“Get out (leave) right now (right now); It's the end of you and me”

Detachment came, but not neatly or with a bow as I had craved.

I expected it in early October when the third closing cleared and funds were dispersed. But it didn't happen. Then, when the first bonfires I built ignited and blazed in the fireplace, I was sure it would come. It didn't. Lastly, when the house thermostat dropped below sixty degrees and no one complained, I was convinced this was it.

It wasn't.

Frankly, his words haunted me. Following his arrest, he nonchalantly said, “This case will be dismissed. I didn’t do anything,” and “I won’t go back to jail. Even my lawyer said so.”

He was correct. On almost every. Single. Statement.

His case wasn’t entirely dismissed, but he didn’t go back to jail nor did he have to register as a sex offender. He simply got probation for eighteen months. That’s. All. Despite showing intent and eliciting a child for sexual pleasure, in which he was caught through a sting operation, the punishment laughs at the crime. The defendant and defense team smile and likely celebrate.

I facepalm.

He only lost me, our home, our dog, his in-real-life friends, and his reputation. He walked away without giving an apology or showing any other sign of remorse. In truth, we didn’t mean anything to him.

That realization stings. It's unjustly awkward, but still doesn’t equal indifference.

Righteousness came today. Finally. Twice. Or, maybe once with an encore.

I stand in what was once our bedroom, with its peach colored walls, a shade I never particularly wanted, but found compromise when I had suggested turquoise trim.

In the days leading up to this, I had already covered the turquoise trim with white and refreshed the ceiling. Just one step remained and I could hardly wait. I was as excited at the prospect of adding purple highlights to my hair.

Armed with a roller paintbrush on an extender, I welcome a new beginning. Like part of a vision board, I see more than just color on a wall.

The roller dances on its canvas. "Sleepy Hollow," a blue with gray undertones, inspired by my car, polishes the walls. In harmony, I dance and sing and rap with great emotion to the 1990s hip-hop tunes that blast through my cell phone speaker.

“Uh, here I go, here I go, here I go again; Girls, what's my weakness? (Men!); Okay, then, chilling, chilling, minding my business (word); Yo, Salt, I looked around and I couldn't believe this; I swear, I stared, my niece my witness; The brother had it going on with something kinda, oh.”

The windows are open, shades up, and I imagine my elderly neighbors, who despise me, muttering their displeasure under their breath.

The mood shifts to Kenny Chesney circa five years ago. It’s not hip-hop’s fault but rather the Brandy who created the Pandora station a year ago and accidentally tapped the button when the country singer’s name appeared as an artist she might like.

Soon, fun returns. Boyz II Men, Run DMC, Coolio, LL Cool J, and … Sugarland.

Whatever.

Standing before the finished first coat, I can’t help but smile. Detachment.

Finally.

My project to redesign the home is only a third of the way through, but already feels like me. The two rooms in which he chose the colors are repainted. Yellow and peach are gone, replaced by sage and a blue gray.

A few hours later, I stand on the back deck in the company of a few potted plants in the cool autumn air with a bright blue sky and gorgeous autumn leaves as my backdrop. I pull out the wireless “Monsters, Inc Mike Wazowski” lime green earbuds I purchased and charged yesterday.

They immediately sync to my cell phone and within minutes, I belt out "Get out (leave) right now; It's the end of you and me; It's too late (now), and I can't wait for you to be gone; 'Cause I know about her (who?) And I wonder (why?); How I bought all the lies; You said that you would treat me right; But you were just a waste of time (waste of time)."

With a red bandana still holding back my hair and paint-splattered attire, I forget myself and whereabouts, dancing in free-spirited energy. I remember I never would have done this if he were still here. In that life, I'd just grab headphones and go about the business of mowing the lawn, somehow keeping to his imaginary schedule.

No more. I have time to dance, be silly.

Be me.

Epilogue: I love walking into my improved bedroom. I go in there frequently, just to stand and admire its beauty. I can hardly wait until its finished.