The Unfixable

Wow! Has it really been 25 years? Sandi wasn’t my first love, but I always thought she was my true love or not to be corny, my soul mate. Marriage was a foregone conclusion almost from the beginning. I thought we had the perfect relationship built on trust, respect and love until now. It all started at Jennifer’s birthday party 25 years ago. Rob had told me about his wife Jenny’s ‘hot’ friend’, but I had yet to meet her. I wasn’t sure I could trust Rob’s definition of hot. He preferred his woman tall, thin and feisty. He’d attend fashion shows just so he could meet models. My tastes were a little more varied although I liked the feisty part. In any case, I wasn’t looking for a new relationship or to start dating. My breakup with Tania was still fresh. We were still in contact, and I held out hope that we could repair our fractured relationship. Tania had complained that I wasn’t emotionally available. So, after months of therapy and soul searching, I was wearing my emotions on my sleeve. A good friend described me as an open book with frayed pages. Still, Tania refused to trust my transformation. Maybe my pages were too frayed. It wasn’t a good time for me to meet someone new. I’d probably share my breakup story and start crying. After all, this was the new me-an open book with no end or beginning. I was still learning to navigate emotional boundaries. One could say I was in my emotional infancy.

Still, when I saw this red head with the radiant smile standing across the room. I was drawn to her. She had the type of magnetism that drew a crowd. Some called it charisma, others a magnetic personality. I just knew I had to meet her. There was something about her that made me forget my woes. Her smile lit up the room and her laugh chased away my darkest thoughts. For some reason, she seemed like the perfect antidote to my mood and problems. I had to talk to her. The crowd of what seemed to be fawning admirers blocked my way. I knew I had to be creative and patient. Patience wasn’t one of my strengths. So, I tried to convince myself that appearances could be deceiving. I’d probably have a different impression of this girl once we had a conversation. She was probably a superficial rock star or something, a Barbie or a Karen. Whatever that meant. I was talking myself out of approaching her when she left her entourage and bumped into me, spilling my wine.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. It’s dark and I was I hurry to get to the rest room. I really have to go. Let me relieve myself and I’ll return and help you clean up the mess. Again, I’m so sorry but I’ve got to go.” Sandi’s face was beet red as she rushed off. I was smitten. Stupid, I know but who can ever explain an emotion like love.

Sandi returned in a few minutes with a glass of wine and some wet towels. After handing me the glass of wine, she insisted on cleaning the wine stain off the wooden floor. While on her hands and knees she berated herself with a mix of expletives and humor.

“Sandi, you f…ing klutz. You could have chosen a better way to introduce yourself to this man.” Sandi then smiled and looked up at me. There was something about her…

I helped her up and smiled back. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have done it myself.”

“My foul, my responsibility. You were nice enough to tolerate my clumsiness with grace and give me time to pee. As you can see, I’m not exactly a paragon of grace and femineity. I’m Sandi, by the way.”

Sandi’s Jeans now had a wine stain at the knees and there was a hint of her pink panties just below her midriff blouse. Maybe she wasn’t a Barbie or Karen after all. I loved earth women. Her vocabulary also indicated that she was educated or at least well read. She became more interesting by the second.

I smiled. “I’m John.”

Sandi smiled back. “I know. You appear in many of Rob’s vacation photos. He’s been trying to set us up for months. I understand we both have broken hearts but yours is fresher.”

Taken aback, I didn’t know how to answer but I managed to say: “It’s healing.”

Sandi pursed her lips. “It takes time; for some, it’s longer than others. I should know, I counsel some of those people for a living.”

“Wait a minute! Is your name Sandi Statler?”

“Yup, that’s me.”

“Wow, you were recommended to me as a therapist months ago. I chose a therapist whose office was close to my house but your credentials were impressive. Harvard and Columbia educated, pretty impressive. Should I call you doctor?”

Sandi laughed. “Not unless you want me to call you doctor, Professor Martin.”

