Ima Eat

I love to eat and I’m really good at it too. I’ve spent most of this year not eating as much though because when you get older, all those late night fried burrito binges catch up with your ass. They make things jiggle that aren’t supposed to shake. The first time I had a back fat wobble, I almost had to be prescribed a sedative and then I had a cheeseburger, which was my sedative of choice at the time.

So, I have been learning to like new things through the magic of low and no carb eating.  Last night after working my regular 9-5 and then another 4 at Home Depot, I was friggin starving. I hate eating late but the only snack choices available to me at Home Depot are cookies, crackers, candy or meat sticks. I stuck it out and waited til I got home and opened the fridge to peruse my choices. I settled on lettuce leaves smeared with hummus, topped with roasted chicken and a slice of cheddar all rolled up.  It was delicious and I didn’t have to feel bad about it. I’ve spent a lot of years feeling horrible about almost every bite I put in my mouth because when everything else is shitty, Ima eat.  However, now I’ve become a veritable white trash maestro of low carb snacks.

The only cracker, cookie or bread like substance that has zero carbs….pork rinds. You can turn these crunchy little fried pieces of pork skin that I would NEVER have previously eaten into all kinds of things. Smash them and make breading or use them for dipping. You can cover them with taco meat and cheese and jalapenos and have some pretty decent nachos.  All without having to feel guilty about it. Well I mean I haven’t had my cholesterol checked in a while but let’s pretend that’s not a problem right now.

Also hummus.  Omfg.  Hummus.  Who knew this shit was so delicious.  I mean I’ve eaten chickpeas in a salad as a child when held at fork point by my mother and yuck! But mash those fuckers up and throw in some tahini and lemon, garlic, roasted peppers and holy garbanzo beans, Batman! Deeelish.

I don’t feel deprived because I eat at least one cheat meal a week and there are weeks that I have an entire cheat day.  Thanksgiving was about 5 days of binging and cheating and I paid dearly. My digestive system went off the rails and I started retaining water and feeling all around terrible.  I didn’t gain any serious weight back though and two days back on no carbs and I felt all better.

This does not mean that I will abstain from Christmas binging.  It’s gonna happen.  The Gurl Child and I only have one tradition really at Christmas and that’s ball shaped food.  Ala’ Schweddy Balls. You’ve got your sausageballs, your rum balls, your orange balls, your cheese balls, your popcorn balls, your meat balls. Ever had a mashed potato ball? I have and it is baby jeebus in a ball shaped manger delightful. Whopper cake? 

Because malted milk ball scrumptiousness.

No matter what life changes I’ve made to lose weight or be healthier or just to feel better, I will never deprive myself completely of the things that I love.  Quite simply, Ima eat. 

Pride

Yesterday, I had a mostly great day.  It was long and punishing but I felt good. Everyone telling me my new hair is fabulous and I was wearing the Girl Child’s jeans and sweater and they both fit famously. I have been seeing a sweetheart of a man for 23 days now and got to steal kisses with him in the parking lot between jobs.  I worked a long hard day, headed home and pulled in to check my mail. I looked at my brand new car as I got out of it to walk to the mail box and I was actually….proud… proud of myself.

I have quashed that emotion my entire life. It was taught in Sunday school that pride goeth before the fall and so I took it to heart lest I burn in hell for basking in my own glory.  I also had the hubris squeezed from my little body by an unyielding mother and was forever behind her arm so my brother could pass first. We went to every football game he played but my regional track meets were just something that happened and scholarships and accomplishments were expected from me but lauded when my brother gained them. So I learned.  Do what you’re supposed to do and you won’t draw attention, good or bad.  I learned my whole life to not be proud of a fucking thing I did because that was presumptuous and just who the hell did I think I was?? I still fight the inclination today to not be proud; so last night, standing next to my mailbox, looking at my shiny car, wearing my teenager’s jeans and sweater with my fabulous hair…I felt pride and contentment. I was happy.

When I opened the mailbox I saw handwriting and without even reading it, I knew. Then I pulled out 5 envelopes, all from him, all thick and heavy. The pride. The happy. They slowly evaporated, lifting into the ice-cold night air as I stood there staring.  I said out loud, “Awww shit.” I looked up to see if any neighbors were out and about at close to 11PM. Not a soul but me and a stray cat. I carried my burden back to the car got to the house and threw all of it on the table and took a hot shower.

I came out and stared at the pile of mail and thought, Do I open it? Do I care? What the fuck can he possibly say in all that?  Maybe it’s drawings or something.

I separated all the mail and then proceeded to open it all. What I found were 71 front and back handwritten pages. Seventy…..One.  I poured a glass of wine, put on some fuzzy socks and jammies and pulled out a kitchen chair and started to read.  The first line was a double-barrel fully loaded guilt trip.

I’m not doing good, baby.

What followed was a listing of supplications for my attention, support, love and time. He apparently had corresponded with his parents who told him they saw me at his daughter’s wedding and that I looked great and he started in on that.

Why did you lose weight baby? You didn't need to lose a pound for me to think you were gorgeous. I love you, I've always loved you. Please don’t tell me you’re with someone else. I can’t bear to think of that.

He followed with worries about all the kids and more about how he loved me and at page 10, I put it down. I pictured the moment that he realized it really was going to be over.  Would he be mad or resigned? Would he quit trying? I know that in his mind all he has to do is get one tiny toe back in the door and he’s got it licked. There was a time after he was gone, that was probably true. I knew right that second that it was no longer.  I had spent the day thinking about my future and what I could do to make mine and my kids’ lives better, whether I’d find or had found that someone to get old with or whether it really would be me by myself forever and either way, I had a sense of hope and optimism about it.  Looking down at the letter on the table made me feel anxious and dirty and sad.

I didn’t finish it. When I got to work this morning I called the Department of Corrections and asked that he not be allowed to send me any more mail.  The woman cheerfully told me she’d take care of it and that was that. When I hung up the phone, I felt good and awful at the same time.  Relieved that I was never again going to open up my mailbox and find the sucker punch waiting to steal my happy but sad that I’d more than likely done the worst thing I could possibly do to another human being…erased his hope.

I know he doesn’t deserve me.  I know he DOES deserve to be where he is but I just don’t have the desire to be the cause of anyone’s pain. My best friend asked me how I felt when I told her I’d made the call and I said, “I feel a bit like I've just pissed on a burning kitten.” I got to feeling just actually like I was going to cry because I knew how badly it was going to kill him when he found out. It makes me feel like a shitty human being on a fundamental level to hurt someone and guess what? You better fucking believe he knows it.  So fuck him and his happy stealing. Fuck him and all his manipulative machinations.

I’m now shopping for seat covers for my new car…leopard or zebra???

Batter Up!!

TBone did make me realize that I enjoy having a warm body next to me and that I’m at least marginally loveable.  Rationally of course I realize that I am loveable but feeling it in your bones is something else entirely. The absolute best moments of the four months I spent with TBone happened when I got home from work one evening and kicked off my heels and began cooking dinner. TBone was on his way and I was making him a manly meal.  When he came in he looked just as lovely as always and he sat down at the bar to watch me cook. I came around the bar and sat in his lap where we began to make out like teenagers. 

