Tess

A summary of a potential book I would like to write about a woman named Tess who has always lived her life for other people, but learns to live for herself.

My name is Tess, and I find my joy in service to other people. I just really like to make other people smile. One of my earliest memories was when I massaged my grandmother’s feet when no one else would because they were wrinkly and smelled like stale baby powder. She made me feel so proud and validated as I worked my tiny fingers to exhaustion rubbing her bony feet. Looking back, I lacked the skill and strength to do much for her, but I realize now that her joy and gratitude afterwards came from my willingness to try. I had no idea it was that easy, and the feeling of making her happy with me gave me a rush that I have never been able to duplicate. That didn’t stop me from trying.

            In school I was always the teacher’s pet. I brought each teacher an apple at the beginning of every week. In the hallways of my school I would hold the door for people and help dust the tops the lockers when our elderly janitor was having a hard time reaching. I volunteered to tutor in every available subject, and I always lead the annual caroling trip that my class would take to visit the assisted living homes. When it was time to go to college I would do things like help the professor pass the attendance sheets around, and sharpen everyone’s pencil. I majored in communications and got a job almost immediately out of college as a personal secretary for an executive at a PR company in New York. My kindness while in school was not something I did for the networking connections, but I certainly did not turn it down when I was offered the internship that eventually hired me after I graduated. My identity was tied in the way that I lived for others. This might sound horrible, and many a feminist has told me that I am living my life wrong, but I am happy. I am happy �" because I can make happy happen. It is my talent, my career, my hobby, and my legacy. I had no idea that it was also the thing that would ruin my life.

            During my senior year of college I volunteered for a program that offered to walk women home on campus at night. One team consisted of two people, and they would take turns escorting students home. Frequently I was paired with a guy named Josh. He was tall, lean, with dark hair and blue eyes that seemed to look right through me. He was a very kind person, and we would talk for hours during our shifts together. I fell in love with him, and he with me. We got married shortly after graduation, and moved to New York together. I had plenty of job opportunities for me here in Seattle, but Josh wanted to go to New York, and though it meant leaving my own family behind, I followed him there. All I wanted to do was make him happy. And I did, for five years I did everything I possibly could for him. He didn’t want children, so we didn’t have children (even though I desperately wanted them). He worked long hours and then went to bars with coworkers, but I always made sure that he had dinner served and waiting, even after my own long days at work. He wanted to stay in the city nearly every holiday, so I would go home to see my family alone. He didn’t want a dog or any sort of pet, so I just had plants. We worked well together, and I loved him with all of my heart.

            I still loved him the day he asked me for a divorce. We were at the kitchen table; the entire apartment lights were out as we had lost power from the storm that was currently raging its way through the city, all we had was a little camping lantern. Josh hid his face from me and wouldn’t look me in the eyes �" not that it would have mattered since we could hardly see each other in the dark. Josh told me that I just didn’t make him happy anymore. He said he fell in love with a girl that had dreams and purpose, passion and a future, and that somehow I had lost all that and just become this person who was selfless to a fault. I was selfless to the point where I had completely lost my self.

            I remember we just sat there in silence for a while. I didn’t cry, and he didn’t offer up excuses. The only noise was that of the wind and thunder �" and I looked out the window to watch the rain slam into the pane. My face was calm, like the air in the apartment, but my mind was not. I was angry. I was sad. I was hurt. All of it welled up inside me without warning and exploded out in angry tears. Josh just left. He didn’t hold me. He didn’t console me. He just walked out the door into the storm. Guess he thought he had better chances outside. I wept over the years lost that I could have had a child in, the weekends missed with my family, having to travel cross-country alone to see my family. I screamed and I wailed. I pounded my fists on the table. I cried harder than I ever had before, my tears splashing when they hit the ground. You couldn’t hear the thunder outside over the storm that was coming out of me.

            Eventually the weather cleared up, and I sat down at the table, exhausted. I had no tears left, no more anger or hurt. I didn’t even really know how to be angry at him �" it wasn’t his fault truly, he couldn’t even ask me to change because he knew that I would if it meant making him happy, and that wasn’t going to really be a change. Our relationship failed before it got started, we just didn’t see it. My whole life had been about making other people happy. It was fine and it was safe. I had boundaries, I had exceptions, and I always remembered to do something for myself regularly so that I could maintain a healthy balance. I was truly happy. When I met Josh I lost all of that, I wanted so desperately for him to be happy with me �" for us to be happy together �" that I forgot that I already the recipe for it. I rushed into “true love” with my very first boyfriend, and utilized all the years of perfectly balanced kindness to others to sponsor my trip into blind service to a man I hardly knew.

