The Joke

For a few weeks, it’s everywhere. 

People talk about it. The news covers it. Politicians call for investigations. 

People gather on the Pacific coast. Friends, family, strangers. They light candles. They cry. 

When the President addresses the nation, he says, Tonight, as a country, we mourn those Americans who lost their lives on United Airlines Flight 838.

But Egret doesn’t mourn. Nope. 

She wants to. She tries. But then she remembers what Michael said before the crash.

The plane had been in a nose-down position for a full minute before the pilots regained control. Michael called Egret. He was screaming. He didn’t know what was going on, but he knew one thing for sure. He said, Egret, I never loved you, and if I live, I want a divorce.

That Michael—always pulling pranks. Egret laughed and said, Oh God, can you imagine?

Then the call was dropped.

***

Once, Michael said he was taking an art class. 

Egret thought it was great. Michael wasn’t the artsy type, and while it didn’t bother her, people held it against him. He worked at a publishing house. The place was full of artsy types, and not a single person liked him. Michael didn’t understand, and sometimes, it made him angry. But Egret understood. She said, It’s not your fault. You’re just not the artsy type. 

Weeks passed. Months. 

Sometimes, she’d ask him about the class. It’d be eight or nine o’clock. He’d be taking off his shoes, and she’d say, How’s the art class going? 

His breath smelled like booze. He said the teacher let them drink as they worked. Egret thought that was weird, but she liked the idea of Michael standing before an easel with a brush in one hand and glass of whiskey in the other. 

Sometimes, Michael wouldn’t answer her. Other times, he’d smile and say, You’ll see. I’m working on a real masterpiece. 

***

A few weeks later, Michael came home with the ugliest painting Egret had ever seen. 

Ugly paintings can be interesting. Egret once had a friend who collected bad art. He said that he never paid more than $6.66 for a painting. His kitchen was covered in them. 

Egret tried to imagine Michael’s painting hanging next to them, but it didn’t fit with the rest of them. Those paintings were so bad they were interesting, while Michael’s painting was just the ordinary kind of bad. 

When he showed it to her, Michael glowed with pride. He swayed a bit. He slurred his words. Egret didn’t want to be mean—he wasn’t the artsy type—so she told him she loved it.

She said, No really! It’s so good we should hang it above the couch!

And so they did. 

***

A few months passed before Michael let her in on the joke. 

They were fighting, but they were always fighting about one thing or another. She wanted more time together. He wanted more time apart. She wanted him to be more thoughtful. He wanted her to think less. Etc. Etc. 

Michael called them merry-go-rounds. Things would be headed in a certain direction, and he’d say, No way José! I’m not getting on this merry-go-round again!

Then he’d get on anyway.

Tonight, the problem was that Michael had come home late.

Well, not exactly. Egret knew that there were times when he’d just have to come home late—really, she did. But, she said, does it have to be every night? Do you have to stay every time they ask? 

It doesn’t happen every night, Michael said. Don’t be hyperbolic. 

Michael hated hyperbole. so Egret tried to reel it in. You’re right, she said. But could you at least text me to let me know? Is it really so hard to send a little text message?

I can't think about you constantly, Egret. I just can’t. 

Things escalated from there. She felt that he was being inconsiderate and inflexible. He felt that she was being demanding and intolerant. 

Amid the shouting, the art classes were mentioned. 

Egret was trying to make the point that there were larger forces at work. Michael worked late when he wanted to; he saw his friends when he wanted to; he took art classes when he wanted to. She said, I know that you think about me, I know that you love me, but I need to see it every once in a while. Otherwise, it can be hard to believe.

That’s when Michael started to laugh.

I didn’t want it to come out like this, he said, but the art classes were just a … prank, a little joke.

A joke?

I was out drinking with the guys!

He laughed again and pointed at the painting.

It took us an hour to make that ugly thing! he said. You should have seen your face when I showed it to you!

He slapped the table.

It was priceless!

