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The Listener
The Listener Amanda walks through the door, completely devoid of her usual spar She carries herself like a deflated balloon. “Woah. Amanda, what’s going on?” The question invoked tears. It looks like she’s barely been holding together. We sit down on the couch, I hold her hands, and I wait until she’s ready to spea “There was this big project at wor Spent months on it. I missed a bunch of my ’s football games. And” — her demeanor changes anger — “some corporate asshole comes along and takes all the credit!” This is a big blow. I know how much she deeply cares for her profession. “What?! That’s horrible. Tell me all about it.” She does, providing countless details I don’t fully understand. But the minutiae don’t matter here. She needs feel heard. She flies between abject sadness and righteous anger. Both are justified. I can see her expression becoming increasingly blank as the pent feelings are processed, felt, and released. By the end of a very long conversation, she’s emotionally and physically spent. I hold her in a long hug and allow her time find some calm in this storm. Eventually, she finds that calm. She gives me a big hug and simply says, “Thanks.” She stands and I watch her drive off. We have a strange separate-yet-entwined life. The life of married people having an affair. I can’t help but wonder if I was the first person she told. Did she tell before her husband or friends? What does that mean? In the end it doesn’t matter, so I shake away the thought. All we can do is take each moment as they come. |
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