The Good and the Bad

by jfclover

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I sit alone.  The love of my life is gone, and I’ll be forced to start over again.  But how many times can a man find the strength to get out there and show that he’s ready to move on?  It wasn’t that tough when I was a young man, but the years take a toll, and it becomes harder to find that same kind of energy to gather up the resources it takes to move forward.

As a young man, I would’ve fallen into my father’s arms and surrendered to the warmth I craved more than food or water or sleep or anything else that sustains a man and keeps him alive.  I didn’t need those things.  I only needed Pa to tell me that my life wasn’t over.  That this, too, shall pass.  That life goes on.  Those were the words I needed to hear.  Those were the words that gave me enough strength to begin again.

I’m not that young man any longer.  I can’t run to papa and have him pat me on the back and tell me everything will be all right.  Those days are gone.  I’m old enough to have children of my own and running to grandpa sounds even worse.

Moping isn’t the answer either, and that’s what I’ve been doing since she boarded the stage for San Francisco.  “I have business there, Joe.” That’s all she said.  She didn’t mention that her time in Virginia City was short-term. She didn’t mention a lot of things.  Being alone with her was all that mattered to me. Dinner. Plays. Riding through open valleys and down to the lake where we left all decency behind.

A lady who lacks proper decorum or rejects any fear of being labeled a wanton woman is a glorious individual that I’ve not come across before.  A woman who’s able to shed her clothing on a sandy beach and take off running into an ice-cold lake leaves me speechless, but following her lead.  Stripping down to my birthday suit and leaving my garments next to hers was a new experience for me.  I’ve never felt so carefree.  I’ve never lived so dangerously.  I’ve never been so happy.  I never told anyone how much she meant to me or how many times I wondered if she would spend the rest of her life with me. 

It’s not that I didn’t have those thoughts before, but every woman is different.  And so are men.  Pa and Hoss would laugh at me if I said that age and wisdom changed a man, but as I mentioned before, I’m not a kid.  I’m a grown man who knows what he wants and how he wants to spend the rest of his life.

“What’s the matter with you anyhow?”

Hoss is the first to notice.  I can’t pretend all is well, and sitting across from my brother at the dinner table and playing with my food like a fool kid is a dead giveaway.  I don’t know how to answer, and after sinking to the level of that fool kid, I lie.

“Nothing’s wrong.  I’m fine.”

I can’t tell if he buys my answer or not, but I sure as heck don’t want Pa asking the same question.  Sometimes, a man needs time to clear his head and work things out without having to explain, especially when he questions himself, when he questions his judgment and the decisions he makes.

I don’t dare look up.  With two sets of eyes staring at me, I want to excuse myself from the dining room table and disappear without having to say a word, but that isn’t the Cartwright way.  Even at my age, Pa won’t give up until a full explanation is laid out all neat and tidy, but I can’t do that.  I can’t tell him the truth.  I can’t disappoint him in that way.

When I finally get the nerve to speak, my words are short.  “Excuse me.”

“Joe?”

I leave the table and head for the staircase.

“Joseph?”

I stop at the base of the stairs but don’t turn to face my father.  “I’m fine, Pa. Just tired.”

My excuse is lame.  I didn’t work harder than anyone else, but I’m heading upstairs before eight o’clock.  I can’t sit at the table and pretend all is fine any longer.  Guilt.  That’s the word I try to stay away from, but that’s the word that’s driving me insane, that causes me to lose my appetite and forces me to leave the dinner table and upset the family.  Guilt consumes me.

Christina is a married woman, the cause of my overwhelming guilt.  That’s what eats at my soul and drives me to keep to myself, to keep the awful secret hidden from everyone.  Pa and Hoss can’t know how ashamed I am or how I’ve disgraced the family. Only the lowest of the low carries on like a cad and lets himself cross that line.  Me.  Joe Cartwright.  Upstanding citizen slides to rock bottom.

She doesn’t hit me with the admission of marriage until we are well into a relationship. In fact, we’re lying in her hotel bed when she slips those life-changing words into the conversation.  Heat rises through me as though I’ve been gut shot.  I can’t move.  I can’t speak.  A feeling of betrayal sends me spiraling into another world where I’m not the same man.  My life is a lie. 

She slips her bare arm across my chest.  Still, I feel paralyzed.  She moves her leg over mine.  She’s ready for more, but I can’t perform.  Why doesn’t she understand?  I’m not that kind of man.

I will walk her to the stage depot in the morning, and I will wave goodbye to a woman I will never forget.  As much as I try, the memory will remain with me forever.  That’s how life works.  The good and the bad.  The mind can’t choose what to keep and what to throw away.

The End

10 – 2026