I was secretly pleased she knew my background, but I laughed and shook my head. “No, I’d rather you call me John or John Boy as my friends call me. One of them was a big fan of Little House on the Prairie.”

“Okay John Boy. You can call me Sandi or Red as my friends call me for obvious reasons.”

Our conversation just flowed for the rest of the evening. I felt like I was talking to an old friend or lover. We clicked. All my self-pity and longing for Tania was washed away. In a matter of weeks, we were an ’item’. She got me and I got her. She was the Aphrodite I had been searching for my whole career as an Egyptologist and I was… Who knows what she was searching for as a psychoanalyst? At best, I was an interesting and complex personality and at worst, a damaged neurotic shmuck. In any case, we were in love and seemed to share the same values. Sex was hot and conversations easy and interesting. So, one year later, I married her. It seemed like a wonderful dream that just kept recurring. The arrival of Jonas and Serena, two years apart, added color to the dream. My life with Sandi kept getting better and better until it didn’t.

Sandi’s practice grew and her hours at the office increased. She was also in high demand as a speaker at psychoanalyst conferences around the world. I tried to coordinate my digs and conferences with hers, but we spent many weeks apart. The kids were away at college and didn’t need much attention. Even when we were together, Sandi seemed distant. Ironically, I would describe her as emotionally unavailable. Our hot sex life became a no sex life. Finally, I suggested couples therapy. I knew as an analyst, Sandi had her own therapist. It always struck me a little odd that it was her suite mate Brett Bandler. But who was I to question her choices. Still, alarms went off when she suggested him as our couple’s therapist. In fact, I spit out my oatmeal at breakfast when she made the suggestion.

“Isn’t that a double conflict of interest? He’s your therapist and suite mate. I don’t think he can be objective.”

Sandi seemed unfazed by my objection. She just smiled. Secretly, it pissed me off.

“Brett is the best couple’s therapist in the city. He’s board certified in both psychoanalysis and couple’s therapy. As the consummate professional, he’d be fair and balanced and put aside any bias he had in my favor. Besides, he knows how flawed I am. I would think that might bias him in your favor.”

I felt Sandi was suddenly living in an alternative universe ruled by twisted logic. Either that or I was dealing with her doppelganger. Maybe I had seen too many movies lately. The Body Snatchers was one of my favorites. I began questioning my own reasoning. After all, Sandi was the therapist and had always been very ethical. Was I just paranoid? Something wasn’t right. Still, rather than argue, I acquiesced. We made an appointment to see Brett.

***

Brett’s office was different than I had imagined. It was bright and sunny but sparsely furnished. There was a desk, a chair and a bed or a sofa against the far wall. Surrealistic paintings that struck me as erotica decorated the suite. A potted palm tree stood next to his desk. He told us to take a seat on the sofa or was it a bed with a pillow and blankets? Something wasn’t right. Sure, psychoanalysis patients often lay down during their session, but this didn’t feel like a therapist’s couch. My skin crawled. I thought I was living in one of those creepy horror movies, but Sandi seemed totally comfortable. She and Brett clearly had a connection. How could this session be fair and balanced? Even Brett’s first words confirmed my concerns.

“Hello John. I feel I know you.”

I shook my head. “Superficial conversations during cocktail parties hardly count. I was usually inebriated and not myself.”

Brett laughed. “I’ll take that into account, but Sandi has given me a more complete pictures over the years.”

There it was! I confirmed my worst fears about seeing Sandi’s therapist. He’d only see me through Sandi’s eyes. I raised an eyebrow and lodged my first protest.

“Doesn’t that bias you?”

Sandi patted me on my thigh and Brett reassured me.

“No, no, don’t worry. After years of training and practice, I can put all biases aside.”

Something was wrong and I knew it, but I decided to proceed. We talked and he listened. His comments and recommendations seemed reasonable, so I decided to put all reservations aside. I have to admit that after a few sessions my marriage improved. Sandi and I spent more time together and she seemed more emotionally available. Still, something wasn’t right.