Whatever was on the stove started to bubble and I jumped up to stir it. When I turned around he was standing right behind me and leaned over me and turned off the burner and said, “I’m not hungry for food right now.” He leaned in and kissed me and I felt the swell inside me that is described in every bodice ripping romance novel that my feverish little brain had ever devoured.  That moment made me feel alive. It made me realize my life wasn’t over.  It made me feel and even after all the not so fun stuff during our breaking up; I still want that feeling again.

Oh, there are the odd Murder Tanks about and if all I wanted was a roll in the hay, I could find plenty of FWB’s.  I want more than that but less than an all-consuming involvement. I did go back to that store by the way and he molested me by the Mrs. Baird’s. It was lovely and terrifying and exciting but he’s never going to cuddle up on the couch with pizza and a Shiner and watch a movie with me on a Saturday night.  He’s still so very many years younger and out partying every weekend. Murder Tank is good for feeding the ego but my soul would likely starve.

I stayed off POF because that’s where I met TBone and I didn’t want the cocksucking algorithms telling me he was my soul mate since I had already fucked him off. I thought what better way to boost the old ego than to get on a dating site and have hundreds of men tell me they love me.  Okay, so whatever. I set up the profile on a different site.  It was quirky and adorable and slightly flip.  I wanted to just cast the line without looking like I was on a husband hunt because the only thing I am crystal clear about is that husband #3 almost killed me and I don’t want a #4.

I apparently forgot to change the age settings to post-pubescent because within 30 minutes of posting it, there were about 5 messages from twenty-somethings wanting an older woman.  Most of them said I like an older “women” which made me shudder and dream of braining them with a grammar primer. I told them all I had T-shirts older than them and moved the age to an appropriate range on my profile.

I started an interchange with one gentleman who was very persistent.  His picture didn’t make me swoon or anything but I didn’t throw up in my mouth either.  I thought, you know, you gotta start somewhere, just talk to him. He didn’t offend me and he didn’t make overt sex talk right off the bat so we exchanged numbers and began to text intermittently for several days.

 

No reason except it goes with the whole baseball theme.

Meanwhile, somehow I was still fielding messages from youngsters and I had listed myself as a sapiophile so when I got a message from someone with a PhD in their username I was very pleased although I couldn’t figure out what discipline Thonology was and didn’t stop to Google it because I had a Dr on the line here for fuck’s sake.  We talked and exchanged usernames on Kik.  If you don’t know about how delightful that caca is, you should try it.  We exchanged usernames and I sent a message and it didn’t work.  I sent him a message back on the dating site and he sent, “Oh yeah, I forgot.  Take the PhD off.” When I do this I have the biggest facepalm moment ever.  It wasn’t Thonology he was a doctor in, it was THONGology.  Yeah. I’m a dumbass.  I blocked that shit directly and haven’t heard from the underwear doctor again.

In the interim, I’m still talking to starter date man.  We’re casually texting back and forth and yadda yadda and

I text, “Okay I gotta go to bed. I have to open the store in the morning and be there at 7:30.”

He sends, “I’ll be waiting in the parking lot for you in the morning.”

Me: Um that’s not creepy at all.

SDM: I’m just kidding but I can be there you know if you’ll give me a kiss.

WTF!?!

Me: Well motherfucker, show up with a taco and some hot coffee and we’ll see.

SDM: I’ll be there.

I went to bed fully thinking this man was fully full of shit.

I overslept the next morning and was racing to work when my phone went off.  I picked it up and read…”I’m here. Where are you?”

Ohhhhhhhhh…….fuuuuuudddgggggeeeeee. Only I didn’t say fudge.

I voice texted back that I was late and had to go straight into the store and couldn’t dally in the parking lot.

He sent back, “I’ll wait.”

Terrific.

I went in and opened the store and got all the cashiers lined out and then texted him and told him to meet me by the garden gate. And here he came, carrying coffee and a bag.  He was better looking in person. Still didn’t make me gaga but I thought he was sweet/stalkery/desperate for doing what he did and waiting like he did.  He gave me my breakfast and I apologized for his having to wait.  He leaned in close to me and I knew he was waiting and I kamikaze pecked his mouth and said, “Thanks! I gotta get back to work.”

I ran inside to microwave my coffee and breakfast taco. I had a text before I was through saying he thought I was a hot piece of ass or something equally offensive. I said thanks and he said,

“Well what did you think of me?”

I said, “You’re better looking than your pictures.”

His gentlemanly behavior deteriorated after that. The texting became progressively raunchier and more suggestive and when I just didn’t respond, he sent pouty texts as if I’d made a commitment to him and should answer to him; all of this in the space of about a week.  Long story longer, I was supposed to have a date with him tonight. The thought of it came in way behind a mani/pedi and taking the Girl Child to the mall with one of her friends, which is exactly what I did. My nails look fabulous and my panties and my dignity are still intact.  

Bachelors – 0. M - 1.  

Potpourri for $1,000, Alex.

So we’ve reached the point in our story that I actually started this blog in the first place.  About a month after I moved in to my tiny little house with the Gurl Child, two dogs and a pregnant cat in tow. I was still taking calls from Tucker but less and less frequently and still figuring out the “master plan”.  If you go back to Today, you can see that about a month afterwards, I was still hurting but couldn’t really explain why.

If you see Ripping the Bandaid Off a mere two weeks later, I was ready to be done with him….all the way done, I just hadn’t steeled myself as of yet. By three months further on down the line, I had decided to get the divorce done and you’ll see how that conversation went if you read Sugar Doll.

In the interim, I didn’t do much except work, try to get better jobs and eat. A lot. I’ve since decided to not wallow but dating hasn’t been super kind to me either.  I suppose I must learn my lesson from Starfish and TBone. Starfish was three weeks’ worth of I love you’s from a dude that seemed too good to be true and then turned out to be a batshit crazy motherfucker that had drugs literally mailed to my house.

Sweet, hunh?

We all know the ballad of TBone.  I am still having trouble trying to figure out why that’s bothering me so much except for the fact that I hurt him like I did.  I am a smartass, mouthy bitch but I still don’t like hurting people’s feelings and truthfully, I was still on the edge of “maybe this can work out.”  I was on the brink of “You ain’t getting any younger or better lookin and maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead.”  I’m thinking I would have pulled out of that particular death spiral before I crash landed but my MO usually entails absolutely hating a sumbitch before I get rid of him so… probably not.

I shall keep updates inserted regarding Tucker because I still get them from time to time from random and unexpected sources.  Just today, in fact, a Facebook message from someone long forgotten…

I’ve been talking to Tucker every day and he has been asking me to message and make sure everything is going well and that he loves you.  I understand if you don’t want to talk to him but I am just doing him a favor.

I mean he can sell nuggets to a chicken and get random people to do all kinds of things.  He’s good at it.  I’m sure we’ll hear more and he’s scheduled for release in November so I may be moving, who knows?

In any case, I hope you continue to visit while I sign up for stupid dating sites and go on awkward dates and raise the world’s most awesome Gurl Child.  

