Coming Undone

Please give this a listen.

It is so appropriate for this post.

I will not say that things between Blake and I went from bad to worse immediately. There were a lot of extenuating circumstances through the years that strained the marriage: A fall that hurt my back and began my pain pill addiction, several miscarriages and Blakes temper to name a few. Money was also a big issue. I worked but had still not found that PR job that I wanted and spent good money to learn how to do and we never had pre-marital marriage counseling which would have revealed what he expected of me financially. He wanted me to pay half of the $700.00 house note and buy the groceries. In addition to that I had to pay Robert's tuition at Hillcrest and my car note. It would have been much more beneficial to me to have stayed with mom and stayed single.

Blake was short with his answers and tended to anger easily. I learned to watch what I said to and around him. We lived in a cul-de-sac where all of our families were pretty close knit. He started talking me down in front of our friends. Especially the women. I had learned as a child that when Walter did that he was seeking to make himself look better in front of others. Regardless, it always hurt my feelings so badly and embarrassed me.

Blake was adopted. Please do not look at this as if I feel adoption is a bad thing.  I have very close friends who were adopted and they are wonderful, caring people. But for some reason when he was little his mother referred to him as “her sweet little adopted boy”. What was that about? I really believe Blake had abandonment issues and here's why: I was his 3^rd wife and the first two, by all accounts, he ran off before they had the opportunity to leave him. It must have been some deeply ingrained defense mechanism he instilled in himself as a child. I know you are asking why I tried so hard to figure these men out. It was because I loved them.

I also wanted to give him a child. I wanted him to know and understand the deep, abiding and unconditional love a baby could bring into your life. Again, I was trying to fix a bad marriage with a baby. But it was not to be. I got pregnant 6 times in 4 years. I never got past 5 months. Three of this miscarriages were 2^nd trimester and those were really hard. I ended up having my tubes tied. The fact that we couldn't have a baby only made him angrier.

In 2001 I fell in the parking lot of our local Target. There was a handicapped van-accessible parking spot next to where I parked. There was supposed to be a blue pole marking off the spot. They made the hole for the pole but it was never installed. My heel got caught in the hole, which I never saw, and I fell spread eagle style. I had bloody hands, bloody knees, torn hose, and my back was wrenched out of shape. I limped in and reported it, they gave me first aid and sent me on my way. I made an appointment with a back specialist for the next week all the while my back was getting worse and worse.

I had two bulging, nearly ruptured disks. Because of my Spina Bifida I was very, very scared of any kind of back surgery so he gave me Vicodin and sent me home from work for a week of bed rest. I surely did like those Vicodin. I forgot I even had a back when I took those. I kept taking them and he kept writing the prescriptions for them. Then he moved me up to what would become my drug of choice: Percocet! Oh, I thought I had found Jesus a second time in my life!

I loved the way they made me feel. Rather than having to leave Blake I could leave him without ever leaving the house. I'd just pop an extra couple of pills and there was very little he could do or say that would bother me or get past my lovely high. Then it got to the point that the doctor would not give me any more pills unless I agreed to surgery. I weighed that in my mind. No more pills or back surgery that I was afraid might leave me paralyzed. So my solution was to find another doctor who was happy to write me 90 Percocet every 30 days. I had just found the golden ticket.

The thing about pain pills is that you have to take more and more to get the same effect. In fact you have to take more and more just to feel normal. That is when you have slipped over into the dark side and you don't even know when it happens.

My doctor wised up to what I was doing and cut me off and in a town the size of Jackson there are only so many doctors that will write you that strong a medication without having first determined you're not doctor shopping which is exactly what I was doing. You can get in big trouble doing that. Luckily I did not. Trouble found me but not in that way. There are so many other ways trouble comes to visit. Sometimes it's wearing a sheep's costume.

The Beginning of My Downward Spiral

The time I spent at MC the second time around was very enjoyable, in part, because of my involvement with the Theatre department. I was fortunate enough to be cast in two major productions, “Man of La Mancha” and “Much Ado About Nothing" In the latter I played the female lead. I loved every minute of it. Being around people who loved the theatre as much as I did was exhilarating and I had forgotten how good that felt. Of course, I had a couple of gay “boyfriends” who made every minute a riot. One of them had the most gorgeous tenor voice I've ever heard and he is still a friend.

Soon, it was time for graduation day, May 14, 1994. Of course, in my family, we can't just have one major event at a time! My mother's 50^th high school reunion was that same day so we had a house full of out of town friends who had come for the reunion. I wouldn't have had it any other way. They made sure the house was full of laughter and fun and hi jinx! My dear friend, Bill, who had become a father figure to me, encouraging me every step of the way and letting me use his computer for projects, bought me two huge Styrofoam deli boxes of boiled shrimp! He told me I didn't have to share even one shrimp with anyone but, of course, I did. I will never forget Bill. He died in 2006 and he is still greatly missed by his family and friends. He was a great man.

I got a job at a bank. The first day I walked in I met the woman who would become my dearest friend in the whole world. Her name was Peggy. She was smart, confident in her abilities, gave me generous training and knowledge about my job and was/is the most hilarious person I have ever met! For instance I asked her one day if she wanted to go down to a small convenience shop in the next building to get an Icee. She looked me dead in the eye and said “I'd rather have boils lanced off my ass than go to the sweet shop with you!” She meant it, but I couldn't stop laughing – laughing now remembering it. I think she ended up going with me.

This next part is probably the strangest twist to my entire story and one that would lead to grave consequences. Guess who I ran into? Kay! She had a new girlfriend named Ann who seemed to welcome me with open arms. They lived not far from us and they would invite me over for cocktails every once in a while. I decided to forgive and forget the past with Kay and be their friend,

One evening when I was enjoying their hospitality, Ann asked me if I would allow her to give my phone number to her brother Blake. Seems he had been through a divorce a couple of years ago and she really wanted to see him meet someone new. Not being much for blind dates, I was wary he would look like a cyclops and act like Poindexter. But, I relented and gave her permission to give him my number.

He called a few days later and came to my house to meet me. He was very cute, funny, personable and honest. He told me right up front that he had been in the penitentiary for 8 months about 4 years but no longer did that. During the ecstasy craze of the late '80s and early 90's he had made a killing from selling it. He even owned his own X bar at the time. Well, all good things must come to an end and he was busted and sent to the Delta for much less time than he could have been sent away for. He was on the straight and narrow now, although he did smoke a little pot and drink socially. And we were very social. He was sweet, personable, loving and very attentive to me, Robert and he and mom shared the same birthday so he thought it was fate. He asked me to marry him and I agreed.

After 6 months of dating we got married. This made Kay my sister-in-law? Brother-in-law? Never was really sure what she was. It was really weird because Ann and Blake's parents didn't know Ann was gay and Blake did! They hated each other anyway but you've got to imagine something for me, if you will a lovely Christmas day with Blake, Ann, my mom, Blake and Ann's folks and Robert. Everyone there smoked except for, well obviously Robert and their parents. No one was allowed to smoke from the time we got there at 10:00 AM until we left usually around 4 or 5 PM. Needless to say we could have all eaten a pack of cigarettes by the time we got out of there! There were some pretty tense folks at the dinner table and that is an understatement! Much like Walter used to do, Blake liked to take this opportunity to take some jabs at Ann asking questions like “How's your girlfriend, oh, I mean roommate?” or “Don't you think it's unusual that two women buy a house together, Ann?” and “When are you and Kay getting married? It's a wonder she didn't stab him in the neck with the turkey carving knife!! It made me want to crawl under the table!

