So, I've already slacked off on this Blogging thing. Mainly, its due to fatigue, combined with menopause and depression. After 23 years doing a job that I hated, I had decided to retire due to health concerns. It was that type of job that after 5 years you're vested and can collect a partial pension. After 20 years you can collect a full pension, so they got 3 extra years out of me.
Many people would kill to have that job. It almost killed me to have it.
I was never the girl who daydreamed of walking down the aisle to the arms of My Prince. I dreamed of living in Paris, writing books, plays and poetry. Or of being a politician, making a difference in the lives of my people. These were my attainable dreams. All I needed was an education. My Fantasy was to be a famous singer. I had the voice, and no stage fright. But that wasn't practical. I try to be practical. So I was satisfied singing in church when I was a teen, singing when requested by those who knew I had that talent, and karaoke when out for the evening. That, along with singing in the shower and in the car backed up with my I pod or the radio I was famous enough.
My sisters have both asked me, "when did you give up the dream?" It's not that I didn't want to be loved, or even married. But it only was a priority once, and I learned a few lessons when I followed that path. Lesson 1: Marriage is giving someone total access to everything you've earned and accomplished. It means that you really have to trust another person, not related to you by blood, with your life and livelihood. Not everyone is up to the task of trusting or being trustworthy.
Lesson 2: Love and passion are not always the things that marriages are based on. Again, its about material things. And superficial things. How one appears to society and community. Who can help you acquire the things that are supposed to make one successful. A home, children, a nice car, perhaps an investment or a business or two. The person that will make things comfortable for both of you, agreeing to share the process between you somehow. Lesson 3: God looks out for me even when I fail to look out for myself.
Most of the marriages I saw were plagued with violence and tears. I saw affection sometimes but mostly I saw people struggling to be heard and respected. Do I have to trade my voice for title? To be Mrs. Somebodies wife? To have sex and children? Not really. For security? I could provide my own financial security, present and future. Someone to grow old with? Not guaranteed.
This is not to say that I have given up on love. Quite the opposite. I just not convinced that marriage is the best place for love to survive. I root for love. I applaud those who get engaged, married and live happily ever after. Or even for a significant amount of time. Marriage takes a lot of work, patience and trust, for better or worse. But when worse comes before better gets a chance to happen, you have to cut the line and throw that shark back into the ocean.
My shark swam up from Mississippi.
I met him while I was working as a dental assistant. He was a security guard in the department store next door, and he was handsome and friendly. He had come up to New York alone, by bus, and he had 2 half sisters who lived on Long Island. He had that southern drawl that was so familiar to me, and a pair of hazel eyes that matched his smile perfectly. He could even talk with his cigarette hanging off his lip without it falling, just like my dad. He was street-smart, a quality which I grew to admire in him, because I was book smart enough for both of us. He came into the office with a swollen jaw from an abscessed tooth that could have been saved by root canal, but the expense resulted in an old fashioned extraction. I took his x-rays and set him up for the doctor to exam him.
Once the decision was made to pull the tooth, he asked that I stay and hold his hand, because despite being numbed and on nitro-oxide, he was scared to death. This was normal for many of our patients so it was no big deal to give him my hand. The tooth gave the doctor quite a hard time and it was a difficult extraction. Afterwards, I gave him the after-care instructions and made him a follow-up appointment.
It seemed like he was coming in at every couple of weeks to have another tooth pulled. My co-workers were in a conspiracy with him because he was always scheduled when I was working, and one of the dentists suggested that I go out on a date with him before he ended up toothless. Once I agreed, I don't think he ever came back for any more dental work. But he came in to see me everyday.
Finally I invited him to my place for dinner. I made lasagna and he brought over some wine or beer, I can't recall. We had a great time, laughing and talking til late into the night. He tried the rest of the night until the dawn to get me to have sex with him. When I finally gave in I could have kicked myself for wasting so many hours trying to avoid it. Such an amazing, generous lover. It was stunning!
Our relationship lasted 5 years, many ups and downs, but finally one day, he asked me to marry him, and before he had a chance to change his mind we went to the Justice of The Peace and took our vows. My mother and sisters had other things to do, but my brother, Jerryl and Aunt Ethel showed up to be our witnesses. It was a Thursday evening in October, and the Mets had won the World Series that year. He had been working for a private sanitation company and taking Commercial Driving Lessons. The plan was for him to be a truck driver which would mean that he would be on the road a lot, which was fine with me, because I would still be able to have some privacy and independence while he was away, and we thought it would keep things spicy between us if we had some time and distance between us. Our sex life was off the charts and I swore that man owned my orgasms. Life was going to be good and we were going to have the nice suburban life that most young couples on Long Island aspire to.