One Bite at a Time

I’ve often thought of the months that followed our exodus to my brother’s house in terms of a year.  It was really a little over 3 months but I had so much inner turmoil and mental thrashing about going on that it seemed longer before I ended up getting my shit together.  My brother was mad at his girlfriend and they were locked in a constant struggle and I invariably ended up in the middle of it. He came home much sooner than anticipated so we were all there in his house and I know he didn’t particularly enjoy the intrusion so I did my best to feed them well since Helena didn’t really cook and do my part to clean house, etc.

I spent my birthday there with them and despite all that was going on they tried to be there for me, to make me feel better. I continued to get phone calls and letters from Tucker. He begged. I cried. I tried to figure out what I was going to do and how I was going to do it. I was still getting phone calls from randoms telling me that I’d better watch out because Rangers or Feds had been asking around about this and that.  I tried to push it all to the back of my brain and just figure out a way to exist.

I started feeling like myself a little bit more every day but constant contact with him in the form of visits and phone calls left me feeling as if nothing had really changed.  I was biding my time and trying to figure out how to get divorced and what they would do with him, where he’d go once they’d charged and released him. Luckily for me all his bonds were revoked everywhere. Once he cleared his mess up in that county he began a county to county trek from jail to jail to answer for his transgressions. This meant I didn’t have to deal with him face to face any time soon and that was good news for me. I wasn’t strong enough to tell him no to his face.  His con was too good and I knew I’d give in still.

I alternately ignored his phone calls and took them.  After they transferred him to another county, I quit going to see him and I took my wedding rings off though occasionally I would look down and find myself wearing them and not know how they got back on my finger. 

Helena one day pointed to my finger and said, “I thought you weren’t wearing those anymore.”

I lifted my hand and gave a half smile, “I’m not. I have no clue why they’re there.”

I slipped them off and into my pocket and shook my head at myself. By the end of the day when I was getting undressed, I noticed had them back on again. I took them and put them in a ring box and put them in the bottom of my jewelry box so that they weren’t readily available to slip back on. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the jewelry box willing the sneaky little suckers to stay put.

I finally found a place to live close to my work and dished out the cash to get moved. Staying with my brother had helped but I knew it was going to be tough trying to cover every bill on the $11.86 an hour I was making.  I was still getting through to finish school and without a degree, it just wasn’t getting any better. Harlow and I had a place of our own nevertheless and with my mom’s help we got moved into a tiny 2 bedroom 1 bath cabin looking little house with a backyard for the dogs and a view of the trailers in the trailer park.

I felt accomplished and sane if only for a short while.  Bills piled up immediately and I thought about what I’d have to do to get through them to get by and started feeling that overcome, chokey, drowny feeling again.  Just like the day of the move though, I told myself one thing at a time, one day at a time. I don’t remember who told me first but I’ve always remembered when I start feeling like my head is going to explode...How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time. 

T-Bone

I met TBone on a dating site. When we made our date, I had every intention of meeting him for a drink and leaving.  The moment, however, that he rose from the table and towered over me smiling his dazzling smile, I was lost.  He was charming and good looking and that particular night snatched me out of the way seconds before a water leak caved the ceiling in.  He had been my knight in shining armor and we left the bar because he said, “I can afford to take you some place better where the ceiling isn’t going to fall on you.” We spent roughly seven hours together that night, the last of which were spent in my bed.  He was tender and sweet and attentive if not exceptionally skilled. I still thought he was wonderful because you know after all first times aren’t always magical and maybe he was nervous and it’ll be better next time. Boy oh boy did I want there to be a next time. He was just so good looking. I was overwhelmed by merely looking at him and it blinded me to anything else that was there. 

So it began, we dated. He texted, I texted, we Facebooked, we saw each other once a week then twice a week and internally I got crazy about him saying he loved me.  I didn’t give him the indication but I was going nuts inside my head over it.  Looking back, I don’t know what happened to me…the warning bells had already gone off somewhat. He smoked pot and a lot of it.  He lived with his dad and took care of him but the houses he constantly said were his were really his parents’.  His teenaged boys lived with his 80 something year old mother. He is retired and gets a pension from the Navy and he doesn’t have to work. I explained all of it away to good reasons just so I could get someone to treat me like I was worthy. I grew tired of listening to him sing badly to bad music. I hated watching the news every night when I’d already watched it that morning. I hated watching him “train” my cat by biting her on the ear. (Anyone who reads the Facebook knows that's the only pussy he bites.) He knew everything about everything and was more than a little arrogant about it. He literally did the touchdown signal when he was right.  He is a homophobe and turned out to be a bit of a bigot; I had to tell him to stop using the “n” word in front of the Gurl Child. Still, I tried to see the good because there was plenty of good too.  He cleaned my house, he bought dinners and groceries.  He brought me wine in the shower, he took me camping.  He did lots and lots of nice things that made it easier for me to ignore the bad stuff.

The night that I got drunk and unleased all my frustrations on him for the things he’d said and the ways he’d made me feel inadequate, he hung his head.  Defeated.  He put his face in his hands then raised it to me and said, 

“I’m just a stupid, stupid man. I’m so sorry if I hurt you.  I never meant any of that in that way. I love you. I want to spend the next 20 years with you.” I felt so awful for him right then because I knew. I knew that I didn’t want to spend the next 20 years with HIM.  I knew that he was sincere and that he was genuinely sorry that he’d hurt my feelings by mentioning my stretch marks, making cracks about my diet, talking about his ex every second. I knew he felt bad and so I prolonged the inevitable and I let him stay.

Every time he walked through the door and smiled at me I wanted so badly for him to be what I wanted him to be.  You just can’t force it. We had differing views on TV, movies, music, religion; you name it we didn’t match up.  I think we both wanted to feel loved and accepted, Lord knows I pursued him every bit as much as he pursued me. I remember the moment in almost any relationship where the other person does or says something that triggers this skepticism in the back of your brain.  A tiny hitch that gives you pause and makes you think, “Wow, where did that come from? That’s not cool. I don’t like that.” And you quash it and go on about your business because LOVE!!!! Oh my god…LOVE, LUST, ENDORPHINS!!! 

Even if I knew he wasn’t for me, he was a warm body. Even if the sex left me frustrated and irritated, there was still someone there saying that he loved me.  It had been a long time since I had real closeness with anyone and I feared I’d never have it again.  I’ve known for some time that it had to end but didn’t have the balls to say it to him because I knew it would result in that shitty talk that no one wants to have.

Luckily for me, I’m a moron who forgot about his penchant for trolling Facebook in bed before he gets up. 

One of my besties who likes my page liked this status this morning:

Same tongue in cheek crap I always post except I’m really trying to figure out how to break up with this man before he shows up with a ring at Christmas or something. TBone sees that Bestie likes Mediocrates status and sees the word TBone which he knows we call him. He taps on it and then responds with this:

My phone light goes off I see that he’s liked…wait…what? Mediocrates status?! Then I tasted the pennies in my mouth and my hands went numb. I wanted him gone but I didn’t want him to find out this way.  We had some back and forth via text and I apologized for him having to read it on the internet and then nada.  He’s gone.

I really hate that he got hurt more than he should have from my being flippant over the whole thing but it was for the best. We’ll both be better off in the end. I’ll be alone or whatever and he’ll find some nice confederate flag wearing chick that doesn’t mind that his pillow talk sounds the same as when he talks to the cat or that the number of times that he burps, farts and says fuck are numerous and plentiful every day.

