GPS Death Wish

Short story: As a woman watches her husband die on an app, she plans for the future.

After a really tough few weeks of work and kids and other various bullshit, a few beers on the beach was exactly what I needed. Sun, booze, and a dip in the ocean would help me get a sense of sanity back - if only for a few hours. But Edgar was addicted to running. Not just a quick jog - but long-distance running. For him, 10 miles was a quick jog. And this being a Saturday - his long run day - he had to get in at least 15 miles. 

“Just wait a couple hours and let me get my run in,” he said as I was packing up the beer, ice, and kids. But I couldn’t wait. Janet was planning to meet me there in 30 minutes. We both needed this and planned the excursion on our own with little regard for our husbands, who we also wanted to get away from, even though we needed them there to help make sure the kids don’t choke or drown or find some other way to ruin our day. 

“Why don’t you just run to the beach and meet us there,” I said. “After your run, you can jump in the ocean and have a beer.”

I was surprised by how quickly I came up with this rather appealing-sounding counter proposal. And as I saw him think about how good it would be to feel the cool ocean water wash the sweat off his back, I knew he would agree. And so we left the house at the same time - me in the car with the kids and Edgar in his brand-new pair of Hokas. As I pulled out of the driveway, I got a notice on my phone. It was Edgar sending me a “track me” from his running app, so that I could see on a GPS map where he was on his running journey to the beach.

16 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 1:17 p.m.

It always annoyed me when he did this because it reminded me that I was not running. I used to run almost as much as him. But after the second kid and an epidural that I suspect wasn’t one hundred percent done correctly, any overly repetitive physical task was just brutal on my back. Thus, aside from a 15-minute jog around the neighborhood, which I hated, my running days were over. 

But that turned out to be a good thing. Well, somewhat. It’s complicated. Since I was doing less running, I decided to do more strength training. And because I never did serious weightlifting before, I got a trainer. I asked the gym for a woman trainer, but the only one they had available was a man. Once I met him, he seemed like a nice guy who I had nothing to worry about. He was cheery, plain-looking - a boring haircut and almost blank face. I have trouble even picturing his face right now. But as I got to know him a little more, well, you know where I’m going with this. I don’t need to go into details. 

To be honest, it felt so cliche, it’s almost like it didn’t happen - like I was watching a bad romcom or something. I will say, however, that I needed it. And that doesn’t mean I necessarily enjoyed it. I’ve had better, including Edgar. I just needed something new in my life. Maybe it could have been something else, like a new hobby or even a nice vacation. Maybe. But it wasn’t. It was a new man, a new body, a new dick. A new thing in a life that had become old, routine, predictable, boring. And it was just what I needed to realize I needed lots of new things in my life or else stagnation would kill me long before I died. 

12 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 1:15 pm

I glanced at the app. Edgar was now in downtown Coconut Grove, passing all the little restaurants with outdoor seating full of couples laughing and loving, while I was thinking about how cheating on him wasn’t the physical thrill I had always thought it would be. I had always imagined such a taboo transgression would have to be with someone so incredibly attractive and just overflowing with sex appeal, that I couldn’t go wrong. But with the trainer, that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t conventionally attractive and was mediocre in bed. Too careful, no confidence. Maybe some of that was my fault. Maybe he sensed my hesitation, my discomfort about being with a man who wasn’t my husband. Whatever the case, by the time it was over and I reflected on what happened, I was underwhelmed.

But I didn’t feel bad. There was no guilt on my conscience. I asked myself why and the only answer I could muster was that I didn’t love Edgar anymore. And I knew I would do this again because now I knew the lack of guilt meant I could cross that barrier with ease. But I didn’t want to do it behind his back, and I didn’t want a barrier at all. I wanted a new life. Even the thought of sharing custody appealed to me - a  feeling I never thought would be possible for me to have. But it would be something new. It would mean I was living a life dramatically different from the one I had. And hey, nothing wrong with dropping the kids off at Edgar’s house on Fridays and having my weekends free. 

10 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 1:11 pm

I looked at the kids’ reflection in my rearview mirror. They were being unusually quiet as they stared at their tablets with unblinking eyes. I once swore I would never be one of those parents who shoved tablets in their kids’ hands to shut them up. I wanted them to live in the real world, not in a virtual world tethered to the collective insanity of the internet. But the truth is, we’re all in a virtual world now. To deny them this fact is to deny them our true reality. And so I shoved the tablets in their hands whenever I could. The silence was worth the risk. And besides, maybe they’d grow up to be computer geniuses and it will all have worked out. 