Things between Blake and I changed immediately after our honeymoon. We had received a new comforter and bedding set from my mother as a wedding gift and I put it all on our bed that day. I saw a pillow that looked like it had been through hell fire and back but I didn't throw it away. I just stored it in a closet for an emergency pillow for guests if needed. Yeah, give them the rotten pillow! We got into bed that night and after trying several pillows, Blake exploded in anger and wanted to know where his pillow was. I was more than taken aback. It was as if I didn't know this person that was my husband. He had never so much as raised his voice to me and here we are only married a few days and he's having a fit all over me! I quickly ran and got the nasty pillow from the closet, asked him if that was his pillow. It was, so I quickly put a pillow case on it and gave it to him. Of course, I'm crying by this time and cried myself to sleep with no apology from him whatsoever.

Many more bad things to come in the next post.

A Dirty Education!

It had been nearly10 years since I had been in school so I had forgotten how much fun registration for college could be. No computerized registration in 1991. Nope, standing in the gym at MC (affectionately known by some as The Great Golden Boob) going up and down stairs praying the classes I needed were not filled.

I was also nearly 10 years younger and had smoked a thousand more cigarettes than I had at that time. The trek up the 3 flights of stairs to my very first class at 8:00 on Monday morning had me believing I was going to die! I couldn’t breathe when I made it to the top! I know the kids in the class must have thought I was some heavy-breathing pervert because it took me about 15 minutes to breathe normally. And speaking of the kids, there is nothing like being the oldest person in a college class with 18 -22 year olds to make you feel really bad...really bad. I was only 29 but I felt like I was old enough to be their grandmother.

I changed my major, that had previously been Theatre, to a new major being offered, Public Relations. It was still under the Communications department which also meant I could do two theatre plays and have a theatre minor since I had previously accrued so many hours in the department. Wow! Going back to school, doing something positive for me and my family AND getting to act again! The Lord knew what he was doing!

But, there was still the question of how we were going to eat. My mom could have probably supported me and Robert but there was no way I was going to ask her to do that. I had cashed in my small 401(k) of just a couple of thousand dollars. Obviously, I had been more concerned about keeping my lights on when living with Bob than planning for retirement which seemed like a lifetime away. Hmmmm...what to do, what to do? A close friend and co-worker who happened to live down the street from us asked me if I would be interested in cleaning her family's house once a week. Once, as an anniversary present, I had cleaned their house while they were on a short trip. Apparently she liked the work I did. They never asked how much I would charge, they just offered me $25.00 per week and they wanted me to clean every Friday. Sounded good to me at the time. Also, my mother had kept their child at our house since he was 6 weeks old when my friend went back to work. He was about a year old at this time.

After about the second time, it dawned on me that since I was coming to clean their house, they did nothing, do you hear me? N-O-T-H-I-N-G as far as even straightening up their house from week to week. When they would pick their baby up from our house every afternoon, my mother would have the baby's dirty clothes from the day tied neatly in a plastic grocery bag. Each Friday there would be 5 bags from the past 5 workdays laying untouched on their dining room table. Oh, did I tell you they wanted me to do their laundry, as well?  That $25.00 per week was beginning to look very meager to me. I would walk in every Friday and in their spare bedroom where there was no furniture, there would be no less than 8 piles of separated laundry to be done. Yes, I said eight piles! Eight full loads of clothes to do in one day all the while cleaning the house that no one had lifted a finger in since I was there last.

There was also an issue of the dishes. You will not believe this, but it's the truth: I had baked a chocolate cake and we sent a few pieces home with them. The next Monday when surveying the double sink filled with dishes I washed piece by piece and at the very bottom of the pile, the very last dish, was our plate we had sent home with them the previous Friday. The nastiness was unbelievable to me.

One afternoon when she and her husband came to pick up their baby they asked if we could sit down and talk. The kids were playing so it was just mom, me and them. Her first mistake was letting her husband do the talking. He was very smart in technology but could really barely make understandable sentences. He wanted to know why I left the dryer drying the last load of clothes on Friday afternoons. Why had I not finished my job? Ya'll I lost my shit right then and there. I read them for filth (just a figure of speech but strangely appropriate)! I told them NO ONE in their right mind would clean that nasty house and wash their clothes for $25.00 per week and a few other not so nice things. They left, I no longer cleaned their house, and we didn't speak for quite a while.

So, I ran an ad in the paper to not only replace that $25 and hopefully take on a couple of new clients that paid decent money for the hard work I did. The first and only call I got was from a lady in north Jackson who said she had terrible dust allergies and could no longer clean her house. I went to meet her and her family and see her house. It was in the Fondren/Old Canton Road area and was an older home but absolutely beautiful. I bonded with her, her husband and her two precious little girls right away. I would even spend the night or weekend with the children, taking Robert along, when they went out of town a couple of times. I worked for that family for 2 ½ years until I finished college. Once, when my back went out and I couldn't go to her house to work, I got a check in the mail from her for my weekly fee. The memo line in the check read "Everyone deserves sick pay".  She is still someone I consider a dear friend.

At the same time, though not for nearly as long, I worked for a well-to do family. He had a great job and she “did a lot of volunteer work'. Ahem! Anyhow, they had a huge older home that had been through many updates over the 70 or so years it had existed that, particularly the upstairs, had little tiny cubby hole rooms that made no architectural sense at all, at least to me.

They had two children, who I rarely saw, and the boy was particularly messy. He had bunk beds that were set against the wall that were a bitch to change the sheets on! The mother particularly had little shame when it came to leaving things for me to clean up. Once I found a used feminine napkin still left in her underwear left on the bathroom floor! I used tongs is all I have to say about that!

The last straw happened one morning when the father asked me to assist him in carrying a large, heavy piece of furniture up the stairs. He did this in lieu of getting his husky 14 year old son to help him. I hurt my back and that was my last day with that lovely family.

I also worked for another professional man who had a gorgeous home in north Jackson. But he didn't live there. He wanted all his friends to think he lived there judging from the number of messages displayed on his answering machine. He wanted me to think he lived there. But, I could tell a man hadn't been in a house more that once since I was there the week before. He would pull his sheets back as if he had slept in his bed, but, please! I can tell when someone has actually slept in a bed. There were never dirty dishes in either the sink or dishwasher. But most telling of all were the facts that there was no hair in the shower and there was no toothpaste spit on the mirror – two positive signs that a man lives in a house! I think he lived with his aunt.

I had a few other jobs that were no trouble at all. Nice, decent people who knew to put their maxi pads in the garbage!

And That Was That!

As soon as I was released from the hospital and the three of us settled into life as a family of three I started suspecting that all was not right with Bob. I was off on maternity leave for 5 more weeks and I think he resented having to get up and go to work leaving Robert and me sleeping. So, he started calling in sick.

Although I was on maternity leave for 5 weeks that doesn't mean I was getting paid for all that time. Since meeting Bob I had used several sick days and having to quit work early before the baby came and the weeks I had to take off for early dilation and family therapy, I was only getting paid for 3 of those weeks. Bills still had to be paid and it worried me greatly that he was not working regularly. One morning when he called in the 4^th time in two weeks I said that we were not going to be able to survive if he did not go to work. He got this furious look on his face and threw Robert's umbrella stroller across the room hitting the rails of the baby’s bed. That was it! Do what you want to me but you will NEVER hurt my precious baby!

I grabbed my baby, his things, a few of my clothes and I never looked back. We moved in with my mother who was thrilled to have us with her. That way I would not have to pay day care. She would keep Robert for me while I worked as she had taken early retirement back in 1986, so no daycare bills and it was much better for his health.

It would be untrue to say I did not wrestle with whether I had done the right thing. But a child needs a loving, not violent father. As far as I was concerned my mother and I had more than enough love to shower on Robert.