I still felt a little like crying because I knew he was hurt and I felt like a giant asshole over it but I didn’t have to have the talk and for that I am truly grateful. I am again all at once relieved and adrift. I had never factored him into my future so he didn’t leave a hole but to him…from now on…I’ll be that chick that had a blog and talked shit on the internet about him to almost a whole thousand people. 

I had a LOT of Sangria.

I’m so drunk I’m not sure I should still be conscious.  We went to a dinner party and by we, I mean me, the Gurl Child and TBone. I drank a lot of sangria…that I made and brought and then drank most of...whatever.  He’s still here and I’ll tell you why later.  Suffice it to say, he’s a stupid man and he said those exact words to me and it moved me to not move him out of my life.

In any case, we went.  I drank.  A lot.  But… I can always say what I mean when I drink and I feel good about it.  We stumbled home from the fiesta and I got into the shower, my phone wailing music on the counter….me, flawlessly crooning alongside it. 

“WELL I’M ON THE DOWNEASTER ALEXA!!!!!!!”

Yes that shit’s on my playlist…fuck you.  Billy Joel is a legend.

Anyway…I open my eyes from my stellar warbling to find TBone’s smiling mug poked around the edge of the shower curtain.  He’s smiling with undisguised amusement and affection and I love him some more.  Still with the niggling thought in the deepest subconscious recesses of my mind. There she is holding a clipboard and marking off my inadequacies on a list she has clipped there with no amusement whatsoever. I hate that fucking bitch.  She’s always there, telling me all I’ve forgotten, slipped on, given in on, let slide and haven’t done.  She keeps me in line.

I digress.

I had been wailing with abandon and I’m sure the only thing between me and a million dollars is that I’m fucking a hot 6’4” ex-Navy bail bondsman and not Simon Cowell so he could be the clueless schmuck bringing me sangria in the shower.  Again,  anyway…I got out of the shower and found a text from my son.

Boi Child: Hello

Me: Hey my first born

BC:  What you mean?

Me: Sup?

BC: I love and miss you.

Me: I love and miss you too little man.

BC: Yeah so can I have my birthday present early???

Me: Maybe

BC: Ok well I found brand new tires and he said $150.

Me: Well we will see.

BC: Ok well I need the rim first and then the tires, hunh?

Me: Yessir.  We can work all this shit out.  Always.  It’s always a brand new day when you wake up my fierce young man.  Seize the fucking day.  Every day.

BC: Well this world is a fucked up place

Me:  Let’s make it better.

BC: What you do with my mom?

Here’s a kid that has been through hell with me and has no anchor. Here’s also a kid that upon meeting TBone’s gay son, poked him in the head and made him part of his group with no reservations.  Here’s a kid that still loves me even though he knows how imperfect I am. I may have fucked up a lot of shit but my son knows he can count on me.  It’s all okay.  It’s never too late to make it okay. We can always make it okay. 

I don’t know much…but this shit….I know.  I totally got this. 

Rock Solid

I woke up early that Saturday morning afterwards. People always talk about those blissful moments after waking up before realization of something terrible dawns.  It didn’t take me a few seconds to realize anything.  I remembered upon waking. I was alone. He was gone and I was alone.  Not that it was bad I guess but I was lost after 7 years of being at his beck and call.  I had been a strong independent woman when I met him and now I was a hollowed out husk.

I dragged myself out of bed and looked around at everything in that massive 3 bedroom house and wondered how the hell I was going to get it all packed.  I found some old jeans and a tshirt and put my hair up and went next door to get Harlow.  I hugged her so hard and she just kept asking me what was wrong. 

I thanked the neighbors and took her home and told her.  We have to start packing. Now.  Tucker is in jail and I’m not getting him out and we’re going to go and live with Uncle Wayne for a while.  I was stunned when she threw her arms around me and said, “Good!”

I looked at her in amazement as she said, “What school will I have to go to?”

“Well that’s kind of the good part.  You’ll have to go to Shay’s school. Uncle Wayne lives on the edge of the school district so you can ride the bus into Fredricks to go to school.”

Shay was Harlow’s best friend and had recently been taken to her dad’s after a horrible custody fight including a court battle where I’d been subpoenaed to testify against Shay’s mother. Harlow hadn’t been able to see her for months because we lived so far away.

Her 14 year old face lit up and she yelled, “WHERE’S MY PHONE?!?!”  I laughed then. I laughed a lot.  Guilt rushed in on me though as I thought about Tucker in a jail cell. I quashed it and told myself he deserved it and I wasn’t responsible for him or his feelings any longer.

“Well the bad news is that we have to start packing and get moved in three days.”

She didn’t care.  She was ecstatic and the thought of going to the same school with her best friend made her giddy. 

We drove to the store and got as many boxes as we could.  Helena showed up with more and we began to furiously pack and sort and burn trash.  I had to sort Tucker’s things out from mine.  I had horses to get homed and sold and when I momentarily stopped to think about it, I felt overwhelmed.  So I just didn’t stop.  Phone calls to people saying this happened and that happened, not sugar coating any of it as I knew that Tucker would want me to do.  I called and called…I have this horse and that horse, do you want this pony?  All in between mad dashes through piles of shit packing and tossing things. 

I called the crazy ass landlord and simply said, “I have to move.  Tucker’s been arrested. I can’t afford this place on my own.  Please add up what we owe and call me.  I’ll be living with my brother in Horne and I’ll be able to make payments.”

I was expected to be met with yelling and screaming and protestations of his being fucked over and surprisingly he just said, “Okay.”  I hung up the phone glad to have gotten that phone call over with.

 

After a few hours, Helena and I stopped packing long enough to sit across from one another in the kitchen at the island.  We sat smoking cigarettes and talking of what was still left to do.  Suddenly, Helena looked at me and then began to almost cry.  Tears in her eyes as she told me how she and my brother were having problems.  I felt a little overcome as she told me that he’d hacked her Facebook account and saw that she’d been chatting with an old friend that she’d been deployed with in Iraq.  I asked if she had cheated on him and she said that she hadn’t but her friend constantly told her that he loved her and she hadn’t put a stop to it.  She said that he’d told her he wanted her to move out before he got home from Iraq himself and she didn’t know what to do.

I sat there in my empty kitchen with my head about to explode.  Okay, so I needed to be selfless and give her some sage advice in the middle of this current chaos.  Fuck all, I could think of not one solid thing to say.  I let her spew and then said, “Girl, I got nothing.  If you love him, do whatever he needs you to do to make this better as long as you can live with yourself to do it.  If not, then tell him you’ll be gone before he gets home.”

She sighed and said, “I guess I need to see if he can get over it or not and I guess I can’t do anything about it now.”

We called Harlow from the back of the house and began packing and loading trucks again. There we were, a 14 year old, a tired ass 41 year old and a teeny tiny little 30 something, packing trucks and moving furniture and driving back and forth the 60 mile trips one way.  We did a fair job of clearing the house out the first day even so and by the time that day was over we’d made enough headway to sleep at Wayne and Helena’s the first night.  They had a huge room in the back of the house with its own bathroom that had two full beds and a set of bunk beds and we still had room for dressers and clothes.  Harlow and I showered and fell into our respective beds.  The exhaustion was abject and almost tangible.  I rolled over toward the wall and began to cry.