            When I moved to New York the need for Josh and I to work out became even more desperate because if we failed I would be completely alone in a city that I didn’t know anything about, my family too far away to help me. The day I told my mother that I was following Josh to New York, she cried and cried. My father and younger sister just looked sad. At the time I thought it was just because they were losing a daughter and a sister, but I realize now that the tears and the sadness were not for them, it was for me. They knew what was going to happen.

            I only wish someone had told me. I wish somebody, anybody, would have just told me to wait a year at home with Josh before moving across the country. Maybe if I had waited, I would have learned some things about him. Maybe, with the support of my family, when Josh said he never wanted kids, I would have been able to realize that we were not meant to be. Maybe, when Josh worked all of those long hours and then stayed out until all hours, my mom would have been able to hold my hand when I realized why he was avoiding coming home. Maybe, if someone had told me not to go, I wouldn’t have been sitting there at my kitchen table, alone.

            A few months later, after I had settled everything with Josh, I quit my job and packed my bags. I didn’t tell my family about the divorce because I was scared. I was ashamed about the lie my life with Josh was, and truthfully I was a little bitter as well. My mom never gave me any advice one way or the other about Josh, and it made me wonder if that was because she knew I wouldn’t listen, or worse �" that I would, but leave anyway. Two weeks before I was due to move back to Seattle, I was packing up things in my apartment. I had rented a small truck, and was planning on driving home, though I was not looking forward to going home alone. I called my parents and told them what had happened, and that I was sorry. There was a lot of crying and they asked me when I was coming home.

            Despite all of the closure I was achieving with my family and moving back home, I still had a feeling in my chest that kept squeezing me whenever I thought I might be able to get over everything. I couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or what, but the tightening got stronger and stronger the closer I got to home. In South Dakota I found a motel and pulled over. Aside from calling my mom to let her know of my delay and where I was, I cut off contact with the world. I stayed in that motel for three days. On the third day someone knocked on my door. When I opened it I was shocked to find Josh standing there. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I. He waited a few minutes and the stepped inside my room �" he had a small duffel bag with him. For a solid 10 minutes I just stared at him while he paced around the room, mumbling things that I didn’t understand �" then I started to cry. He held me in his arms as I sobbed and sobbed, and he just let me cry. Unlike the the stormy night on which our marriage officially ended, I wasn’t crying because of Josh, and I wasn’t angry or bitter at him �" this time it was all me. I was crying over the loss of my self.

            The whole time he comforted me, Josh never said sorry, but I didn’t need him too. He stroked my hair, he wiped my tears, he got me a glass of water, and did all the things that I would have done for him. I just needed someone to be there for me and take care of me �" and he did, without complaint or comment, for as long as I needed. I was lost, empty and alone �" I didn’t know who I was anymore. I had given everything to him, and somehow that meant I gave him nothing. He got things from me, but never me. We missed so many experiences that couples share in when they balance interests and decisions. He would have loved any child I gave him, even if he didn’t plan on having them. I liked plants, I didn’t need a dog. A little bit of balance, a little bit more of me, and maybe Josh and I would be in this motel for different reasons �" as a couple, as two halves of a whole �" and not a woman lost and the man who could never find her.

            Josh traveled the rest of the way back to my hometown in Seattle with me, and helped me unpack �" then he flew back to New York. We never saw each other again, but sometimes I think about him and wonder how he is doing. I don’t hate him. The end of my marriage was the beginning of my journey back to balance. I went home and became an English teacher to immigrants at a non-profit organization in Seattle. I lived with my parents for three months before moving into my own little flat near work, and I adopted a dog. I still spent a lot of time and effort helping others and being a part of the community, but I always check in with myself to make sure that I am keeping the most important person happy, safe, and well-provided �" me.

Author's Note

I would like to turn Tess's story into a book, but I would like to get some feedback about her first - is she a relatable character? Is her story one that seems realistic or overdramatic? Would you read this if it were a book?