It was a long, drawn out divorce process that was not completed for more than a year. There were no property disputes, only disputes over visitation rights. Bob was granted visitation but it was to be supervised by his Mamaw. He was also ordered to pay $150.00 per month of which I never saw a dime. I would have paid him $150.00 a month just to stay away from us. He only came to get him once and his grandmother was with him. He never showed up for visitation with the exception of that one and only time. Thank you, Lord!

I got back to work and we settled into a nice routine with Mom. I never woke them up. I would get dressed for work and leave them snoozing every morning. It was really a great set up. I missed Robert so badly while I was at work. I thought of him all day and couldn't wait to get home to feed him, play with him, bathe him, and kiss him goodnight as I put him down for the night. He was such a beautiful, happy baby. It made me cringe to think what he would have been like had I stayed with Bob. I'm sure he would have grown up afraid, much as I had.

Before we knew it two years had passed. Robert had begun talking in full sentences at 15 months. He could say “I have an extraordinary vocabulary.” at 18 months. We never talked baby talk to him. My mother's penchant for constant talking I am sure had a great affect on his precocious speech.

One night in October of 1991, Robert came to me and said he wanted some grape juice. Not having any in the house, I went to my wallet and knew it would be empty as it was the day before payday. I resolved then and there that if I couldn't afford to buy my child some grape juice when he wanted it, I was going to have to make some changes.

For the past few months I had been drinking quite heavily. Always the insomniac, I started drinking wine, a whole carafe, 3 or 4 nights per week. As it always happens it soon went beyond trying to get to sleep and into full-blow dependance. I dropped it cold-turkey which was extremely difficult, but I did it. I also went out and bought a box of over -the-counter sleep medication for the nights I could not sleep. My thinking was that not only was I spending a lot of money on alcohol, I couldn't go back to school hungover every day! I had decided to go back to college at MC to finish my degree. I was going to quit my full-time job because I felt night school would take forever and clean houses for a living. I was accepted back at MC and left my job on January 10, 1991. My classes started the next day.

Arrival of an Angel

After a week of excruciating emotional pain and promises to stay sober and be a better person it was time for Bob and I to try again. I was 8 months pregnant the day I went to pick him up. Bob wanted a hamburger and our car DIED as we were about to pull away from the drive-thru window. The RX-7 was long gone replaced by a more suitable family car, a Ford Taurus. It was by no means a new Taurus. And it's last leg was just about broken. We managed to crank it and went straight to Hallmark Toyota. I had to have something dependable for my baby. I got a Toyota Tercel and I barely fit behind the wheel! Luckily I was already well versed on driving a standard transmission and that little car would scoot!!

Bob's behavior had made a complete 180 degree turnaround. He was attentive, excited about the baby and seemed so happy to be home with me again. It looked as if things might work out. That day he went and bought groceries making sure to buy 2 containers of Breyer's Butter Pecan ice cream – my favorite! I would sit in from of the television with a big serving spoon and eat an entire container in one sitting. Yes, folks, I was a heifer!

At my next doctors visit I was given the news that I was now at 3 centimeters. I was told there would be no more work for me until after the baby was born. Bob got a new job quickly but he would take me to my mother's every morning for her to take care of me for the day. He picked me up each evening, made a delicious supper for us, then went two doors down to the YANA club for an AA meeting each night. It was so wonderful to be treated so well and to feel loved again.

At my first obstetrician appointment I was given a due date of May 21. That was on a Sunday. I woke up feeling great and decided I would go buy groceries to stock the kitchen for Bob in case the baby came in the next few days. The only problem I was having was really bad gas pains. I would walk down a grocery isle, feel a gas pain coming on, stop walking until the pain was over and then move on to the next isle. I guess it happened 4 or 5 times during the 45 minutes I was in there. Still, I had no clue.

After I got home and Bob was putting away the groceries these “gas pains” became more frequent. It finally dawned on me that I must be in labor and that my trip to the grocery was the nesting instinct. Duh! Timing revealed they were 6 minutes apart. We called the doctor who said to come to the hospital.

They were unable to give me an epidural because of my Spina Bifida so all I had was a little liquid Valium drip. It only helped me rest between contractions. I felt everything and it was not pleasant, no, not at all. They broke my water but after 12 hours of labor I still had not dilated past 6 centimeters. I was stuck. This was at midnight. They said they were going to prep me for a C-Section. FINALLY, at 2:00 AM they got me into the OR. I was given general anesthesia. The next thing I knew a nurse said “You have a beautiful, perfect baby boy!” Born at 2:36 AM, May 22, 1989, he was 7 lbs., 8 oz. and he was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen even without my contacts in.  Bob was standing there holding him. All I could see was cowlicks in the exact same places I have them, at the front right side and the crown of his head. Here came a pain shot and I was out again. And by the way, for the past 3 months I had been walking around checking behind me to make sure my baby had not dropped out on the floor then they end up having to do a C-Section! Does anyone else think that's hilarious?

I had only had 4 hours of sleep when there was a knock at my hospital room door and there stood a nurse holding this screeching thing that looked like a baby. She asked, “Do you want your baby?”. I said “No”. Turns out they had just circumcised him and that was what all the crying was about. But I had just been split from my navel to my nether regions, and neither my mom or Bob had made it to the hospital yet. What was I supposed to do with him? Jeez, lady!

We had previously no idea what sex the baby was because he was very private about his privates during the sonograms. We just wanted a healthy baby regardless of the sex. We had the name “Robin Elizabeth” picked out for a girl and since Bob was a junior our baby boy would be the III. We were going to call him Trey but upon closer inspection he was not a Trey. He was a Robert!

I was in the hospital for 5 days because of my ostomy and kidneys and the doctors just wanting to make sure I was fit to go home. On Thursday the doctor told me he would let me go home the next day. I couldn't wait to bring this new, beautiful, love of my life home. Love of my life is really an understatement. He had dark skin like Bob, gun-metal blue eyes shaped just like mine and had the sweetest little husky cry. He was my miracle baby.

On Friday morning my doctor said I spiked a 102 degree fever during the night and he wouldn't release me. By then my temp was down and you've never seen a woman beg to be released from a hospital like I did. He finally relented and agreed to release me.

We got the baby home and I was so sleepy we put him down and me down for a nap! Bob woke me up 4 hours later telling me the baby needed to eat. When he touched me to wake me up he knew something was wrong. He quickly got the thermometer out and my temperature was 104 degrees. My mom rushed over to keep Robert and thank goodness for the case of Similac the hospital sent us home with. Rob sped with flashers on getting me back to the hospital. Tests were run. Both kidneys were greatly infected. They started fever reduction and IV antibiotics.

Since this was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend I was looking at being in the hospital until at least Tuesday. I was missing Robert so bad and so were my breasts! Ever used an electric milking machine? Fun times! My breasts haven't been the same since!

Family Therapy Week Or A Trip to Hell for Five Days

O.K., by popular demand I am going to delve into family therapy week. I've intended to take a couple of days to process it before writing it but I've given it lots of thought and soul searching since yesterday and I think I'm ready.

When I arrived on Monday morning I was met by the two facilitation therapists who would be in charge of the group. They seemed very nice, open and caring. There were probably 20 family members there for the various clients. The clients paraded in. It was only the second time I had seen Bob since he had been in treatment. I didn't like to visit because the time that I did go he insisted on having sex in the bathroom in his room! I can assure you that at 7 ½ months pregnant the last thing I wanted to do was have sex but I relented.

We were all seated in a large group in a big circle. The clients had to sit across from their family members. There were approximately 10 clients. A rich jeweler from Texas who was engaged to a prominent Jackson business man. Another girl whose name I cannot remember but I will never forget her face because, as I later learned when she apologized to me, she had sex with Bob in his bathroom, too! He was nothing if not good looking. However, hooking up in any way whether it's simply flirting or going all the way, so to speak, in a treatment center is just about the sickest thing you can do. I mean, think about it, clients in a treatment center have usually hit rock bottom in their lives. What could they possibly have to offer anyone? They are the bottom of the barrel as far as relationship material goes. What these people are doing is trying to focus on ANYTHING except what they are there for – to get sober.