I couldn’t stop it.  I pushed my face into the pillow to try and muffle the sobs.  I was really really done and it hurt.  My entire being felt utterly smashed.  Ripped apart and fuh-rap-aaayed.  A million thoughts raced through my mind.   You’re free.  Truly free.  There’s no one now.  Just you.  You have to do this without anyone telling you what to do or what to think.  Hollow affection is still affection.  You’ll have none.  You need none.  You need some.  You’ll be okay without it.  No you won’t.  Fuck him, fuck every person seeking to pull things from you that you can’t afford to give.  Why are you crying? What have you lost? A man who sucked the life from you? Your whole being? No. You can do it.  You can do it all.  Alone. Aimless. Wandering. Lost. Weren’t you always alone anyway?

The bed sagged behind me and Harlow curled up to my back.  She began to rub my arm and hugged me to her.  “It’ll be fine, Mommy.  It’s okay.”

I stopped crying a bit and hiccupped, “I know, baby.  It’s just hard and he’s gone and I’m not sure how I can do any of this alone.”

She hugged me tighter, “You’re not alone, Mommy.  You have me and Uncle Wayne and Aunt Helena and Grandma and Grandpa and Granny and Freddy and if you ever go back to him….” she paused and I felt like something huge was there waiting for her to spit it out.

“What, baby?"

She sucked in her breath “...I’ll run away.”

My sweet candy girl said what I knew she meant I rolled over and hugged her back and said, “It’s okay.  I’m just getting it all out. I’ll be okay and he won’t come back.  I promise.”  I knew she was more important than him.  I knew that I was more important than him…we were.

Teeming thoughts crushed my consciousness but under all of it I caught the thread of sanity and hope and clung to it. It felt rock solid under all the other bullshit for the first time in a very long time. I knew that I could do it.     

The Last Time

We left Dairy Queen. I had worn heels to work of course and was trudging alongside Helena on top of 4 inch shooties back toward the garage where she’d left her car for the oil change.  I had cried all my makeup off and dug through my purse as we walked looking for a hair clip. I scraped up my hair and untucked my shirt.  It was 1:30 in the afternoon and I still had mountains to climb.  I peered over at Helena’s slight frame. She was short and tiny, built like a 12 year old boy really, but she exuded power and strength and I was so glad she was there in that moment.

I was still sniffling from my good long embarrassing cry and she reached over and patted me on the arm, “We’ll figure it out, you know we will.”

I looked down at the ground and said, “There’s just so much to figure out.  I can’t stay there. I won’t stay there and Harlow’s in school and I have no car. I mean it’s just overwhelming at the moment.”

We reached the garage and Helena went inside and came back out to tell me it would still be a little longer.  We sat on the hitching post bar in front of the tiny garage and I slumped. She gave me a cigarette out of her pack and we lit up and puffed. We sat there side by side in silence smoking and contemplating.

After what seemed a long while, she suddenly said, “Look, I’m not here to tell you what to do but I say we go figure out what’s up with your car, then we get Harlow picked up from school and get some supper. On the way back to your house, we’ll get some boxes and start packing and you can come and stay with me and your brother for as long as it takes to get you straight.”

Millions of thoughts scattered through my brain as I tried to put it all to rights in my head. I looked at her and asked, “Don’t you think you should ask Wayne first?”

She shrugged, “Nah. What’s he gonna say? No?  He’s not even home anyway and not due back for 3 or 4 months.  Chances are you’ll be all good and ready to go by then.  You got income tax coming, yes?”

I nodded and she continued, “Well there you go.  You can just pay whatever’s extra on the utilities and help with groceries and save the rest to get yourself straight and with your income tax, you ought to be right as rain in 4 months tops.”

I almost started crying again and she could sense it.  She changed the subject and began telling me we would be on the edge of the school district and Harlow could go to the “good” school.  I thought about my candy girl then and wondered how she’d take all this.  I thought about telling Freddy and how happy he’d be that there was no more Tucker. Then I thought of Tucker.  Locked up and safely gone from my life…maybe I could do this.

We got her car and went to the impound lot.  It was an auto parts store with a lot in the back and I could see the loaner car the dealership had given me when I pulled up, locked safely behind the chain link and barbed wire.  Getting my car out of law enforcement initiated impound ought to be easy and cheap… said no one ever.

I went in and up to the counter and said what sounded unbelievable to my own ears and made me feel like trash, “My husband was arrested and you impounded my car.”

The man asked for my name and then rudely told me that there were no cars registered to me on the property.

“I know that but it’s a loaner from the dealership while they work on my car.”

He cocked an eyebrow and said, “Well then the dealership is going to have to authorize you to get it in writing or send someone after it.”

My heart sank but I quickly asked, “How much is the charge?”  He went through an itemized spiel about each and every charge and I’m thinking, just bottom line it dickhole.

“Grand total is $293.38.” He sounded so pleased with himself.  I told him I needed to make some phone calls and he looked very unimpressed.

I called first, my stepmother. “Hey.” I began tentatively.

She heard the apprehension and panic in the one word I’d uttered and her answer was as tentative as mine, “Hey.”

“Um, Tucker’s been arrested.  He was writing payroll checks to himself on my old ranch account and he’s locked up until at least Tuesday.  They took the car and impounded it and I have no money to get it out.  Helena’s going to help me move out but first we have to get the car situation taken care of.  Can I borrow the money until my next check or until the next one or income tax or something so I can do this?”

I don’t remember exactly everything but I do know that the fact that I was willing to leave Tucker loosened the purse strings on the other end.  She gave them her credit card number over the phone to pay the impound fee and then I had to call the car lot.

They were wonderful to me.  They had dealings with Tucker previously on his repossessed truck and none of them liked him.  They sent a worker over with a car and a statement.  He picked up the loaner, gave me the keys to the car he was driving and he, Helena and I all caravanned back to town to the dealership.

The owner of the local lot and about 5 more in the surrounding areas happened to be there that day.  He was slightly shorter than me in my heels, muscle bound and completely bald.  He looked a little scary but came right up as we arrived and shook my hand.  He said, “The next time this happens, I don’t want it to be my problem. I want it to be yours, so we’re going to get you into something today.”

I smiled and told him he could rest assured that this particular problem would not be happening again. He smiled and loaded up in his truck and left. What followed was 4 ½ hours of paperwork and waiting and test driving and just general tortures.  I was standing outside and calling Harlow to tell her to go to the neighbors’ until I could get home when the phone signaled an incoming call.  When I looked at the number, I knew.  I knew it was him.

I told Harlow I’d check in with her later and I clicked over. “Hello.”

“Oh baby!! Are you okay? I was so scared but it’s gonna be alright, I need you to call…”

I cut him off. “You NEED me to call? You NEED me to do what?! No I’m not okay and what the fuck is wrong with you?  You can’t possibly think that only months after getting me out of the last mess you got me into that I’d be fine with you potentially getting me into an even bigger one?”

