Tessie D

Friday is my last day of work. We’d planned to leave at the end of the month, and I don’t have the heart or courage to tell anyone how much everything has changed.

Angel came home last night, and we’re leaving, as planned, tomorrow.

He’s going to take me to my parents’ house while he goes to work at another farm in West Texas.

I felt such a deep loneliness, hearing him say all the things out loud that I’d always thought. He was putting it into words, telling the truth about what people think about me—women like me—things they never have the courage to actually say. Angel was just saying what they think, articulating how they feel. His consistency was cruel; there was no room for nuance, compassion, or forgiveness. I worried that leaving him now would lead to gossip, gossip that would make it harder for him. Should I stay? I was fighting the urge to run away, realizing that we won’t be living together, living the life that I’d begun to imagine. I had been holding out hope until this point, but it’s become clear that there is no hope.

It felt like an apt punishment for wanting too much, for thinking I’d deserved as much—not after everything that’s happened over the past two years. He said things that I’ve always thought and wanted someone to say out loud. He asked for time to come to terms with everything: my revelations, his disappointments.

I still love him. And I’ve realized yet again everything that I’ve lost—my hopes, dreams. But he reminds me that we don’t live in the world by ourselves. People talk. What will people say when they find out that I wasn’t the chaste, virtuous woman that they’d believed me to be? What will we tell our children? What will our children think about us? People might not know it immediately by looking at us—they’ll see an outwardly happy, good Christian family—but eventually, they’ll hear the truth.

I wanted to ask him what any of this would matter on a Texas farm. If what he wanted was a simple life, a farm, children, what did any of this really matter in service of those dreams? But I didn’t. I was too worn down from the past few days to bother.

I had a dream the other night. Angel was sleepwalking. I walked up to him, and he was murmuring, “Dead, dead, dead.” He picked me up and carried me outside into the yard. He carried me so tenderly in his arms. It felt so warm and safe to be with him in that way, and I nestled deeper into his arms. But then he began whispering, “My poor Tess. My poor, sweet Tess, dead.” We kept walking until we got to the creek, and I was afraid that he was going to drown me, but he moved through the water until we reached the other side. Then he carried me further along until we got to the cemetery. A grave had been dug, and Angel, still carrying me, stepped down inside, where he laid me down on the ground. I was afraid he was going to bury me alive. Instead, I stood up and pulled myself out of the grave and pulled him out after me. I felt light; the fear left behind me in the grave. I grabbed his arm and pulled him along with me back across the field, across the creek, and into the house. I instructed him to lie back down in bed, and I crawled in beside him.

I woke up feeling light, as if everything had been resolved and passed. But when I faced Angel that morning, his expression was the same as when I’d gone to bed. Everything was the same as it’d been, and I knew that it was all over. I knew what I wanted and what was missing. Faced with the finality of everything, I decided to go home. I could go back and live with Momma and Daddy. They’d be disappointed, and I didn’t know how I’d tell them the truth. But I could go home, and at that point, it was the only choice that I seemed to have.