***

Egret didn’t speak to him after that. 

She slept in the guest bedroom. She went to work early. She spent her evenings in bars and restaurants.

On those rare occasions when they passed each other in the hallway, Michael would ask her something, and she wouldn’t respond, and he’d say, Oh come on! Don’t be like that! It was just a joke! 

Egret was thinking about Michael. About their relationship. The joke was mean, yes, but but she liked that about Michael. She liked that he was mean sometimes.

One day, she stopped him in the hallway and said, I like your jokes, but they could be a little less mean.

And that was the end of it. 

At some point, Michael wanted to take the painting down, but Egret insisted they leave it up. After all, he was right. The joke was a masterpiece. Even if the painting was just the ordinary kind of bad. 

***

After the crash, Egret doesn’t know which way is up. She’s sad Michael’s gone, but she’s happy he’s dead. 

She envies those that are mourning. She wants to. She tries. 

She organizes a public funeral. She files a civil suit against the airline. She establishes a support group for the families of the victims. 

People are moved by the depth of Egret’s love. At the memorial services, the other families awkwardly recite prepared statements through reluctant tears, but not Egret. Nope. When she stands at the podium, her pain is in full view. She weeps when she talks about Michael’s intelligence, his competence, his drive, and of course, his impeccable sense of humor.

Before long, there’s less to do.

The news cycle moves on. The civil suit ends. A large settlement is awarded. 

Eventually, the support group peters out. Egret calls to check on the them, but they make up excuses. Weddings, appointments, vacations. They say things like, Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon. 

When they don’t come back, Egret worries. She calls them back, but now they don’t have time to talk. She caught them at a bad time. They really have to go.

When she persists, they say things like, Look, I don’t want to sound ungrateful—I just want to move on.

***

And then it’s quiet. The quiet is the worst. 

Egret tries to go back to work, but there’s so much quiet there. In between the sounds of the copier. In between the keystrokes. 

She works in HR at a tech firm. It’s in Silicon Valley. She’s responsible for the workplace culture.

She’s writing an email. She doesn’t know what to say. She stops to think.

Then her thoughts drift to Michael. To their wedding. To their vacations. To their jokes. They’re eating breakfast. They’re sleeping late. They’re making love. 

She quits her job. She stays at home. 

Thankfully, there’s no quiet at home. Egret uses the TV to drown it out. Her stereo is big. The bass blasts. The walls shake.

Her neighbors complain; they pound the walls. Eventually, the property manager sends an email. It says something about headphones.

Egret buys some.

She wears them all day. As she crawls out of bed. As she sits on the couch. As she orders groceries. Every night, she falls asleep with them in, and in the morning, she wakes to find them tangled in the sheets. 

***

Years pass. And then the quiet comes back. 

She can hear it just past The Real Housewives of Atlanta. She turns up the volume, but it’s as high as it’ll go. She finds herself thinking about the past, about Michael. 

A question forms. Did he love me? 

It scares her, but she’s tired of being scared. 

She starts a tally. She counts her memories. Michael is kissing her. He’s making fun of her. He’s calling her anal, controlling, codependent. 

The tally is messy at first. Unsystematic.

She starts over. She purchases a large, black ledger. She starts at the beginning. She counts everything, and before long, the answer is obvious: 

He never loved her. 

Of course, he never loved her. He said so himself. 

Egret’s hurt but relieved.

She cries. She drinks. Once or twice, she finds herself laughing. 

Strangely, she starts to miss him. She’s glad he’s gone, but she’s sorry he’s dead. 

After a few days, she can hear the quiet behind her thoughts, and now she welcomes it. 

She showers. She cleans. She cuts her hair. She makes an appointment with the ENT to check her hearing.

She asks herself how she could have loved a man that hated her.

Her first thought is denial, but that’s not right. She didn’t ignore his hatred; she loved it, needed it. In the bedroom, she needed him to slap her, strangle her, spit on her. When she was close, he called her names, told her she was worthless, and when all was said and done, she was left crying, panting, convulsing and, ultimately, satisfied. 