It wasn’t until I decided to surprise Sandi with some sushi and flowers one lunchtime at her office that it became clear. As I came off the elevator, Sandi was leaving Brett’s office looking disheveled. Either she had run a 10K or had hot sex. Even a naïve moron like me could figure that one out. When she saw me, she blanched.

“Hi honey what are doing here?”

I nodded, raised my eyebrows and smiled.

“I brought you sushi and flowers, but I can see that you’re busy.”

Sandi shook her head.

“I just had a disturbing therapy session with Brett.”

I smiled sarcastically. “I’m sure you did.”

It was a real gotcha moment, but Sandi was skilled.

“I had an epiphany about us, but it took some painful soul searching.”

I wanted to believe her and give her the benefit of the doubt, but it was difficult. Yet she was the love my life. So, I caved. Weeks passed and our communication improved but something was missing. Emotionally, I felt disconnected and our attempts at sex failed miserably. She made me feel like an unattractive lecher. I spent hours in the gym buffing up, dyed my hair blond and had one ear pierced. It only made things worse. When other women complimented my transformation, Sandi would admonish them. “Don’t encourage him.”

Finally, I needed a break, so I went on a dig in Egypt. It was supposed to last two weeks, but I returned home two days early, hoping to surprise Sandi. During the dig, I did some soul searching and decided I had the solution to our problems. I couldn’t wait to share it with her. I arrived late on Tuesday night. I knew Sandi would be in bed sleeping so I crept upstairs quietly to our bedroom and took off my clothes. It would be nice to spoon with my wife after nearly two weeks.

I was careful not to rock the bed or make any noise. Lifting the covers carefully, I crept into bed and snuggled with the body next to me. Something wasn’t right. The butt, the chest were not the ones I had known for 25 years. In fact, I realized after a few seconds that there were more than one body next to me. I sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. To my surprise and everlasting mortification, up sat Brett Bandler. Sandi, a heavy sleeper, just groaned. I stood beside the bed horrified but the look on my face must have frightened. Brett. He raised his palms and with a sheepish look said: “I know it looks bad but…”

At that moment Sandi awoke and sat up. It took her a few seconds to recognize the situation before responding.

“Oh honey, I know it looks bad I can explain.”

I was numb, beyond anger. My earlier suspicions that she and Brett were having extracurricular therapy sessions were well founded. Therapy couch, my foot. That bed in Brett’s office served two purposes. What a phony son of a bitch. He was breaking several professional and ethical rules. What would Freud say? Everything was about sex in his world so maybe he would approve. I had to leave and clear my head. My world had just exploded. I couldn’t help myself, but I kept entertaining myself with psychoanalyst joke to dull the pain. What do you get when two psychoanalysts mate? A neurotic mess! Two psychoanalysts walk into a bar… and so on.

I left the house and checked into a local hotel, licking my wounds. After a sleepless night, my cell phone rang. Sandi’s voice was penitent. I blocked out most of her words but when she said: “We can fix this.” My response was immediate and final.” I don’t know how to fix this. I can’t undo what I saw.”

Indeed, I couldn’t shake the visions of Brett in my bed or Sandi walking out of his office disheveled. If that was what psychoanalysis was about maybe I should have signed up in my twenties when I was young and horny.

I considered ruining both their careers by lodging a complaint to their professional board but thought better of it. My divorce lawyer used the possibility as leverage, and I left my marriage with a favorable settlement. I tried not to be damaged or bitter, but I developed a bias against redheads and therapists. My repertoire of therapist and redhead jokes expanded. I was the life of every party.

Two years later at Jennifer’s fiftieth birthday party, Rob interrupted one of my monologues by introduced me to a young raven-haired beauty She had the sort of magnetism, I had experienced once before. I smiled, shook her hand and left the party.