The second day Bob's Mamaw came up from Natchez and joined the therapy group. However, on Wednesday, she was contacted by Bob's mother who told her that Big Daddy had been diagnosed with inoperable cancer of the pancreas. They had been divorced for years but had been married for 50 years and were still very close. She left immediately so it was just me taking on Bob.

Thursday and Friday were two of the hardest days of my life. The previous 3 days had been mainly about teaching us to communicate, not be judgmental, etc. We got down to the actual confrontations the last two day. The family members had to write a letter (long) about how their client's using had affected their lives. Some client's had stolen from their families, some had to be bailed out of jail, some had really hurt them, etc., etc. Needless to say I had the worst letter to write of all of them. Mine involved bloodshed, stealing, emotional abuse, cheating (not just with treatment girl) and an entire laundry list which most of you could by now, knowing what you know, write for me.

We had to stand behind our family member to read our letters. By the second line I was already crying. I told him how badly it hurt me physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually when he beat me. My letter stated that I felt as if I was living in a constant nightmare and that I was so scared all the time. I described the pain of each blow. Continuing, I addressed the emotional cruelty of his leaving me on Highway 61 that night and walking in the dark being so frightened that someone would drive up and hurt or maybe even kill me and my baby. Another little tidbit that I neglected to mention to you is that he had slept with his best friend's girlfriend in our bed while I was at work. The only reason I found out was the stupid bitch left her panties in the covers of my bed. I'm not sure if she was really stupid or left them as a calling card for me to find. I let it all out, laid it on the line and was totally honest, otherwise why was I there in the first place.

Then it was Bob's turn. He walked over and stood behind me and began reading his letter. He apologized for trying to get me addicted to cocaine on that fateful night more than a year before. Finally he admitted that not only he had also slept with an ex-girlfriend on one of his “hunting” trips to Natchez when I didn't go. He told me he was so afraid of the responsibilities of becoming a father that he thought if he beat me badly enough I would lose the baby. Thank goodness God had other plans! The letter also stated that he had hoped something bad would have happened to me and the baby on Highway 61 as I walked 2 miles in the dark. Of course, all this was followed by an apology which I had made a promise to accept and forgive his actions as a part of the therapy program. It was hard to swallow but I did it.

Whew! Got that out of me – finally! I really must take a breather. Thanks for making me feel you are all holding my hand as I reveal these difficult things to you.

Upheaval

The next few months got no better. I won't go into all the violence in detail but it was bad and the mental abuse was almost worse. It got so bad that I took off early from work one afternoon and gathered my clothes and personal items and went to my mothers. There I could rest when I got off work, she fed me well and took such loving, tender care of me. My mom and I were so good together once Walter was gone. The entire time I was growing up, Walter insisted on breakfast at 6:30 AM and dinner at 6:00 PM with all of us seated at the dining table together. You're thinking quality, family time where everyone asks everyone else how their day went, right? Believe me this was no Norman Rockwell portrait! These were the times Walter chose to emotionally abuse us. He did it all throughout the day, too, but at these particular times he had a captive audience and no one was allowed to leave the table until he said so. He would pick out our weaknesses and poke us with sticks about them. I usually couldn't eat I was so scared and nervous and hurt so then he would yell at me for not eating my meal.

Well, Walter wasn't there ANYMORE! Although still to this day I have nightmares about him getting back together with my mother and I'm in that living hell all over again. This knowing full well he is dead and she is in a nursing home with advanced Alzheimer's Disease. Mom and I never ate at that table again, unless we had guests. No, we took our meals in front of the television every time we ate! We were definitely rebels!

When I left him, all Hell broke loose with Bob! He destroyed everything right down to the baby's sonogram pictures and my Bible. I guess it would be more fair to say that he destroyed anything left there that belonged to me. He certainly didn't destroy the bed or the couch or the television or the stove, where he slept, laid, watched television and cooked. He quit his job and was doing drugs everyday according to the few friends we had. I didn't want him to die so I put him in treatment at what was then Doctors Hospital, now St. Dominics Behavioral Health.

It took a great emotional toll on me to put my husband in treatment when I was 7 months pregnant. I remember being so upset the day I got the Court Order to have him picked up by the police and taken to treatment. Below my left shoulder blade hurt so badly that I cried hysterically in pain. Go figure. I guess that is where I carried most of my stress.

At my bi-weekly appointment with my obstetrician he told me I had dilated 2 centimeters at 7 ½ months. A week of total bed rest was ordered. I was so frightened but the baby looked and sounded good otherwise. My mother waited on me hand and foot! She went to the library and got bunches of movie star biographies that I loved to read. She insisted that I sleep with her in her big king-sized bed. Funny, I remember propping the book on the highest point on me and the baby would kick the book up and down. One night it kicked me right in my lung and it completely knocked the breath out of me.

The week after my imposed bed-rest was family week at the treatment center. I knew I needed to be supportive of him but I wasn't sure of the emotional turmoil that would be part and parcel of the family therapy sessions. It also meant that I had to take another week off from work. Thank God they didn't fire me.

Gotta get emotionally ready to write about family therapy week so I'll be back in a couple of days.

A New Addition on the Horizon

In September of 1988 my cigarettes started tasting funny. Even worse, they quickly started making me throw up! Then the smell of certain foods started making me sick. Three at-home pregnancy tests confirmed my suspicions. I was pregnant.

I was 26 years old and my biological clock had already started ticking. Even with all the horrible things going on in my home I knew I wanted this baby. Bob and I got married October 15, 1988 at his Big Daddy's house in Natchez.

My mother hated Bob so that she did not even come to my wedding. But my closest friends from my office came and that made me feel some better. My boss loaned me her daughter's wedding dress and shoes. It was tea-length, champagne colored and made with lace and satin. Absolutely beautiful!

We spent our wedding night at Big Daddy's. Nothing like having your grandfather in the next room on your wedding night! The next morning Bob went hunting – typical. But that was the only place he found drug-free solace. If we could have just lived outside in the woods things would probably have been a lot different but I'm not much on bugs and wiping with leaves!

Tragic thing happened the day after our wedding. The judge that married us walked out his front door and fell dead from a heart attack! I should have run for an annulment then!

By the time we got back to Jackson my lower stomach was starting to get that firmness that is the first sign of showing. I was so happy! Soon we would have a baby and that would make Bob turn his life around and all would be well. But in the meantime it seemed nothing had changed.

We had taken in a stray dog that Bob had built a pen for in the back. Our house was street level but there was a steep drop which required a steep set of steps to get out our back door. One evening Bob asked me to take Jose' out for the night. Now here I am 5 months pregnant, it's freezing cold, dark and he wants me to take the dog down the steep steps to his pen. I snapped back that I thought he should do it all the while putting the dogs leash on him, opening the door and starting down the steps. The next thing I know, I felt a foot in my back kicking me down the entire flight of stairs and onto the cold ground below. I just knew I had lost my baby. The tears came as I saw Bob slam the door and lock me out. I managed to get up. There was no blood, no pain in my abdominal area just my back, arms, legs and head. I actually got poor Jose' who was scared to death into his pen.

I knocked on both the back and front locked doors for more than an hour, crying, begging for him to let me in. He finally did. I went immediately to the bathroom to check again for blood from the pregnancy and there was none and no abdominal pain. I had a cut above my right eye and scratches and bruises elsewhere on my body. I fell into bed exhausted. The next day was another sick day. Luckily I could cover the cut above my eye with lots of make-up and it was winter so I could wear long sleeves and my one pair of maternity slacks to cover the bruises on my legs so I was able to go to work the following day.