“Baby, I’m so sorry, I told them you had nothing to do with it. They know it was all me.  This can be all fixed and I can get out of here if you...”

I stopped him again. “Do you have any idea what I’m doing right now?”

“No.”

“I’m standing outside the car dealership trying to figure out what they’re going to do about getting me something to drive that they don’t have to worry with the next time it’s impounded.  I’m trying to figure out how to pay bills and rent and food for my daughter with the negative 2 bucks you’ve left in my account and the whopping 2 dollars in my purse.  I’m trying to figure out how clear out of this cluster fuck of a situation. I’m not real worried about what YOU need me to do right now.  You can rot where you are for all I care.”

And I hung up.

I was shaking. I hadn’t really committed to leaving him high and dry before, not ever and here I was doing it.

He called back several times over the course of that visit to the car lot.  By the time I drove out with my “new” truck, I had just silenced my phone.  Helena went home and promised to be over the next day with my brother’s truck to help me pack.

I called Harlow and check on her and drove home and dragged myself into the shower and crawled into bed, our empty bed.  He wasn’t going to be sleeping beside me any longer.  I was alone again, really alone.  No more sex I didn’t want.  No more sex I DID want. No more bad. No more good from him.  No more of any of it.  I knew it, I felt it.  I started crying again but this time it was not the silent humiliation in the Dairy Queen. I was glad Harlow wasn’t home because it was out and out wracking sobs.  You never know when the last time will turn out to be the last time until it just is.

State of Disgrace

The rest of the year continued like this.  Me going to court every month, occasionally the constable dropping by to serve eviction papers until Tucker bullshitted the landlord into taking yet another partial payment, me feeling sick all day every day wondering how to get the fuck out. 

November reared its ugly head and something miraculous happened.  Tucker somehow managed to come up with $10,000 and pay the court and all my charges were dismissed.  I couldn’t fucking believe he’d done it.  Where did he get $10,000? I don’t know and what’s more I didn’t give a shit.  He did it.  I was free.  Now I just had to make my escape and I was figuring that I’d be able to do it by the first of the year if I was lucky.  If I was strong.  I had since given up on god but they say there are no atheists in foxholes and I was fighting a war within that left me ragged and shadowy.

Christmas time came and Tucker gave me a Kindle.  Of course, I’d given him money from another stipend payment. That’s what he bought my gift with but whatever, he bought me something I wanted with my own money so I didn’t have to feel guilty about spending it on myself I suppose.  I was a little irritated by the act but I showed only gratitude and smiles when it came. 

Christmas came and went.  The New Year came and things were the same.  He was solicitous, kind and constantly giving me attention and almost doting on me.  I couldn’t understand it really. I have a recollection of lying in my bed playing on the Kindle and him lying across the bed fists balled under his chin staring at me asking me if I loved him and if I was happy.  With a bit of dismissiveness, I told him that yes, of course I loved him.  The revulsion inside me was barely contained though and I think he sensed it.  Hell I know he sensed it.  He suddenly had money to give me for my account.  We didn’t have to worry about the landlord either; he said he’d taken care of it.  Things were still tight but not so bad and he said he’d have to buy cattle to cover the order advance money he’d taken. That sort of explained things but then I began to worry how he was going to pay for cattle if he was giving up the money he had taken in advance but then I thought fuck it.  I’m not worrying about his shenanigans as long as I wasn’t involved. Things were smoothing out somewhat and I thought I could start to hide money soon.

I was continuing to go to work every day and so it was that I went to work on January 13, 2012. I had been dropped off by Tucker at the HQ building so I could attend a professional development class.  My car had blown up the week before and I had a loaner from the dealership and Tucker was happily tooling about in it all day every day.  I just knew that work was my escape and I relished it.  I was about an hour into training when my phone began to display missed call after missed call from Tucker.  When we got a break I went into the hallway to call him back and it was ringing again.

Tucker’s desperate voice came over the speaker, “Come get me! Come get me! I’m in the next town and they’re arresting me!”

I was dumbfounded and asked what he was talking about.  “They’re taking me to county, just come get me!!!”  The line went dead and I stood in the hallway still stupefied. I know I looked an idiot standing there staring at my phone. What was I going to do? He had my car and I was stuck more than an hour away from where he said he was. Tucker, Jr. happened to be at the house and his call was the next one I got. 

“Dad’s been arrested in the next town and I got no way to get to him. He’s supposed to taking me to the airport in a few hours.”

I sighed, heavy and deep.  “Call someone and make arrangements because it doesn’t look like either of us is going to get you.  He’s got my car and I have to figure out what’s going on.”

Tucker, Jr. said he’d work on it and for me to just get his dad out and he’d find a way to get where he needed.  I sat there and really all I was worried about was the fact that I had no money on me and I needed that car.  I called the only person I knew that could come and get me and that was my boss.  He was my friend as well as my boss, he knew almost everything that had gone on and he would come and get me.  He did and I told him everything I knew then I wracked my brain further for what to do.

I called my brother’s girlfriend.  My brother is a sheriff’s deputy in the county where they’d taken him and though he was out of the country in Iraq, I knew she’d be able to help me.  I hesitated as I dialed.  What was I going to say? Hey Helena, it’s me and um I need you to help me with my fucking criminal husband…? I didn’t know but I knew I needed a plan when I did get there.

“Hello????” She answered cheerfully but cautiously.

“Helena, it’s me.  Tucker apparently has been arrested in town there and I have no clue what’s going on.  My boss is bringing me because Tucker had my car and I’m not even sure if it’s been impounded or parked somewhere.”

“Wow…okay.  Let me call the jail and see what I can find out and I’ll call you right back.  Meet me at the jail, okay?  We’ll get this all figured out.” She was calm and self-assured and put my mind at ease.

“Thank you so very much.” I answered in what was my smallest voice I’m sure but I was trying so hard not to crumble.

“No problem, girl.  Just meet me at the jail.”  She rang off and I again sat staring at my phone. I looked over to my boss who was staring at me with concern, “I need you to take me to the jail in the next town and Helena will help me then.”

He was solicitous and kind and I’m sure full of pity.  Here we go again with jail and a criminal asshole husband.  I sat rocking slightly and freaking out a lot.  We pulled up to the jail and Helena was outside talking to an officer.  I thanked my boss and assured him I’d be back on Tuesday after our long weekend and I’d call if I needed him.  Helena walked over and hugged me and said, “Well, it was checks.  He was writing hot checks and they set him up waiting for him to come and do it again.”

I just took out a cigarette and lit it and sat down on the curb.  The officer came over and said, “Ma’am?” I stared up at him.  I exhaled and blew the smoke out of my lungs long and hard and willed myself not to cry.  I stood up and threw the butt down and stepped on it.  I smiled brightly instead of bawling and said, “You’re not going to give me a ticket for that are you?”

He snickered, “No ma’am.”

“Good, what’s going on in there with him?”

“Well he was writing checks on an account for an F&H Ranch account to himself apparently but he signed your name to the account.  Did your last name used to be Waltham?”

I nodded as he continued.  The blood was draining from my head or swirling towards it, I’m not sure. I was getting dizzy and had to sit back down on the curb. The officer came back around in front of me as he talked.  “Well he was saying they were payroll checks and he’s cashed about 10 of them in the last month.”