***

She wonders if there’s a name for this. She looks online and finds an article about codependency. It tells her to go to a meeting of Co-Dependents Anonymous. It’s like Alcoholic Anonymous but for codependents. They call it CoDA for short. 

The meeting is in a church basement. A few people show up. Mostly middle-aged white women. There’s coffee, Styrofoam cups, powdered creamer.

It’s weird to be out in the world again. But the people are nice. They welcome her. They tell her things. They tell her that codependents are too compliant and too controlling, that they love too much and judge too quickly, that they’re too eager to please and almost never compromise.

That sounds like me, Egret thinks. 

When it’s her turn to share, she says, Hi, I’m Egret.

They say, Hi, Egret.

She says, This is my first meeting.

They say, Welcome.

She says, I’m so glad I found this group.

They nod and smile.

After the meeting, somebody hands Egret a list of names and numbers and says, These are the members of the home group. Call us anytime you need anything—we all just love hearing from newcomers.

***

She gets a sponsor, a small woman named Frankie.

Frankie wears a fanny pack and Teva sandals. She slaps the table when she speaks. She says, I used to let men abuse me! Cheat on me! Beat the shit out of me! All because I wanted them to love me! And what do I have to show for it? Not a single fuckin’ thing! Well, I won’t stand for it! Not anymore! I’m over it! Done!

Egret can identify. 

She works the steps. She uses a workbook. It asks her questions like, How am I controlling? and, What signs do I see that suggest I’m in denial?

She writes her answers in the large, black ledger.  

Frankie comes over on Fridays to talk about them. They sit in Egret’s kitchen. Frankie smokes. She flicks the ash into a plastic water bottle. Ash gets everywhere. 

Egret doesn’t like it, so she buys Frankie an ashtray. It’s blue with a white diamond in the center and a little slogan written on it: Acceptance is the answer.

Next Friday, she gives it to Frankie who glances at it and says, Why’d you buy me this? To get me to like you? Well, you can fuckin’ forget it, because that ain’t gonna to happen! You can’t buy this old lady’s love! I mean, why are you even lettin’ me smoke inside? Put your fuckin’ foot down! Tell me to go the fuck outside! 

Egret feels that she has a lot to learn from Frankie, and indeed, she does. 

She learns that she doesn’t know herself. She learns that she hates herself. She learns that she should love herself absolutely and that she should find a partner who will do the same. 

Okay, she thinks, I can do that.

***

She starts to date. She finds men online. They take her to parks, museums, restaurants. They have names like Brad and Allen. They talk about their careers, their families, what they do for fun. 

Egret shows them her new hearing aids. 

It’s good to be out in the world again. It’s good to laugh and flirt. She sleeps around, and this feels good too. But these men remind her of Michael. They’re moody, distant, selfish. They don’t text her back. They just have so much going on right now. They want to take things slow.  

This isn’t working, she thinks.

She casts a wider net. She dates men that are ugly, awkward, nervous. 

Most of them don’t know what to do with her. One man doesn’t stop talking about his therapist. Another won’t shut up about the evils of feminism. He can’t be older than thirty. His hair is thinning. He’s eating ice cream, and in between bites, he says things like, You’re a woman. Do you really feel like men have all the power? Because I just don’t see it.

But a few of these men are gentle and kind. They want to hear more about her. They text her back. They buy her gifts. They’d like to see her again soon. 

One night, Egret is on a date with a man named Jeff. They’re at a restaurant. It’s a nice place. Farm-to-table. Good cocktails. Decent service. Nice atmosphere. There are candles on the bar. Edison bulbs hang above the tables from thick black cords. 

They’re a few drinks in when Jeff stops and says, So what’s wrong with you? 

Egret doesn’t know what he means, so he says, Oh c’mon, don’t be like that. There’s got to be something wrong with you.

Why?