A couple of weeks later we went to Natchez one weekend so that he could hunt. We left late on Friday night probably around 9:00 as it was a last minute decision to go. I was usually in bed by 8:00 tired from the pregnancy. We were getting close to Natchez, probably 20 miles away on Highway 61. It was probably about 10:30. It was my understanding that Bob was going with one of his friends to hunt and the friend was picking him up from his Mamaw's to spend the night at the hunting camp. Bob said that I was mistaken. He was taking my car and there were no two ways about it! You've all hear the expression “It's my way or the highway!”. This was an example in the most literal sense. Bob started hitting me in the head with his fist (while driving) and told me that if I didn't get out of the car right now he was going to kill me right then and there. So I got out.

Bob screeched away and sped up the road. I kept thinking he would turn around and come back to get me, but he didn't. So here I am at nearly 11:00 at night, crying, six months pregnant, walking in the dark on a lonely highway. What scared me the most is when one car passed by me and then turned around, came back and pulled up beside me. At fist they didn't roll down their window to say anything. They just slowly drove beside me. They finally did roll down their window after what seemed like forever. It was a carload of drunk men and they asked me if I needed a ride. I looked up and here came Bob down the other side of the highway coming to get me. I don't think I have ever been so frightened.

Nothing was said in the car the rest of the way to his grandmother's house. I got my tote bag out and he sped off. I didn't tell Mamaw what had happened. I was just thankful to be in a warm house and climbing into a warm bed. I had walked for more than 2 miles.

Let's Get Ready to Rumble!

Bob continued to use while I remained sober after the great cocaine debacle. It's really impossible for two people in a relationship to have their addictions to drugs and alcohol manifest themselves at the same time. You will end up either in jail or dead. However, my addiction was Bob, which was perhaps as dangerous as any drug. It's called Co-Dependence where a family member or significant other is addicted to caring for and cleaning up after the addict. I loved him. I wanted him to get sober and have a great life with me. Sadly, things were not going in that direction.

He was a welder and a very good one. However, his addiction kept him from being a good employee. He was constantly calling in sick or just didn't show up, being fired and moving on to another job.

One Monday morning his Jeep wouldn't start so I was taking him to work. He had been on a particularly long binge over the weekend which was awful enough. We were on the interstate going to his job in Peal back before the stack when the interstate required your being in the left lane. As I was veering left around the big curve, I said something which I absolutely do not remember, and he back-handed me in the face. I managed to keep the car on the road but my nose was bleeding and, of course, I was hysterical. I got him to work and he got out and slammed the door. Then I had to call in sick. My nose was not broken but it was swollen, bruised and bleeding profusely. I actually got light headed before I got home and pulled into my driveway.

Aside from the physical manifestations of Bob's anger on my face there was the fear and emotional devastation of having violence rearing its ugly head in my world again. Should I go? Stay? Call the police? I couldn't go home to mother who was by now divorced and living in her home again! She would surely call the police and then probably go beat his ass! Couldn't have that. So, I'll give you two guesses and the first two don't count. I stayed.

He got a ride home from work and apologized profusely for his actions of that morning. Wanted to take me to the hospital, blah, blah, blah. Again, and I cannot reiterate this enough, once you have opened yourself up to violence and violence occurs in your home once it will happen again. Believe me! I know first hand. Again, I felt I deserved it.

The slapping around became more frequent. An almost funny story, if a beating didn't come at the end, happened one night as we were coming up Lakeland Drive right across the street from St. Dominic's Hospital. The Jeep broke down. Bob looked under the hood and, of course, couldn't figure out the problem. He saw blue lights coming toward us from way down Lakeland Drive and he ran! The policeman pulled up behind the truck and was apparently too far away at the time Bob ran or he would have probably pursued him. The police don't like it when you run. He got out and looked under the hood. The gas gauge had never worked so he thought maybe it was just out of gas. I gave him my last $10 and he ran up the street to a gas station and got some fuel.

What happened next was horrible and comical all at the same time. He put fuel in the truck but it still wouldn't crank. He then tried priming the carburetor with the gas. He got in and the truck cranked right up...and then the engine promptly went up in flames! I can still remember the terror I felt that Bob's truck was burning up.

The policeman ran to his car to grab a fire extinguisher and quickly put the flames out. Well, the truck really wasn't going anywhere now for sure. I had to have it towed but I had empty pockets after the $10 for gas that burned the truck up. Back to the hospital to call my dear friend and co-worker, Diane, who called a tow truck and put the fee on her credit card for me. They towed it to a shop and gave me a ride home.

The house was empty and I still didn't know where Bob had run away to. Half an hour later he came walking in. It seems he had a suspended drivers license, 4 unpaid DUI fines and dozens of unpaid speeding tickets. He ran to the hospital and went onto the roof and watched the whole entire event unfold leaving me to deal with the debacle. He was so angry AT ME because the engine caught on fire that he pushed me through the shower curtain, into the tub and hit me several times in the head with the fallen shower rod. The next day was another sick day for me.

Not only did Diane pay the towing fee she offered to put a new engine for the truck on her credit card. She was is a hellish marriage herself and I guess felt sorry for me. I told her I wasn't sure I could ever pay her back and I couldn't with money. However she eventually divorced her husband and stayed at my mom's house for 4 months. She told me my engine bill was paid in full at that time. What an extraordinary woman she was then and is to this day.

Very Damaged Man

 

We got back from Natchez to a world that seemed to change nearly overnight. We found a large duplex in what was then called the Med Center area because it was right down the street from The University of Mississippi Medical Center. Twenty years later it has now become known as Fondren with a large redevelopment of the area occurring about 10 years ago. There are upscale apartments, specialty clothing and gift shops, art galleries, a performing arts center and great restaurants, all in keeping with the historic art deco architecture of the original area. Back when we moved in to our apartment there was only really the shopping center with a Jitney Jungle grocery store and a drug store that happened to carry my ostomy supplies which was a great convenience. The problem was coming up with the $200.00 per month to pay for them. With a using intravenous drug addict in the house, money was extremely hard to come by, not only for my supplies but for food, rent, utilities, etc.

I worked for a large insurance company about 5 miles from my house which was very convenient because keeping money in my billfold for gas was hard. We did not have a checking account, mostly because I was afraid of the bad checks Bob would write on the account for cash for drugs.

At the time, we only had my little sports car. Bob found an older model Jeep Cherokee that he talked his grandfather into buying for for him so he could get back and forth to work and go hunting. Bob's Big Daddy, as he was affectionately called by his 2 grandchildren, Bob and Julie, who lived with Bob's aunt in New York was a kind but stern retired man.  He was very much the Southern Gentleman.

Big Daddy has long ago  lost faith in his beloved only grandson. Years before Bob had stolen a number of highly-prized guns form Big Daddy's gun cabinet from his Planters' Home in Natchez. Planters' Homes, not to be confused with Antebellum Homes, and are usually somewhat smaller than the Antebellum mansions in Natchez. It was, however, on The National Historic Register. Big Daddy slept in the same be he was born in, with I'm sure a few mattress changes in his 70 years.

Big Daddy and Bob's grandmother, that Bob also called Mamaw, had divorced years before. I think in large part due to Mamaw's drinking habit. She had since been to treatment and had been sober for several years. Her mother, Grand Mam, was also a raging alcoholic and I am honestly not sure if she died sober or not.  I hope so.

I'd like to tell you about Bob's background in the hope that it will help you understand him a little better. His mother became pregnant at, I believe, 17 years of age, by Bob's dad who had immigrated with his family from Panama as a young teen. He and Bob's mother married and Bob was born several months later.  Their marriage lasted only a few months after Bob was born.