I sort of felt as if I were going to vomit at that point as I asked, “Um, you know I didn’t sign those checks don’t you? I mean, that’s my old DBA those checks were in a banker’s box in the back of my closet with tax records.  That bank doesn’t even exist anymore. I mean…”

He interrupted my worried ramblings and said, “Look, he said you had nothing to do with it.  If there were any doubt in my mind, you’d be sitting right there next to him.”

I slumped forward and held my head in my hands.  I gathered myself and got back up.  “What’s next?”

“Well it’s about $5,000 and he’s here until Tuesday at least to see the judge and be arraigned. He’s asked that you pick up his belongings.”

“I only want my debit card or anything he has with my name on it.”

The officer walked me inside and went to the back.  He came back with Tucker’s wallet.  The wallet my children had picked out for him the year before for his birthday. I opened it and got out my debit card and an old ID he had of mine.  I handed him back the wallet and told him that I didn’t need it.  I asked about the car and was told that it had been impounded and where it was.  I walked out to meet Helena in the sun and told her where the car was. 

“Oh shit, I thought I’d be able to talk them into letting you have it if another lot had picked it up but he won’t turn it loose without the full fee.”

I got in the car with her and checked my bank account on my phone.  It was $3 overdrawn.  I looked through my wallet and found $2.  Helena told me not to worry that we’d figure it all out one way or the other.  She took her car to get it serviced and we walked from the garage towards Dairy Queen.  She bought me a hamburger and we sat down with our drinks.

It all began to sink in and let loose right then. The tears were silent but profuse and I could not stop them.  Helena reached across the table and handed me napkins. I cried for my wasted life, for my son, for my daughter. I cried because he couldn't have loved me...not really if he'd gone right back out and put me in jeopardy again. I cried for all I'd given for no goddamned good reason.  There I was, sitting in a Dairy Queen, crying noiselessly and unable to control myself. The waitress brought our food and I turned to look out the window but she began to try and console me.

I was humiliated and the nicer she tried to be, the less I was able to stop crying. I had nothing.  Less than nothing and I would have to beg and borrow to make it better and I gave up my life in exchange for disgrace. It was horrible and Helena finally convinced her I was fine and to go away.  I eventually stopped but I wasn’t hungry.  I was desolate. I kept thinking that I didn’t know when the next time I would eat would be and I’d probably better load the hump anyway. Then I thought of Harlow and how when and where I’d fix any of this shit. I knew this was it. I could get gone right now. Somehow, some way I would erase him from our lives. I would fix the ragged edges and fill in the shadows and try to forget how much of myself I’d given up for someone who never really even valued who I was. 

WTCF?

Totally off topic but it had to be done. I hate school functions.  I love my daughter and I love watching her compete or be recognized and I love the other kids... (for the most part) but I HATE the parents.  We live on the edge of a really nice school district with a brand new multi-million dollar high school. We are in a trailer park on the edge…did I mention that? In any case, after arriving at the sports banquet last night we were told the girls were all sitting up front.  I know not one single parent in the room.  I work two jobs and make about ¼ of the Gurl Child’s events and then I hang by myself because I know no one.

I can stand in front of room full of strangers and talk about the merits of having the perfect resume’ or teach a class full of people how to make a spreadsheet.  I was once handed a stapler in a job interview and had to give an impromptu presentation about the merits of its versatility and functionality and I killed it but please don’t ask me to socialize at school functions. It makes me sweaty and awkward.  I feel inadequate and shabby and I understand how much this is all my very own problem.  I understand that these people are wealthy and some of them have even worked for it.  I understand that it’s not their fault that I live in a goddamned trailer park in a cabin. I get that and I don’t blame them.  Doesn’t make it any easier for me to weather though.

Let’s add to my discomfort, the fact that I do my own hair.  I cut it, I color it.  Occasionally, I’ll spring for the salon but I can’t drop what equates to a tank of gas on my hair.  I just can’t do it.  I normally get the color from the beauty supply and mix and apply and no harm, no foul.

The GC and I went to Wal-Mart 2 nights prior to previously mentioned banquet and she says, “MOM!! Get this…it’ll be great!” It was called Super Blonde.  I am blonde.  I am naturally a dark blonde…all the hair on my body is blonde. I thought, What could it hurt?  When I pulled the towel off my wet head, I almost fainted.  Imagine the brassiest blonde on the whoriest porn star and that’s what was there. It was awful…it was cheap looking and it was awful. I had to live with it  for a couple of days until I could put a toner on it. I had to work that night and the next after work and wouldn’t have time to pick it up or even go home and do it at 10 at night.  So I went to the banquet with brassy porn star hair.

I had on black slacks and a cute white tee with black and white peep toe pumps.  Simple jewelry and oh yeah…porn hair.  I felt ok though. I didn’t feel like I’d be over or underdressed…it was my work attire and I was not going to be conspicuous.  Well, except for the GODDAMNED PORN HAIR. 

GC directs me to a table where Sarah’s mom is sitting and apparently Sarah’s mom is nice and it’ll be fine and go sit there.  Fine. I sit, I introduce, we exchange the obligatory, “Who’s your kid?” We talk about whether the food will be any good and she proceeds to tell me that she has four children and all their ages and that they are busy building their 3^rd house in a chi-chi-poo-poo- la-de-da part of town and she thinks she has it all down now because after all this is her 3^rd house and it’s just so HARD picking out all the tile at once but it’s going to be so great to quit renting because you know the renting is so HARD living in someone’s else’s house like that and oh by the way I stay home and my husband works and what do you do?"

Yeah…this bitch.

“Well, I work as an admin assistant full time and then I work part time as a cashier.”

You could see it. I didn’t imagine it and I didn’t make it up, it was the confusion and the calculation taking over her face as she tried to comprehend that she was talking to white trash.  I mean if she hadn’t figured it out from the hair already.

This is my nightmare porn star hair.

“Oooooohhh, that’s really great.” With the patronizing tone as if she were addressing a beloved cat that just presented her with a dead bird with feathers everywhere and guts hanging out.  To be honest it was also the tone I used when the sparsely toothed gentleman from two houses down talked about how "the 5 year old can whoop the 7 year old cuz he's a tough lil basterd." I was familiar.

We were in line for food by this time so I just faced front and tried to blow it all off.  We got our catered fajitas and sat down only to be joined by another mom who went through the whole , “Who’s your kid?” spiel and then promptly asked, “Where are your husbands?”

Sarah’s mom proudly said,  “He’s working. You know we just moved back and are renting in the subdivision til our house is finished. Did I tell you it’s my third? Anyway, he’s having to commute right now so he can’t be here but he was so so disappointed, it’s just so HARD.”

Mother #2 just nodded sympathetically and turned to me with eyebrows raised. I just stared back hoping she’d ignore me and tell us where her husband was since usually when someone asks a question like that they really want you to ask them the same question. She didn’t though. She said, “And yours?”

I wanted to say, well my WIFE couldn’t be here tonight, but I thought of GC and the trouble it could cause her and said, “I don’t have one of those.”