Just look at you! You’re perfect! And let’s face it—you can do much better than me, so c’mon, save me the trouble. What’s wrong with you? 

This is working, Egret thinks.

***

In fact, it’s working too well. There are so many options. Jeff, Leeroy, Chester, Marcus. They’re all so sweet and kind, so gentle and sincere. She just can’t decide. 

Then, she meets Conrad. 

Conrad is young. In his twenties. He stocks shelves at a grocery store. His favorite food is ketchup. He plays video games but nothing contemporary. Mario, Sonic. He’s especially fond of a gamed called Golden Axe. It has wizards and knights and big-breasted women clad in bikinis wielding mighty swords.

His love for the game waxes and wanes. Some days, he plays it for six hours. Others three. He has never found anything he likes more than Golden Axe. 

Then, he meets Egret. 

He takes her to an arcade. A retro place where it costs only a quarter to play.

He’s walking toward it. He’s almost there. He’s nervous.

Egret is beautiful. He doesn’t know if she’s real. He figures he’s being catfished. That’s it. He’ll get a text soon. It’ll say something like, I’m on my way! I just need $50 for a taxi!

He hopes so. He’s not sure what he’ll do if Egret is real. 

Then he sees her. She’s standing in front of a neon sign. It’s near the entrance of the arcade. She’s wearing a skirt and heels. Her legs are long. Her calves are lean.

When she sees him, she smiles and waves. Her smile is warm. Her teeth are white. It’s the fall. A cool breeze blows. 

A question forms. How would she look in a bikini? How about wielding a mighty sword?

He pictures her taking a powerful stance, lifting a broadsword to the sky.

She’d look great, he thinks. Just great.

***

In the bedroom, Conrad likes to kneel before Egret with her legs spread apart. He stays perfectly still until she says, You may approach.

He moves closer. He puts his head between her thighs. He waits for her command until, finally, after making him wait, she says, You may kiss it, or, You may use your tongue. 

It’s called worshipping, and Conrad loves to worship her. 

Egret doesn’t like it, but she tries. 

When Conrad is done, Egret asks him for things. To slap her, spit on her, call her names. Conrad does his best, but he’s not very good at it. It’s hard to treat her badly. 

When Egret is done, she feels a profound sense of shame. 

She talks about it with Frankie. She says, Why do I still do this to myself? Why do I still need it?

Frankie says, It took you thirty years to walk into these woods, and now you want to walk out in thirty minutes? No way José! Let that shit go! Time takes time!

***

Outside the bedroom, things are fine. Conrad is gentle and kind. He texts her in the morning when he wakes up and at night before he goes to bed. When she wants to see him, he makes himself available. When she needs some space, he gives it to her. 

He buys her gifts. He says, This reminded me of you.

Usually, they’re a little weird. One day, he gives her a sweater with a bikini-clad women stitched to the front. Another time, he gives her earrings that look like ketchup packets. 

They see each other a few times a week. They go to restaurants, movies, art exhibits. 

Egret’s embarrassed to be seen with him. He’s young, awkward, strange. He’s conspicuously uglier than her. His sneakers are dirty. His jeans don’t fit. 

Egret talks about this at her CoDA meetings. 

She says, Sometimes, when he touches me, it makes my skin crawl. But that’s why I’m here! Because time takes time!

***

Egret isn’t lying; Conrad is really getting to her. The text messages, the gifts, the time they spend together—they make her feel loved but inspire none in return. 

One night, they’re sitting in his apartment. It’s a studio in Oakland. They’re on the couch. It smells like dirty clothes. Egret is swiping her phone. Conrad is playing Golden Axe. 

Egret says, Let’s watch a movie. 

Okay, Conrad says.

He turns off the console. He switches to a streaming service. He starts to ask her what she wants to watch when she slaps the back of his head. It’s a hard blow. His ears ring. 

He rubs his head and says, What was that for? 

But Egret doesn’t know.