When Bob was about 7, his mother married a Canadian who was working in Natchez in the oil fields in the area. When he moved back to Vancouver, British Columbia, his mother moved herself and Bob with him. She had also left Bob earlier in his life to go for a modeling contract she was offered. She was an extremely beautiful young woman, At her mother's misguided insistence, she never explained to him where and why she had to leave him. He just woke up one morning as a 3-year-old and his Mommy was gone. Apparently, she was only gone a few months, but it was enough to leave Bob with abandonment issues the rest of his life.

She divorced the Canadian no more than several months after moving there with him. She got a job, leaving Bob as a latch-key child after school. With the child already having abandonment issues, being left alone for hours into the night only added to the psychological burden that he already carried. In addition, he was a bed wetter. His mother would spank and beat him when he wet his bed. He just never stood a chance, did he?

When he became a teenager he started getting into trouble in Vancouver. At 15 he started mugging old ladies. Not sure what else he became involved in but his mother decided to start shipping him back to his father in Natchez for him to “fix” this out-of-control, problem kid that she herself had created. At 15 there's not much that can be done with a kid that was abandoned at 3, moved away from everything and everyone he knew and loved (and that loved him) at 7. In addition to the being left alone every day for hours on end and being beaten for a problem that he had no control over, what was anyone going to do with him? He just got into more trouble when he was in Natchez for the summers.

So eventually he moved back to Natchez permanently and he stayed in trouble. The seeking and acquisition of drugs became his only motivation in life. No one tried to put him into treatment at this point, although, even if they had, it would have made no difference in that point in his life, I believe.

Please do not take what I am saying as I am making excuses for his behavior. I'm not. But I can never get the picture out of my mind of walking into out apartment one afternoon when he didn't know I was there. This 25-year-old man was holding himself, arms wrapped around each other, rocking back and forth on our couch. I have since read that this is a way that many mentally damaged people comfort themselves.

At this time, I had no idea how damaged this young man I loved so dearly was.

The Needle

I had remained sober since my first AA meeting. Was it easy? No. But the fact that I was in this new and, what I thought, wonderful relationship made it easier because we went to meetings together Until I walked into the apartment one day.

There was Bob, pulling up a syringe of something. The apartment was so small there was no way he could hide it.  He said it was cocaine and would I like to try it. He revealed much later that his intention was to get me hooked so that we would both be hooked.He said it would have been much easier to carry on with his addiction if I was just as addicted as he was.  Why in God's holy name I said this I will never know but I said I would like to try it so I sat down in a chair, he found a vein in my hand and popped me with it.

It must have been like a scene straight out of “The Exorcist”! I remember that my head fell back after it hit me, then it flew back up, I shall never forget the first words out of my mouth - “I want to feel like this all the time!”

He drew his own, shot up and we were flying! My mouth got so dry from talking that I had to drink water constantly so that my tongue would stop sticking to the roof of my mouth. Sex was the last thing on my mind but I remember sitting on top of him on the bed MAKING him talk to me.

I had to have more! I called up the couple of friends that I thought might have some but to no avail! So what did we do at 1:00 AM? Jumped in the RX7 and made a drug run to Natchez! All Bob's connections were down there so it made sense to us and our drugged up selves! By the time we got on the highway our high was nearly gone.

Needless to say by the time we got there at 2:30 AM none of his dealers were answering their telephones. He actually found a little cocaine in his pocket so we snorted that for a much needed lift! It makes me cry now to think how sick we were. So very, very sick.

About the time folks started waking up and getting out we were on the lookout for dealers! We still had not slept. Every single connection Bob had that we ran down came up empty. We were scraping the bottom of every barrel in town and still nothing.

About 10:00 that night we were more exhausted than I can even describe to you. We gave up and were too tired to drive back to Jackson. We got a room at the Terrace Motel and, yes, it was as bad as it sounds but we didn't care. We walked into the room without even turning the lights on (which may have been for the best), fell out on the bed without even pulling the covers back and we passed out.

Had we found more cocaine that night or day and shot it up, because I liked it so very much, no doubt I would have been dead in just a few months.

You Never Know Who You Will Meet At An AA Meeting

As I mentioned before, my drinking over Mr. Wrong breaking my heart was really only my addiction manifesting itself for the first time. I was born an addict and they will tell you in treatment and AA that while that is true in many people's cases many times traumatic things that have happened to you can also play a role. It can be a combination of the two. At this point in my life I was mainly using alcohol to sleep because, not only have I been an insomniac since I was a teenager, my broken heart and racing thoughts of what went wrong in that relationship made trying to sleep torture. Alcohol fixed my sleeping problem. I've always had very bad hangovers but it seemed like a reasonable trade off for blessed sleep.

My family encouraged, well, insisted that I go to an AA meeting. The boyfriend of my best friend had been in recovery for several years so I asked him about where I could find a meeting. He was so kind and not only told me about a meeting he sometimes went to he offered to pick me up and take me. It was held at St. Columbe's Episcopal Church in west Jackson. I turned out to be the only female in the meeting. There were several long tables pushed together to form one long one. Seated at the tables were several older men and between them all there must have been at least a hundred years of recovery. Leading the meeting was Hugh Turner, a man of about 65 or 70 who, in his drinking days, was the bartender at The Sun and Sand Motel. The stories that man could tell would make your jaw drop! Hugh recently passed away and he was at least 90. He was considered the father of AA in Jackson. No one was more loved, revered and respected than Hugh. His is and always will be missed.

After the meeting got underway a group of men of various ages came in a few minutes late. They got their coffee and sat down. Of course, what do I do but spot a tall, dark, handsome young man who appeared to be about my age. The rest of the meeting we smiled and exchanged glances at each other. Needless to say my mind was not on the meeting. Turns out the group of latecomers were from a halfway house close by the meeting and that is where they could be found every night there was a meeting there. I made sure I was, too.

Here I was in a room filled with so much solid knowledge about recovery and how to get sober and I'm visually flirting with a guy at the end of the table. I was standing on the cusp of sobriety and not taking it very seriously at at all.

A few meetings later when everyone was leaving Bob and I introduced ourselves to each other and he told me he was from Natchez. He was quickly called away by his counselor to go get in the van. Fraternization with the opposite sex at meetings for those still in treatment, as he was, is frowned upon and just generally not allowed.

He did sneak me a note when we were leaving a meeting a few nights later with his telephone number at the halfway house asking me to call him. There were no cell phones in 1987 so I rushed home to call him.

I leaned that he had been in treatment twice and had decided to go into the halfway house for transitional treatment. This allowed him to live in a sober environment and get a job during the day as a construction worker. This also gave him the time to go to meetings at night. He asked me if I would like to go and get something to eat the following Friday night and I didn't hesitate to accept. He had no car so I would have to pick him up.

I nervously waited in the car as he walked out his door to get into the car. He got in an immediately gave me a quick kiss on the lips. Wow! Let me just describe this guy to my female readers. He was 6'3”, had dark olive skin (he was half Panamanian), dark wavy hair and hazel brown eyes with what can only be described as a beautiful face. I was falling!

Now, ladies and gentlemen, one of the first cardinal rules in recovery is: DO NOT GET INTO A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH ANYONE FOR AT LEAST A YEAR. If any of you have ever seen the movie “28 Days” with Sandra Bullock, the entire rule is after a few months you can get a plant, after you've kept that plant alive for 1 year, then you can get a pet. If you've still got the plant and pet (preferably alive!) after another year, you might be able to go out for a cup of coffee with someone. Nothing will make you drink and/or use quicker that a romance gone wrong! Obviously we paid no attention to that!

After a few months of dating and making out in the car, I was getting ready for work one morning and there was a knock at my door. There stood Bob with a garbage bag full of his belongings and his boom box. Let me just describe the efficiency I was living in in Belhaven as the size of a large walk-in closet with a small bathroom with a shower. He had taken the day off and decided to come move in with me. What a surprise but I actually loved it!