Her eyebrows shot up even further as if in disbelief and she simply said, “Oh.”

Sarah’s mother said very diplomatically, “Well, it’s good you could be here tonight.” As if my single motherhood would preclude me from attending any of my daughter’s functions since I was probably home having indiscriminate sex for crack money and then smoking said crack in front of my daughter.

We all had to quiet down the chit chat so we could watch the awards and blah blah blah blah then pictures then cake. I heard from both of these parents that they LOVED my GC and thought she was the best kid ever but it was funny how they said it like they just couldn't fucking believe it.

Then my GC knowing how I was dying inside came and stuck out her hand and said, “You ready to blow this pop stand, Baby?”

“Sure am, Momma.” I took her hand and bid the ladies good-bye and thanks for the conversation.  We walked hand in hand back to the truck laughing and joking.  The anxiety melted away and I felt like I could breathe once again.  When we got to the truck, I looked in the back and saw the bag of garbage we hadn’t dumped yet, the empty gas can and the old slipper still hanging out in there and then caught a glimpse of my glow in the dark hair in the truck window. Then it comes to me when I’m no longer in that situation faced with the perfect mothers with their perfectly absent husbands that my daughter is a 15 year old virgin who has a good heart and a strong mind and I might very well be white trash but I don’t really give a country fuck. 

Unfathomable

Obviously, I woke up. I remember driving myself home because there were two vehicles at the hospital and we had to stop for diesel in the truck I was driving.  An acquaintance named Bubba was at the gas station and stopped Tucker to talk to him and came to say hello to me and asked why I was moving so slowly to which Tucker answered, “We’re just getting home from the hospital, she had surgery.”

Bubba looked bewildered and turned to Tucker and said, “What the fuck are you doing letting her drive and why are you standing here bullshitting with me.  Get her home!”  Bubba came over and opened the truck door and helped me into the truck and reached across me and buckled me in and quietly said, “You let me know when you get tired of his shit and call me.” I felt sort of vindicated and I smiled and kissed him on the cheek. 

I got home and got into bed only to have Tucker disappear for about 12 hours.  I was relieved.  He said he had some stuff to take care of and I didn’t care to question him over it. My Harlow took care of me and even Freddy pitched in to make sure I didn’t have to get up and do too much. Tucker went and came back and pretended as if nothing untoward had even happened. 

My convalescence was too much for Tucker’s delicate constitution however since roughly three days or so after I was home, Tucker had a hard on and that meant I needed to exorcise the demons.  It may have been some tiny holes in my belly and they may have taken said organ out through my navel but I still had a fucking organ ripped out of my fucking body and I didn’t want to have sex. We got into a wicked, knock-down, drag out fight.  He railed at me in the bedroom, I followed him into the living room telling him what a selfish prick he was, he followed me back to the bedroom to tell me I didn’t really love him anymore and things had changed. I bought into his bullshit briefly and tried to explain to him that I’d. Just. Had. Surgery. He didn’t hear me and just kept on.  Finally, I ran out of steam and was in a bit of pain and I just sat down on the bed and stared at him.  Whereby Tucker decided he was sleeping on the couch.  I was so relieved but at the same time I was absolutely furious.  He didn’t get to decide his feelings were hurt.  He didn’t get to say he was sleeping on the couch. *I* was going to make him sleep there because I told him he had to.  Yes, we all know I should have gone back to bed and let it lie but I’m a stupid bitch who was well and truly enraged and possibly also high on pain killers. 

I marched back into the living room.  The back of the couch faced my approach…I stared down at him with the cover pulled up to his neck and promptly reached down grabbed the bottom of the back of the couch, lifted it up and dumped him out on the floor and then pushed the couch over on top of him.

“You….” I pointed my finger in his general direction under the couch, “Can go fuck YOURSELF from now on.”

My retreat was met with his cries of, “Oh you can’t FUCK me but you can throw a goddamned couch on me!?!”

I sort of chuckled to myself while I listened to him right the couch and plop back down on it.  I had hurt myself somewhat but I felt better…I was sure the kids heard all of it and then I felt ashamed suddenly. I thought and thought about how to get away from him.  How was I going to do any of this? The same thoughts I’d had time and again and never a tangible, solid, real answer came to me.

I had to save money back; it’s as simple as that.  Tucker was freaky strange good with numbers, like savant good and if he had any access to my checking account, he’d know exactly how much was there and what I should have.  It made it next to impossible to rat hole money in any significant way. 

Soon it became time for Freddy to go to Job Corps.  I had still come no closer to formulating a plan but thought maybe with only Harlow to worry about it could be easier to get out.  Nothing changed. I had to go to court every month to have them reset my court date for the following month. Tucker continued to promise me he’d take the blame for it all if I stayed with him.  He worked some deal over between his lawyer and the ADA in that county to pay restitution of some form and have him let off with a conviction, time served which frankly was all of about 2 hours and have my charges dropped.

I took Freddy to the bus station. We all went. He was scared and nervous.  I made sure he had money and told him to just do his level best to get through it and get through with it.  He promised he would and you could see the emotions passing over his face when he looked to Tucker to leave.  Freddy is a hugger and Tucker repeatedly told us that I was busy turning him into a pussy momma’s boy. He gave Tucker a solid hug anyway and I was heartened to see that he returned it.

I watched my boy get on a bus and pull out and away from me.  I felt a sense of relief that he was away from us and all our bullshit.  I hate the word dysfunctional. It has become stained with overuse and most often misunderstanding.  Bullshit works.  I was glad he was away from it. I wanted him to learn to take care of himself and since I was doing a piss poor job of it, he needed something.  I still worried about him so though.  I felt sick about him not being able to call and just be picked up.  There was no off site visitation for two weeks and I knew I wouldn’t be able to afford the gas to go see him during that time.

I waited until I was back in the car to start crying.  Tucker just sat indulgently and acted as if he were being magnanimous by letting me sob over my 16 year old going off to live somewhere else.  I cleared my head and put the car in drive.  I took us back home 40 miles outside of town and my mind raced.  It was all I could do to contain my excitement over thinking that now … now I could do it. 

I only had Harlow to contend with and we could begin going through closets and throwing things away.  Packing boxes and telling him it was off season clothing.  Separating everything I’d painstakingly merged wouldn’t be something I could do with him there at home and he was always…fucking…there.  Always sitting at the

computer, smoking cigarette after cigarette, scratching his balls and sitting around in his saggy ass underwear writing in that goddamned ledger of his all his brilliant machinations.  God, how I hated him and yet I kept him. He still held those charges over my head but now, now I would be ready.

I got income tax money back finally and told him we were only getting ½ of what we were really supposed to get.  I had some stipend money coming from school that he didn’t know about and I thought I could get it all past him.  Income tax came and the bank wouldn’t deposit without signatures and ID’s and then it turned out that he owed the bank money from one of his many schemes and they would likely confiscate it to cover his debt.  I had to tell him I messed up the return and we got more back because he had to be with me to cash the motherfucker.  He took it.  All of it.  I had some money come on the stipend and he asked what the red card in my wallet was for and then he took it too. I had to start over and figure something else out. At that moment what that something else would be, I couldn’t fathom but I also could not know that within months, he would present me with my chance for escape.