My neighbors came over to our place to help celebrate. He and one of the guys ran to the KFC and came back with food and drinks. After everyone left we spent our night talking, rather than consummating. I thought nothing of it, as I said we always had great sex. We both took the next day off, and spent a great weekend together at home. Monday I went to work as usual. By this time I had left the dental office and was working for a bank as a collections administrator. I had a car, so I drove myself to work and my brand new husband went off to work as usual. Things were going pretty nice at work, everyone was congratulating me and wishing me well. About two weeks later I got a phone call from his boss, asking me if I knew where he was. It seems that the sanitation truck had been abandoned on the side of the road somewhere, the keys were gone, and so was he. I had no idea what could have happened and he never came home that night.
The next day I came home to find that the apartment had been robbed and my brand new VCR had been stolen. I filed a police report and after the police left, he finally showed up. He was upset that someone had broken in, and had some suspicious tale about quitting his job in a huff, and that his boss knew exactly what had pissed him off. He had gone over to his sister's and had gotten to drinking and playing cards and passed out on her couch. He had waited until he knew I would be home to come get himself together to come home so that he could tell me about quitting his job. I was so shook up by the burglary and being worried about him that I didn't get into a fuss about him not calling and telling me that he was at his sisters'.
The following day he drove me to work so that he could use the car to go job shopping. At 5o'clock he was a no show. I caught a ride home and called a male friend to come over hook the cable up to the TV since the connection had been interrupted by the absence of the VCR. While the work was being done, in he walks, and starts carrying on like an idiot because "I had some n****r in his house!" I had never seen him at like that and couldn't believe he was ready to fight with this guy who was just doing us a favor. My friend told him that the only reason he was leaving was because legally he was my husband and that he wouldn't risk arrest fighting with him in the apartment. With an assurance that they would cross paths again, my buddy left.
Now the target of his anger was me. Never mind that he had my car and didn't pick me up from work as promised. I was going to learn what being a wife meant. He picked up a sledge hammer that I had in the kitchen and went after me with it. I dashed out of the living room and ran to the bedroom, locking the door and and pushing furniture behind it to keep him out. I screamed for help so loud and long, that later one of the women in the building told me her blood curdled. Thankfully my friend had called the police as soon as he had left and they were knocking on the door.
Mr. Street Smart refused to open the door for the police. Actually, he opened the door, but locked the screen door so that he could taunt the cops and that they could see he had no firearm. Meanwhile, I'm begging for him to stop what he was doing and let me leave. The police were telling him to let me go also, but they weren't busting down the door to save me. This went on for a while until finally he called for me to come out and go get his baby daughter out of the car. I had no idea that the little girl was in my car which he had parked directly in front of the building. To this day I don't know why he decided to give me that way out, but I was able to walk right pass him to the car. I opened the door and woke up the child who had been sleeping peacefully on the back seat. I woke her up and gently directed her to the door towards her father. And I stayed outside with the police. He became irate. But not irate enough to come out after me. He passed insults back and forth with the police who were fed up with his antics. They gave me a police report with their assurances that if they EVER got a call from to this address with anything involving him and me, they wouldn't respond, and I believed them.
My purse and house keys were still in the apartment and he wasn't going to pass them out to me. I only had the key to the car. After the cops and the neighbors left, I was alone. My neighbor, Mary, who had been with us just a few evenings back to toast our nuptials, and had left her own husband after years of physical abuse, refused to let me sleep on her couch, because she didn't want to be perceived as taking sides later when things between he and I calmed down. I was more hurt than angry with her. And I let her know right then, that I was not going to be her or any of those women that I had watched get their asses kicked every weekend just to continue staying with an abusive husband. Not me. I wasn't going to live hiding busted lips and blackened eyes.
She told me that I was talking crazy and that if I had good sense I would go back to the door and beg his forgiveness for inviting my friend over to fix the TV. She told me that his reaction was to be expected, and that since I'm a married woman now, I couldn't do things that I would normally do where male friends were concerned. I thanked her for nothing. I spent the night in my car.
The next day was some holiday that called for the courts to be closed. Katie, in the next building let me into her place to call my mother and tell her what had happened. My mom didn't even let me get past "hey mommy" before she started to question me about having a man in the apartment when my husband wasn't home. She didn't ask if I was okay, if he had hit me, nothing about me, her child. Apparently he had called her to get his side of the story in first. I couldn't even get a word in edgewise. I slammed the phone down, crying hysterically. Katie poured me a cup of tea, and handed me some tissue to blow my nose and wipe my tears. She sympathized with me, and understood that I was innocent. She also explained to me that the reason she hadn't come over to visit with me since the marriage is that "single women don't have no business hanging out in the homes of married women, especially when their husbands are at home." This was a foreign concept to me, for many reasons. I guessed it made sense in a way, but I had never thought about it before. When I told her what Mary had done, Katie just shook her head. She walked with me back to my place. He was gone but the door was locked. At least he hadn't taken the car, but my purse was still inside the apartment. I hoped.
