Saturday, August 4, 2012
Give me no dreams of ice
We moved into Navy housing, with new neighbors and friends and things limped along. My husband seemed to need to confess his sins. Every time he would ask for one more chance, for a forgiveness I could no longer give. It didn't phase me. It was expected. I don't think I heard him anymore.
Our child was my world. She had colic at first, but by the time she was four months old she was fine. She was a happy baby and loved to play; she healed me. I continued in counseling. Having a daughter had made me fearful that what happened to me could happen to her. I wanted to protect her from the world and the evil I knew was in it. My counselor was mediocre at best. I had nothing to gauge her by at the time, but she really was bad. I had been a chatty little thing, as a child. It's what I did when I was nervous. Spilling my guts about my parents was nerve racking. As a defense mechanism I did what most three year olds would do. I changed the subject. While I went there to talk about me, we spent most of our time talking about her. She was having an affair with the married counselor she was sharing office space with and it was reeking havoc on her life. I am not sure what advice I gave her. It couldn't have been any good. But considering I was paying her to hear it, I think it was a deal.
We moved back down to California and this time was different. I loved it. We moved into a secured apartment building, with underground parking and a pool. I started working for a printer in accounts receivable and then moved on to Banker's Trust. I couldn't have been happier. I made good money and I finally got my driver's license. I bought my first car and realized I could stand on my own two feet. The more independent I became, the more clingy my husband was. He would surprise me with flowers and books, which I loved. He seemed to want to settle into being a family. He gave praise and expressed his happiness; it was all too late. It didn't matter to me. I had moved beyond him. Beyond the lies and the pain caused by his secrets.
He received emergency orders and was gone within a week. I packed up my life and went back home. I didn't think I would be able to afford LA by myself, but I knew I could take care of my daughter alone. And that was all I needed. I went to work at the same restaurant that I had left. I may have ended up back where I started, but I was far from the same girl who I had been. I
I rediscovered my old friends. They dropped in to visit and invited me out. I hadn't been to a bar before. So, at twenty-two, I decided I would go clubbing. I would work every morning, get off in the afternoon, spend time with my daughter and either my friend's mother would watch her while I was gone. My party girl days were short lived. I loved to dance. I could dance all night, but I was never going to be a drinker and I wasn't ready for the attention I got from the bar patrons in a Navy town.
I worked on the house I rented. I put in a garden and painted it. I nested. I felt like we had something there, my life felt complete. My Husband sent letters and gifts. I was mostly silent. He talked about family and made great plans for our future, but I knew they where dreams made of ice. Crystal clear and sure to melt away. We were done. I didn't feel sad or angry. I had cried it all out and my tears washed him clean away.
My mother tried to guide me, to tell me what to do, but I was having none of it. I didn't need her approval and I didn't expect her love. I didn't cut her out, but I cut her down. She was no longer the giant spider weaving her web around me. She was just a sad, disappointed woman, who unable to control her life, tried to control others. She didn't stand a chance this time.
Posted by Chele at 11:39 PM