Once again, I had to go through the whole bag saga but all was well, he didn't care and our little walk-in closet apartment because our love nest. We were very happy...for a while.

Criminal Intent

During the time I was with Mr. Wrong, my drinking had gradually increased over that year to the point that it was causing problems with my job and my family. Of course, regardless of whether I was drinking or not, there were going to family problems. Mother was FINALLY divorcing Walter! Yes! It only took her 22 years! That's my Mama. She's where I got the pit bull trait from. But this incident finally broke my mom's pit bull grip!

Crazy Uncle Tommy, his sweet wife, Maxine, my mama and I had been out to dinner. They dropped us off in the driveway but stayed to make sure we made it in the house safely. I was living a block away in a small apartment.

Walter had been in and out of the house on a particularly terrible manic episode. He was walking around knocking on neighbors' doors at 5:00 AM for no reason other than to say “Hello!” And of course he was running around with his would be gangster friends and his would be gangster friends. He would have been much better if he was not drinking while taking his medicine. That fact made him a scary freakazoid! But, mother and I had no idea how scary he could really be.

We noticed something was amiss as soon as we opened the door. By this time Tommy and Maxine were in the house with us. Several pieces of furniture were missing or destroyed. The microwave was gone as well as my mother's jewelry box that contained priceless, sentimental pieces of jewelry of my Mamaw's as well as some rather expensive pieces of Mother's. My Mamaw had give my mother a beautiful tea serving cart for her first Mother's Day. It was gone.

We called the police, of course, quickly determined that there was no forced entry so we immediately knew it was Walter who was supposedly gone on a fishing trip that weekend. Yeah, right!

What the police discovered next was something we were in no way prepared for. The attic door in the ceiling of the hallway was open 3 – 5 inches. Upon closer inspection the office saw a shotgun pointed straight out of the opening of the of the attic door. Somehow there was a piece of thin rope rigged between the gun's trigger, a nail on the attic door and the air conditioner unit so that when the door was opened it would blow the head off whoever opened it, most likely my mother. The police officers (there were many at the house by that time) had some extremely long wire cutters and they were able to dismantle the carefully rigged rope without the gun going off. Whew!

After all this terror I stepped outside for some air. It was at this time that I finally noticed that my brand new 1987 Mazda RX 7 was gone! I had left it parked in the side driveway and left my keys on the kitchen counter. I called to tell a friend who lived in my apartment complex to cry about it! My new car – gone. Walter had stolen my car that he found for me and helped me buy in the first place! None of this was making much sense.

A few minutes later my neighbor/friend called to say that my car was in the parking lot with a lot of stuff in the back. The keys were in it and the door was locked. Luckily I had another set in my purse. Crazy Uncle Tommy took me down there and sure enough, there was my car. Curiously Mom's sterling silver tea service, tray and all, was sitting in the back.

O.K., folks, follow me now. This is what we have come to believe although when confronted the next day he would not admit it: Walter and his criminal buddies set the whole thing up to look like I had robbed and murdered my own mother. He never counted on me being with her though. In his plan, she would walk in alone, survey the damage, call the police, and her curiosity would get to her about that attic door so when she pulled it down – BOOM! It would have killed her instantly. He had a $250,000 life insurance policy on her. And by taking my car with “stolen” merchandise and setting it up in my apartment's parking lot the finger would have been pointed at me for responsibility for her death. He would collect big and I would go to jail for the rest of my life or worse/

He denied it all the next day while he stumbled around drunk slurring his words. We moved Mom out that afternoon.

Tie A Yellow Ribbon

 This was our song.  I cannot hear it without pulling over to cry...still.

I am very sorry that I keep forgetting things, readers. Not that this incident will every leave my mind or my heart. There are times that I block this particular part of my life out because, even right now, it makes me cry.

While I worked at Warehouse Food Center there were many cute boys that worked there as buggy pushers. This is long before they had the machines they do at Wal-Mart that you put behind the long, long row of buggies to be pushed inside. These guys did it all by hand – and by back!!

I looked up one day and there was a new buggy pusher. It was raining outside and he had on a long brown trench coat. He had long blonde/brown hair – dirty blonde, actually, but I hate that connotation. He had hazel eyes and a very faint, never been shaved, mustache He looked at me as I stared at him and smiled a very shy smile and looked away. Yeah, I was totally smitten.

Not being a stupid girl, I started taking my breaks the same time he did. We started talking and, the shy smile was a dead give away to his personality. His name was C.L., he was shy and I talked 90 to nothing! He did reveal that he lived with his mother, his grandmother and his little sister, Cynthia. He always smiled that smile and always so very sweet. Sometimes he would call me at night and we would talk. Funny the things you remember. Once night we were talking and his dog was in the kitchen with him. He was eating something and he started laughing. He had dropped one of the canned peaches he was eating on the floor and his puppy dog was eating it. Isn't that a strange thing to remember? I suppose it's that I have so few memories of him that I hold on to the ones I have.

I am really not sure why but after a few weeks of getting to know each other he asked me out on a date. Thinking back I can still remember how excited I was. He was a perfect gentleman when he came to pick me up. He shook Walters hand and was very sweet to my mom. Very sweet but still that hint of shyness. He had a vintage black Chevrolet SS and he opened and closed my door for me when I got it. We went to see “The Cheap Detective”. We talked (whispered) all during the movie and even kissed a little. I thought I would die right then and there! As much as a 16 year old could be in love, I was.

There was a guy named Kenny who worked there as a cashier that I had dated immediately after working there in August and this was right after Thanksgiving 1978. He still had some sort of thing for me. He begged me to come out and talk to him at his car one night. C.L. happened to be off that night. I didn't see what harm there could be in walking to his car. You know, my mother prayed that prayer that the Lord would be sure I was caught if I ever did something wrong. And it worked. C.L. drove right up beside us, took one angry look at us and drove away, tires screeching. I was devastated as I'm sure he must have been, as well. We were only standing there talking about something that couldn't have been important and certainly nothing I felt would interfere with my relationship with C.L. But he obviously was very hurt by it.

We didn't speak for a week. I cried myself to sleep every night. On Thursday night of the next week I finally mustered all my courage and told him I was so sorry and that, if he could forgive me. I really wanted to get back together with him. All he said with an angry look on his face was “I've got another girl!” My heart was so hurt I could actually feel it IN my heart. I really thought I might be having a heart attack...at 16...stupid, right?

The next night was Friday and I always went to Pizza Hut on Friday night to get myself a personal pan pizza. I couldn't really eat it I was so sick about C.L. I noticed him come into the break area and as I was leaving I asked if he wanted my left overs. He said “Thank you” and took them to eat for his dinner.

That night before I went to sleep I prayed for God to please take this hurt away from me. I felt like I was dying inside. You remember that heartsick love of a teen-aged heart, right? I have never prayed that prayer again. What happened next taught me to be very careful what you pray for because you might get it in a way you never dreamed in your worst nightmares.

Because my mom worked for the telephone company I was afforded my own private phone line in my room. Nice perk. My phone rang sometime in the wee hours of the morning. It was my dear friend, Marilyn. We had been friends since Hillcrest and still are friends to this day. She said that C.L. and another boy we went to school with at Wingfield had been in a car accident on McDowell Road, which was our cruising road. C.L. was dead.

I remember walking into my parents room, in the dark, crying so hard they could barely understand me and told them what had happened. They both turned their lights on and comforted me as best they could. But there was no comfort for me. My heart was broken.