I found a great parking spot right by the beach entrance and took out my phone to call Janet, who I assumed was already here. I was looking forward to talking to her about normal, everyday things like The Golden Bachelor and this one mutual friend we have who has been posting way too intimate details about her recent breakup for all to see on Instagram. Janet also knew about my affair, and she knew a little bit about my thoughts on divorce, although not too much. She probably thought it was more of a phase and that I would stay with Edgar like any normal woman would do. That was a good thing. I didn’t want anybody to know how serious I was about this. But before calling her, I checked on Edgar’s status. 

9 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 1:09 pm

Janet gave me a big hug and opened a beer for me.

“Finally!” she said. “I know you’ve been waiting for this.”

I wasn’t, really. I had never been a beer drinker and never got that euphoric rush of relief some people get when they crack open a beer after a trying period of time. But Janet was. In fact, she didn’t even need a trying period of time as an excuse. That’s one of the things I liked about her - she was an alcoholic, and alcoholics always make you feel a little better about yourself. 

My two kids and her two kids were around the same ages and got along great. Me and Janet sat under the umbrella with our beers and watched the kids play on the beach. I loved watching my kids play. Seeing them happy and occupied, without me having to actually participate, was a joyous feeling, knowing that I’ve created two little humans who can smile and have fun in the sun. But the fact that they were Edgar’s, too, sometimes annoyed me.

Because of these two little humans I loved, I would always be tied to him, who I also loved, but didn’t want to be with anymore. It’s weird how you can have no ill will toward somebody, even genuine love, but also want nothing to do with them ever again. I felt no hostility towards him whatsoever. I sometimes wished I did so I could know I felt something. But all I had was a total lack of desire. Nevertheless, even if we divorce, he will always be a part of my life because of those kids. 

Now I felt like drinking. I took a hefty swig of Janet’s beer.

“Whoa,” she said. “Somebody needs a real drink.”

Janet reached into the bottom of her cooler and took out a Herradura tequila bottle with green liquid inside it.

“I pre-made margaritas just in case you needed it,” she said. 

Just in case I needed it. Alcoholics can make you feel better about yourself, but they also try to blame you for their drinking. That’s okay. She was actually right this time. I did need it. I grabbed a plastic cup and told her to fill it up. She did and I drank. The so-called margarita was basically tequila with a little lime juice, but I had no complaints whatsoever. Just what I needed. I could feel the alcohol fumes waft through my chest and up to my head. 

9 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 1:45 pm

Like I said, I needed it and it felt great - so great I forgot all about Edgar. I checked the app and saw he hadn’t moved since the last time I checked. Janet didn’t notice the concern that came over my face and kept on talking about how The Bachelor should have never gotten rid of Chris Harrison, and how the show has been going downhill ever since. 

“He really was the backbone of that show!” she said with a little too much passion to not be tequila-influenced.

As she talked, I thought about what happened. Why would he have been in the same spot for half an hour? The corner had a Starbucks, so maybe he stopped in to get a pick me up, maybe use the bathroom. But that didn’t sound like Edgar. He hated to stop for anything longer than the quickest possible pee during his runs. 

Or maybe he passed by somebody he knew and decided to chat for a little while. That seemed a possible scenario Saturday afternoon - lots of people out and about in the city. But still - half an hour? Edgar hated to stop on his runs. He’d be polite and chat for a few minutes, but there wasn’t anybody he would pretty much abandon his run for.

Something was wrong. If anything, it was possible. The best way to find out would be to call. And so I did, but the phone rang and rang. No answer. I looked at the beacon map.

11 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 2:01 pm

The map showed he was moving fast and going south towards downtown, away from the beach. He was moving too fast to be on foot. He was in a vehicle and was not coming here. Where was he going? Who was he with? Why hadn’t he called me to tell me of this change in plans?

I was about to tell Janet what was going on, but she was going on a full speed drunken rant now, and it was best to leave her be when she was like that.

