Friday, May 25, 2012

Narrowly Escaping Escape

Apparently, once divorce papers from the estranged spouse arrived, all bets were off and we were “public” at that point.   He had begun to tell me that he loved me and I ate it up another little snippet of himself that he doled out to keep me happy and we were beginning to settle into a life I suppose; a crazy unordered life.

BT, (Before Tucker), I had been getting my children up and off to school, getting myself to work, coming home, cooking supper and watching movies or reading with the kids or playing outside or whatever.  We didn't have cable tv or internet at the time. Hell if I remember right, I didn’t even have a cell phone.  It was uncomplicated and routine. 

 I suppose that Tucker and his clan descending upon my household was an exciting change that was welcome at first but it slowly began to eat at me.  His teenaged son would come and go as he pleased and then his things were gradually introduced into my garage until I could no longer park my car there.  Tucker Jr. we shall call him began to move his clothes and various bags and boxes of things in until every available corner of my house began to fill up with random stuff.  I tried as best I could to make room and allowances but could not get him to share a room with my son much less his closet or space and invariably had a belligerent snoring teenager on my couch.  Next, the older daughter came and even more allowances and the other end of the couch and a portable closet in my goddamned living room and on and on.  My previously cute, ordered cottage was now filled to the brim with other people’s crap…and other people.  There was eventually a motorhome parked in my driveway that the teenaged son began to live in when we weren’t taking it on the road for various functions.

The next largest drama and what should have been the absolute biggest alarm buzzer for me was when Tucker’s two youngest came to visit; a boy one year younger than mine and a girl one year younger than my girl. They were all in a row at 6, 7, 8, and 9.  The aforementioned motor home had been parked in our driveway for some time and MY children had been firmly instructed by Tucker to NEVER EVER play in it for any reason.  After picking his children up from the airport for him, we pulled into the driveway to hear his youngest daughter say, “OOOOOhhhhh the motorhome, we can play house in that!”

To which my son, ever the hall monitor says, “Um no.  We are NEVER EVER allowed to play in it for any reason.”

Promptly answered with…”My daddy never ever gets me in trouble, I’ll play in it if I want to.”

All I could think is, oh dear Lord in heaven.  I calmly explained to her that we weren’t going to be playing in the motor home at all. Rules for some were rules for all and that’s the way it would be.  This was accepted at the time because Daddy wasn’t there to refute it.  He finally returned from whatever the hell was so important at the time and of course had a screaming reunion with his smaller children.  I would expect nothing less, however, the youngest Tuckerette immediately cast a sly glance towards my son and said, “Daddy, I want to play house in the motorhome!!” To which her loving father immediately agreed.

I could see the look on my 9 year old son’s face; what he beheld was treachery, duplicity and betrayal.  In his estimation, he had been let down by this man and folks; let me tell you, it was the beginning of the very end between those two as far as my son was concerned.  My son is fiercely loyal, a staunch protector and very black and white.  There’s not much gray area for him and it sometimes always gets in the way of trying to reason with him. He will stand up for anyone, even to his own detriment but again, he expects a lot out of the entire human race.  He had let this man into his house, accepted him as his mother’s mate and of the other two men I had introduced to my kids had given him the least amount of trouble of the three.  And now…it turned out there was a double standard that he wasn't as valued to this man as his own children were.  My son was hurt, disillusioned and pissed. 

He proceeded to be the biggest jackass you have ever seen in your life and really, I couldn’t blame him.  My attempts to intervene and explain to Tucker what he was doing to my children wasn’t fair fell on deaf ears.  Rules were rules and they should be followed but Tucker condescendingly explained that he only got to see his smaller children 2 or 3 times a year and he wasn’t about to spend the entire time disciplining them. 

Fucking wonderful.

This should have been the time that I made the difficult decision to separate us all.  I should have gracefully explained that my son was not well adjusted enough to deal with a double standard and nor should he have to and I wasn’t in any position to have to choose between them.

But of course I didn’t.  I was still in the throes of passion with this man who was beginning to take over my entire existence.  I still wanted him.  I still wanted him to want me.  I reasoned with myself that my son was going to have to learn that life is not fair. Sometimes things don’t work out the way you want them to but in essence our life was good. We would get along and no one really likes their step-siblings anyway and when he grew up and left I’d still have this man, this wonderful man and my child would be gone from me. That’s what I told myself.  I tried unceasingly to keep the peace between them.  Our lives spun ever more out of control with all that he demanded of me.

The check writing, the account juggling, the money in and out that he always seemed to handle even though it terrified me to write a check I didn’t have money for.  The double standards with the children, the longer he was with my son, the harder he got on him and the more we began to be at odds with one another. 

This, my friends is where it almost, almost went right for me.  We were fighting.  I was finally standing up for myself.  He left for a road trip with Tucker, Jr. and I did not cry for once.  I was glad of the time with my children alone.  I was glad for the solitude and did not care one whit if he ever came back.  We fought when he left, we fought on the phone, we fought when his older daughter and all of the smaller kids and I went on a road trip to meet them for the 4th of July. 

Upon our arrival it was the wee hours of the morning and the kids were all asleep in the motorhome. When we saw each other for the first time in a week, we fell into each other’s arms. We retreated to the guest house where we were staying and we made quiet, furious, passionate love.  It was breathtaking and magnificent and everything you hope that making love will be. 

When we awoke however, it was not all better.  We fought; I fought with him in front of “company” (our hosts)over his treatment of my son that day.  He was “humiliated with my behavior” and “embarrassed for me”.  We fought until I packed everyone up and we went home, leaving him and Tucker, Jr. there.  He arrived home 3 days later.  He crawled into bed with me and said he was sorry.  I was really not all that sure I wanted to forgive him.  I mostly wanted to extricate myself and my children from this wild ride I had paid admission for.

We still made love, it was the glue of our relationship and when it was good it was glorious but I still knew I would be crafting an exit plan. The Gods would not have it however. I was to be his apparently. The next morning he woke up complaining of shoulder and chest pain. 

He was having a heart attack. 


  1. The lovely Mina Klonopina recommended that I take a look-see at this blog. As always, she knows talent when she sees it. Your writing is beautiful and flawless! I can't wait to read more of your stories. Until then, I will be spending the rest of the morning pretending to work while I read your older posts;)

    1. Thank you so much. I love that you like it. Best day ever for me.

  2. I too have come here by way of Mina Klonopina and her facebook recomendation to come and read your story. My heart hurts for you. I had a somewhat similar marriage/addiction. Oh dear God it was painful as it all unraveled, but I have come through it.

    1. It's so funny that you say addiction because I have often equated this with quitting smoking. I've relapsed numerous times and am now using an electric cigarette. I just wonder what is the electric cigarette equivalent of a sociopathic husband? A shitty boyfriend? Ninja booty? It's probably chocolate cake.

    2. I love the comparison between the addictions...

      I think the equivalent to the electric cigarette would be fucking all of his friends.

      That's what I'd do!

  3. Ahhh Kelly, no fair skipping ahead.