Prior to the funeral visitation for C.L. I had never met his family. I remember looking down a hallway and seeing a beautiful young girl in a white dress with her arms folded walking the hall up and down, crying harder than I had ever seen anyone cry. She had the same beautiful sandy-brown hair as C.L. with the same eyes as him only piercing blue in color. I knew right away that this was his little sister. Cynthia. I didn't bother her then. I left her to feel her own grief as everyone should be allowed to. In the visitation room I met his mother and grandmother who were doing their best to be strong but their grief showed through. They were lovely women and from that night on they made me feel a part of their family. Can you imaging losing your only son and still having the capacity to love someone they had never met? This was a family of extraordinary women.

The funeral is still one of the very hardest things I have ever gone through. I kept it together until, at the graveside service as I was walking away I lost all composure. Not sure how far down deep in my soul the tears came from but I had only felt that kind of grief when I lost my grandmother. C.L.'s grandmother sent his little nephew to say “Come back! Come back!” They sat me down with the rest of their family and allowed my tears and grief to flow. I couldn't imagine that kind of love and acceptance from a family I had only met a couple of days before.

Later on, Cynthia and I became fast friends. She was like my little sister. Not sure how C.L.'s mother found the strength to let her get in the car with me and ride up and down McDowell Road. But she did. We would spend the night with each other just like we had known each other forever.

I had my tonsils out during Christmas break. I ended up spending the night in the hospital and imagine my surprise the next morning when a beautiful vase of yellow roses arrived in my room. This was when “Tie a Yellow Ribbon” was a very popular song. The card read “Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree if you still love us! Love C.L.'s Family.

That ribbon has remained tied for 33 years.

The Great North Congress Street Smack-Down

I would be remiss if I did not back up a few posts and tell you about a special friend of mine. Her name will not be revealed but I did mention her previously. She was the woman that Kay had a 4 year relationship with prior to she and I getting together. She was so beautiful and had a style all her own. She had this unique sort of a subdued '80's hippie thing going on. There has been no one like her, before or since.

Upon getting to know her better I learned that she was an innocent much like me. She had moved to Jackson from a small town in the Mississippi Delta. All she knew was that this very interesting woman wanted to be with her and that was that. She was as shocked as I was to find out what sort of person she had become involved with. She had never been abused physically, especially by someone she had so trustingly given her heart to.

I have a funny story to tell you that she reminded me of during a long conversation we had today. Apparently only a couple of days after Kay and I got together, she went to my friend's house and took something from her. No more details than that but suffice it to say my friend wanted her shit BACK!

So she shows up at Kay's apartment (I think I was at Bubba's apartment with everyone else watching the events unfold and eating popcorn) asking for her things back. Kay then proceeds to chase her with a stick and hits her where? You guessed it – in the head! Anyway, not to be outdone, my friend gets in her Ford Pinto, yanks that thing in reverse and proceeds to ram Kay's grandmother's car, a mint condition older model Chevy Impala, from behind on the street where it was parked.

After that I think it got good to her because she again slammed it in reverse and plowed into the back of the car again...and again, like 3 or 4 times! She even pushed Kay's car into the car parked in front of hers causing it to jump the curb and slam into a tree! Then there she goes, screeching off down North Congress Street, flames shooting out of the hood of her Pinto!

This, dear readers, is what happens after you physically and mentally abuse a person for so long and that final straw snaps. The fact that years before Kay had put a cigarette out above my friends lip that burned all the way through to her gums, couldn't possibly have had anything to do with the Great North Congress Street Pinto-Impala Smack-Down of 1983!

What would you think?

First They're Sweet, Then They're Sour

At an Office Party at Cock of the Walk

(I won the award for the "Punkiest Employee with the Funkiest Alarm Clock)

Another Dressier Office Party with Mr. Sour

If you knew me then, you would know that it didn't take me long before I was in another relationship. A guy I knew from high school was working for an office supply company that our office ordered from. He had also dated a friend of mine in high school. It was good to see him when he made deliveries but I really thought nothing of him romantically speaking. He was just a nice guy. For privacy we'll call him David.

All that changed one evening when I was doing my grocery shopping at Jitney 14 in Belhaven. His office was close by and he was in the check-out line next to mine. We talked for a minute and he asked me if I was doing anything that night. I had no plans so he brought the 12-pack of Miller beer he was purchasing over to my sparsely furnished apartment. When I say “sparsely furnished” I mean I had a bed and a dresser with a mirror and a few drawers. No table, no chairs. So we sat on my bed, drank beer and watched the movie “Fletch”. He was a very witty guy so we laughed and laughed. Things got a little interesting for a while, but, remember, I still had to TELL HIM about myself. I didn't that night, in fact we had several dates, until I finally had the courage to confess my secret. Again, no rejection, no pointing and laughing, just acceptance and love.

He was the kindest man I had every met. Nothing ruffled his feathers. He was easy-going, fun and loved me. However, by this time, my alcohol abuse was doing nothing but going up, up, up. David drank as much as I did usually Seven-Year-Old Charter and Coke. Sometimes we drank beer, but not that often. Back then, wine coolers were just coming out and getting popular. My favorite was the Fuzzy Navel flavor so I drank my share of those. I wouldn't say we got drunk every night but we did drink some during the week and definitely all weekend.

I had virtually moved in with him into a small, very nice little house he had built behind behind his Dad's house. He also had a baby girl from a very brief marriage and we loved getting her every other weekend. He was a devoted father and she was a precious baby. Hard for me to believe she is all grown up now.

Yes, we drank, a lot! We were once escorted out of The Comedy Barn for heckling the comedian. He deserved it. That was a fun night but I was so angry! I had never been asked to leave anywhere in my life. I got into David's van, promptly propped my feet on the passenger side dash and slammed my stiletto heel into the front of his glove box! The next day or so he found a stick-on Ford logo that covered it nicely.

We made trips to New Orleans for my birthday, to the Coast for his and visited his mom in Louisiana several times. We had so much fun together. I had never been with anyone who treated me with such kindness, love and respect. I am not sure I really ever got used to it. Didn't everybody have a mean, bi-polar step-father and a girlfriend who liked to beat you up on a weekly basis? Surely not.

The kids, mid-to older teenage boys and their girlfriends, would hang out and drink with us probably 2 or 3 times per week. Thinking back, if one of those kids had ever had an accident after leaving David's house, it would have been David's fault for supplying the liquor. I shudder to think how irresponsible and stupid it was to do that!

One night, one of the young guys came by with a beautiful, young blonde. She was tiny, petite and just David's type. He called me the next day which was a Friday and asked if I was going to aerobics as I did some days after work. I told him I probably would and he said that his dad wanted to take him out to eat at The Hill (any south Jackson folks remember that place?) and they might be out really late. I told him that was fine and went to stay with my mom that night.

Of course, that night I started calling him about 10:00 PM thinking surely they would be home from dinner. No answer. No answer all night until 3:00 AM. I finally went to sleep thinking the worst. The cute girl never left my mind. I knew what was happening in my heart of hearts. There was no answer at all on Saturday or Sunday. Monday after work I went to his house and sat on his front porch waiting for him to come home. When he got home and was walking towards the port I saw it. He had an obscenely large hickey on his neck. Aside from the fact that I felt my heart had been ripped out and stopped on, a HICKEY? How tacky!

Of course I went inside with him to have a drink and tell him how I felt about his betrayal. I also wanted a confession from him, as if the hickey wasn't enough! He told me what I already knew. He and the petite blond that had come to the house that fateful night went out to a bar, left the bar and promptly went to bed. His excuse was that he felt like we were getting too serious and...wait for it...wait for it...I no longer satisfied him sexually. I remember almost involuntarily turning my face away from him. I could feel my cheeks burning with hurt, embarrassment and devastation. I managed to stand up on my wobbly legs which were not wobbly from the couple of drinks I had but from the shock of what he had said. I left and never went back.