that I never wanted to see Marcus again. I mean, I’d love to, but I can’t see him. Not like this. I just told Keith what he wanted to hear, that I never wanted to see Marc again. I said it. We were married when John was two months old. When I hadn’t seen Marcus in nine months and twelve days.

I gave him two daughters and the rest of my life. He gave me something to live for, even if he didn’t quite realize what that was: a real life for Marcus’ and my son.

I don’t have my dreams, and I don’t have Marcus. But at least I have the memory of those few short years when I did have them.

--

I didn’t ask where she was going. I told myself it would be better if I didn’t know. She would only have been there a couple years, anyway. It wouldn’t help me now, but I would have followed her. It would have broken her heart to see me like this.

I haven’t been able to stay anywhere for more than a couple years since I lost her. Places become too familiar, everything starts to remind me of her: how she’s never seen this, never been here, never tried that.

Sometimes I’ll meet another girl and fool myself into thinking that I might finally get over Rebecca, finally settle down; move on, like I know she has. That will last a few weeks, months at best, before I can’t stand fooling myself anymore. Before I have to move on again.

Six years of being blown in the wind, wanting to see her again, hoping I won’t. I don’t understand how she could have wanted to live like this. I know, if I had been with her, I wouldn’t have cared. But at least she thinks I’m living my dreams.

I’m not. All I know is that no matter what I accomplished, it would have meant nothing without Rebecca. I don’t have my dreams, and I don’t have her. But at least I have the memory of the time when I had both.

--

Marcus’s wandering eventually took him to New York City. He found himself in a pub, because he needed a drink, and he always enjoyed pubs.

Since the birth of her first daughter, Rebecca found herself regularly needing drinks, and she had always needed to get away from the lack of Marcus in her home, so she often went up to the city for an hour or three. Often dropped in somewhere. Often found herself in a particular Irish pub, that reminded her, enough, of Marcus. And that was what she needed. Enough.

It would seem surreal for the once-lovers to reunite in such a place. To reunite at all, really. But of course, they weren’t reunited.

He sat at one end of the bar, wearily glancing down at his drink every so often. Mostly, though, he was looking around the pub, even if it was more out of habit than expecting to actually see her. Rebecca never drank, and after years of running from her ghost, he knew he would never find her. It was only another ghost he saw, that figure slumped at the other end of the bar. She was staring so intently at her own drink that it seemed she would drown in it. It was only another ghost – this miserable looking woman; it was a ghost, reminding him why he was running. That ghost was how she would have looked if she had stayed with him, remained chained, given up her dreams for love.

She sat at the other end, wearily glancing around the pub every so often, but mostly staring at her drink. The drink was what she came here for, and to nurse her memories of Marcus. Seeing John every day sometimes eased the pain, watching him grow up. At the same time, though, it hurt so much, because he would never know his real father. Just as she would never see Marc again. She often thought she saw someone like him out of the corner of her eye in this pub, especially after taking a few drinks, and this time couldn’t possibly be any different. The figure at the other end was looking around the pub as if he were waiting for someone who was running an hour late and he didn’t really expect to show up anymore. He was a miserable looking man; no, it was just a product of her longing and the alcohol, reminding her why she was drinking. The man she saw was how he would’ve looked if he had wandered with her, remained unrooted, given up his dreams for love.