14 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 2:15 pm

Edgar’s dot on the map was moving slowly now, so it looked like he was out of whatever vehicle he was in. I zoomed in. He was at Jackson Memorial Hospital. My heart dropped. He must have been hit by a car when he was crossing that intersection. I remembered he had complained so many times about it - how people making a right on red - when the pedestrian walk signal was on - never bothered looking to their right to check for pedestrians and always plowed right through. 

Did it finally happen? He always said, in his sardonic way, that it was only a matter of time before he would be hit by a car. 

“If you run as much as I do in close proximity to Miami drivers - the worst in the country - it’s only a matter of time before one of those drivers gets me,” he said multiple times in multiple variations, sometimes with a dig at Cuban drivers.

“But it’s not their fault - they’re Cuban. Cubans can’t drive,” he’d say.

I told Janet I had to go to the bathroom and to watch the kids for me. Not a good idea to tell a drunk to watch your kids while they play in the ocean, but I didn’t want her to overreact and scare the kids. I got up and walked toward the bathroom and called Edgar’s number. No answer. I called again. Same thing. It just rang. If he was in the hospital, would somebody answer his phone? I wondered what the protocol was for that. If it was very serious, they might not want to alert family like that - you call your loved one and some strange person on the other end says they’re dead. And then it occurred to me: Edgar might be dead.

My first reaction was glad relief. And my immediate second reaction was extreme shame that I felt glad relief. I let the two reactions grapple with each other in some far off abstract realm of my mind as I stared into the ocean, watching my kids play and be happy. 

When you realize you no longer love someone you once did, there’s a grim and serious feeling in your heart. Yes, it’s sad, but it’s a reality that feels normal and very much there, like a task you don’t want to do but have no choice. And it’s eerily frightening because you never knew that you could harbor such ill will towards someone who doesn’t deserve it in any way. And only bad people do that, right? Good people don’t wish ill on people who don’t deserve it. But I didn’t feel like a bad person. Was I wrong?

I saw Edgar’s blue dot in the hospital and imagined him dead on a gurney - and that reaction of glad relief I had overpowered the shame, and I felt a quiet sense of happiness and excitement about the changes that were coming into my life. So many new things without any legal or emotional hurdles a divorce requires - no custody battles or split assets. Everything mine and everything easy. This was the best I’ve felt in a long time. Did this make me a bad person?

I looked around me and everything looked so beautiful - the palm trees were greener, the ocean bluer, the sand more sparkling. The buzz from the alcohol was gone now and replaced with pure joy, created by nothing but my own peaceful mind and heart. I had never felt this kind of tranquil euphoria, and I closed my eyes to savor it because I knew feelings like this didn’t last. I soaked it in, tattooed it in my mind so that I would never forget, and used it to ensure that I make the most out of the new life I had been given. If this did make me a bad person, I would be a good, happy person for the rest of my life, and ensure my kids live a good, happy life. Bad people don’t do that.

14 miles from destination. Estimated arrival time: 3:05 pm

No movement on the blue dot. I called again. No answer. I could feel that he was gone. 

As I walked back to where Janet was no doubt half passed out by now, I thought about my relationship with Edgar. What went wrong? How did I go from being infatuated with a man, from dreaming about starting a family with him, to being the happiest I had ever been when I found out he died? People change. There’s no mystery. I changed. And his death was the best solution for me to move forward in a way I wanted.

I sat down next to Janet and hugged her. The tequila on her breath was strong and I reflexively pushed her away. 

“You were gone so long,” she said, slurring. “I had no choice but to finish the margaritas.”

She cracked open a beer and handed it to me. I didn’t want it. I was savoring my own happiness. I gave it back to her.

“I’m good,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

She took it and started guzzling it down. I watched the kids. They would be devastated soon, but it would pass. They might even benefit from the experience. Become stronger, have more character. I would have to love them twice as much. I was prepared to do that. 

Honey?

I always hated the way Edgar said that word. Thank god I’d never have to hear it again.

“Honey!”

No. 

“Honey!”

I turned around. Edgar. Alive. Smiling. Breathing hard.

“You won’t believe what happened to me n the way here!”

He plopped down on the beach towel and Janet handed him a beer. They tapped cans and drank. 

He burped and grinned. 

“Listen to this!” he said. “This Cuban driver runs a stop sign, right?”

As he spoke, I started thinking of how I would kill him and make it look like an accident.