The next morning I was at the courthouse as soon as the doors opened. I was granted an order of protection and told to have the police accompany me to have him put out. That was the first time I ever signed my married name to anything. I went to the police station and lo and behold, the same officers were on duty. They were more that happy to proceed with the court order. By the time we got there, Mr. Street Smart was home alone, and not too pleased to see the officers again. He protested that he was my husband and that he had a right to remain, even though his name wasn't on the lease and he had nothing to prove that we were married. He went searching for our marriage license which had only arrived a day or two before the explosion, but he couldn't find it. The police told him that he could explain that to the judge if he wanted to go up to the court, but for now, he and his toothbrush were leaving. If he needed to come back for anything else, he was to call the precinct for an escort. He left with them, leaving his keys, putting on his charming smile, and feigning amazement that I would deny even being married to him. I was relieved to have him gone, locked the door and located my purse, which was bereft of cash, but my ID, keys,wallet and lip gloss were still inside.
About 45 minutes later, I heard a voice outside of the door, calling his name, asking him where he was headed. Apparently the police had remained close by because they expected him to return. He joked his way out being arrested and left.
The next time I saw him was a few weeks later, on Thanksgiving morning. He stood outside of the bedroom window, calling my name, which woke me up. I looked out of the closed window and asked him what he wanted. He said it was Thanksgiving and that he expected that I would have been up getting the turkey ready, as I had always done. I asked him what he think I would have to be grateful for. He said he was sorry, and if I wasn't cooking, why not go with him to his sister's house for dinner. I refused and wouldn't let him in. He didn't look well. His skin looked gray and he had lost a lot of weight. He hadn't shaved in days and he was holding a brown bag with what was probably a beer inside, by the neck. I told him to go away and stay away. He left. I cried the rest of the day.
Within a month I was able to I change residences. My job changed locations and my car finally died. I rented a car for about a month and was able to buy a used Camaro at a great price. The only thing that remained the same was my phone number. I hadn't heard from him for quite a while, when I got a call in the middle of the night. It was him, crying and begging me to meet him at a motel he was staying at. He was homeless and in the shelter system. He confessed that he had gotten into crack, it had started the night of the marriage, when he had gone to pick up the food, the guy he had gone to the KFC with had bought some and shared it with him. And it just was downhill from there. He had been the one who had stolen the VCR and made it look like a robbery. He wanted me to help him. He wanted me to remember that we had exchanged vows, to death do us part. He wanted to make love to me again. He sounded so broken, so desperate, so lost. My heart broke as I told this man, who I had loved so hard, for so long, that I wouldn't come to him or tell him where I was. We both cried to each other, such pain it was almost suffocating us both. But I stayed firm and said goodbye. It was over. It had to be.
Because we had married at the JP I couldn't get an annulment. I had to wait a calender year to be granted a divorce, but I filed the papers as soon as I could. The fat lustful attorney misquoted me a low figure, so it was affordable, but I had to locate him to get the papers served. Neither of his sisters would co-operate, they wanted me to take him back. So, I decided to file a missing person report on him. This way, if he got into any trouble, the police would call me. And of course that's what happened. He tried to steal some steaks out of the supermarket and got caught. Some police officer was doing his job and called me. But I had to move quickly because some woman who claimed she was his wife was coming down to bail him out. I called the attorney and he met me at the precinct a few towns over. Whoever paid the bail made themselves scarce when the cops let them know that I was on my way. He waited for me, pissed off that I had reported him missing. And I let him know that as long as I was his wife I would keep putting in missing person reports on him unless he signed the papers of divorcement. He had the nerve to ask me if I was going to sue him for alimony. I laughed and informed him that all I wanted was my name back. He signed the forms and handed them to my attorney and then asked me for $10.00 so that he could get something to eat. I looked at this man who had once been so gorgeous, whose skin was now gray and whose hazel eyes were bloodshot and asked him how he had gotten that knot on the front of his forehead. He told me a spider had bitten him. The desk officer chimed in that he had been living a stairwell in an notorious apartment building in a drug infested part of town.
I told him to get $10.00 from whomever it was that had bailed him out. I watched him walk down the street, looking like Skeletoid, with his copies of the papers sticking out of the back pocket of the dusty jeans.
I never saw him again.
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