***

The next night, she’s sitting in her living room. She’s thinking about Conrad, about Michael. She misses him, but she doesn’t want to. She looks at the painting above the couch. The one that’s just the ordinary kind of bad. The painting. She’s going to burn it.  

She takes it off the wall. It’s a warm night. A good night for a fire. 

She takes it to the backyard, but then, she sees something. A note on the back. Something scribbled in sharpie. 

It says, To my beautiful wife with all my love, Michael. 

In the apartment above her, someone is walking around. It’s the summer. A window is open. Egret isn’t far from the Pacific. She smells it. The salt on the air. She takes a deep breath. 

Then, a moment of clarity. 

She sees it. The answer. Ambivalence. She whispers it. Ambivalence, ambivalence. Yes, Michael hated her, but he also loved her! He felt both ways at once! 

Egret sees something of herself in this description. In fact, it describes her perfectly.

She talks about it at CoDA. She says, I just feel such deep sense of ambivalence about everything. My heart is always pulling me in two directions at once, always making me feel so torn. My whole life, I thought I had to choose one direction or the other. But maybe I don’t need to choose … Maybe, I can head in both directions at once. 

She looks up to find that some people are nodding their heads while others have narrowed their eyes. 

Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to me! Frankie says.

But what does Frankie know? Egret fires her. 

***

By this point, a few women have asked Egret to sponsor them. She tells them to throw out their workbooks. She says, Listen to your jealousy, your anger, your hatred. All those bad feelings. They’re trying to tell you something—so shut up and listen! 

She does the same. 

She sees that Conrad doesn’t satisfy her. Not completely. She says, Conrad, I’m unhappy. It was wrong of me to expect you to satisfy me completely. I’m going to start sleeping with other men. 

Conrad thinks about it and shrugs. Okay, he says. Then he turns on the TV. 

Egret starts having casual sex. She finds men that are angry and cruel, then she fucks their brains out.

She doesn’t look to them for love. For that, she has Conrad. 

Sometimes, she shows up at his apartment with fresh bruises on her face or neck. At first, Conrad worries about her, but Egret says, Nope, I wanted him to do that. 

After a while, Conrad smiles when he sees them. He says, Looks like somebody enjoyed themselves.

Then he gets her ice. 

***

Egret has never been happier. In fact, she feels whole. Complete. 

She starts a new program. Ambivalence Anonymous. She calls it Am-Anon for short. 

They hold their first meeting in a church basement. There’s coffee, Styrofoam cups, powdered creamer. Egret feels ambivalent about it, but that’s to be expected. 

The group asks her to write a new set of steps, so she does. 

Step 1: We admitted we were powerless over ambivalence—that our lives had become unmanageable. Step 2: Came to believe that accepting duality could restore us to sanity. Etc. Etc.

Egret doesn’t know what she thinks about them, but the group seems happy.

They smile. They laugh. They start saying things like, Don’t duel with duality! and, Acceptance is the answer—unless it isn’t! 

They hold meetings twice a week. Then thrice. Soon enough, there are meetings every day. Sometimes more than that. 

Egret teaches her sponsees to appreciate the duality in all things. She teaches them to see the good in the bad and the bad in the good. Her sponsees love her, and soon enough, they are sponsoring others. 

They ask her to write a book. Ambivalence Anonymous. It’s a slim volume that extolls the virtues of the program. Egret feels ambivalent about it, but that’s to be expected. 

***

And then there are more meetings. They hear of one in Los Angeles. And another one in Phoenix. Egret’s not sure how she feels about it. She likes her ideas, but even good ideas can have bad consequences. 

At the meetings, people treat her with an admiration she doesn’t deserve. There’s nothing special about her. She watches The Real Housewives. She has casual sex. She’s a masochist. She’s in love with a man whose favorite food is ketchup. 

She tries to explain. She says, Who the fuck am I? Do you see these hearing aids? I did this to myself! Do you really think you should be listening to someone who made herself deaf?

But the more she explains, the more people admire her. They whisper after meetings. They say, Did you hear Egret tonight? She doesn’t just embrace the duality in the world, she embraces it in herself! That’s some next-level shit.  

Egret rubs her temples, then she smiles. Who’s to say what’s right or wrong? 

Things continue this way for a while. The program spreads. There are more meetings. There are conventions. Egret is asked to speak at them. 

Sometimes, Conrad comes along. Sometimes, he doesn’t. He doesn’t feel very ambivalent about things. Egret likes this about him. She works it into her speeches. She says, The program isn’t for everyone. And even if it is, there are bound to be parts that aren’t right for you. We must accept the duality in everything, especially the program. 

***

At some point, somebody talks about an institute. The Institute of Duality. 

They build it in the Sonoran desert, in a town called Wickenburg. It’s an Old-West kind of place. There’s saguaros and creosote.

People come and stay. They learn about ambivalence. They work on themselves.

It’s a classy place. There are palm trees and tennis courts. Egret feels ambivalent about it, but everyone seems happy. They want her to stay. 

Sherry is the director. She’s an older woman. In her fifties or sixties. She says, C’mon Egret, this could be your home base! 

Egret resists at first, but then she gives in. She wants to bring Conrad. She says, Conrad, pack your things—we’re movin’ to the desert. 

They build them a house on the campus. It has big windows and extra rooms. Conrad has never been so happy. Egret feels ambivalent about it, but that’s to be expected. 

At the institute, she runs seminars. She works with sponsees. At some point, she invites Frankie to visit. 

Frankie runs a series of seminars called, Why This is All a Bunch of Bullshit. In them, she talks about the institute and Am-Anon and why it’s all a bunch of bullshit. 

People love them. They’re a big hit.

And before Frankie leaves, Egret cries in her arms. 

***

Meanwhile, the program continues to spread. 

Egret becomes a minor celebrity to a certain kind of middle-aged white woman. She doesn’t know how she feels about this, but the women seem happy. They say things like, I can’t tell you how much the program has changed my life, and, I have found so much peace thanks to you. 

Publishers approach Egret about writing another book, so she does. She calls it On Ambivalence, but the publishers change the title to Don’t Duel With Duality: How Embracing Your Ambivalence Can Make You a More Complete Person and Change Your Life. 

Egret doesn’t like it, but that’s okay. The publishers seem to know what they’re doing, so she doesn’t argue. 

There’s a book tour. Readings, conventions, speaking engagements. Conrad wants to come. They are scheduled to leave on a Sunday. 

The publishers charter a small flight out of Wickenburg Municipal Airport. Egret recognizes the pilot from the institute. 

It’s the summer. August. Monsoon season. Big storms form above the cactuses. Egret sees one in the distance. She feels ambivalent, but the pilot says, Don’t worry, Ma’am. I won’t let you down. 

***

Egret sees the problem only as the plane falls from the sky.

It’s duality. She liked it too much, accepted it too willingly. But that’s the way of things, isn’t it? That which we love always leads us by the nose. 

She turns to Conrad and says, I’m sorry. I love you.

Conrad is gripping the armrest. His eyes are closed. Tears roll across his cheeks. I love you too, he says, but Egret can’t hear him. 

There are screams. There’s a great rush of wind. And then it’s quiet.

Egret can hear it. In between the cries for help. In between the sound of the alarm. And as the ground rushes toward her, she thinks, Alright, Michael, I admit it. You got me, you really got me. 

C. Connor Syrewicz holds an M.F.A. in creative writing from Arizona State University and is currently pursuing a Ph.D. in English at SUNY Albany where he serves as an editor of the online literary journal, Barzakh. His creative writing has been published in a number of journals including, most recently, Bridge Eight and X-R-A-Y. His academic writing has been published in New Writing and The Journal of Creative Writing Studies. His research attempts to describe the sociology and psychology of expertise in creative writing. Follow him @_c_connor