lunacat

Something was terribly wrong.
There was a silvery object, a missile of some kind, flying directly at my head.
It didnt begin this way.
Ten years before there was a gala wedding event.
Hundreds of people, four brides maids, lots of stained glass and a huge pipe organ.
Presbyterian but as orthodox as ever a wedding could be.
And ten years before that, we were preadolescent, in Sunday school, in our childhood and in love.
I bought her a 45 rpm record of a Pat Boone song. Moody River.
She was so cute. All smiles. Soft and gentle hands.
God I was bashful.
Couldnt imagine thinking anybody else was as wonderful as she. Nine years old and fully committed.
It went on like that for years.
We went to different schools so weeks were a long wait til Sunday.
Wait I did.
And summers, when she was gone with her family, taught me the value of daily journal entries in the form of letters to her.
I think she enjoyed that. Doubt if she had any friends who got daily letters.
But it was just me doing that. I was obsessed.
I know she got them, but she didnt give them. What youth in their right mind would?
She always had lots of boys around.
There was this wild side of her and limit testing became her game.
It was always me on Sunday, and the other guys during the week.
It was six years hence, fifteen, when we went to a summer camp together.
It was here that we kissed for the first time. Really kissed.
I can still feel my lips, it was so deeply imprinted in my psyche. I didnt speak for hours after so that I would not move my lips.
I was hopeless in my elevation of her to sainthood.
Never had another girlfriend. Never.
I would never advise this, but I wasnt there to advise me at the time. That advice would come much, much later.
And outside of a couple of hotrod buddies, never did much about exploring friendships.
It was always she and she was enough for me.
Maybe it was me but now I doubt it. I think it was the perseverance.
Somehow she agreed. At nineteen the big wedding went down.
Totally out of control. Her parents made all the decisions. All I got was Mozart on the pipe organ. And a wife.
I still had college to do.
She worked.
I worked and studied.
It worked.
We figured out money management and grocery routines.
We rented a house until my parents helped us buy.
We bought a house and saw the empty second bedroom.
We set about the filling of it.
Tim Hardin wrote a lovely poem Suite for Suzanne Moore and Damien and so we named number one son.
Still a student. Worked full time, carried a full load, slept when I could.
She ran day care out of our home.
Let me tell you man, we were good.
School finally ended. Got a real job.
Built a set of bunk beds and put another son in the second.
It all worked just like it should.
Moved to a bigger house. Got promoted. Had a life except . . .
No friends.
She had people, I didnt.
Had no idea how lonely I was until I slowed down enough to feel it.
Somehow, this one person in my life simply wasnt enough any more.
It wasnt a question of displacement.
It was a question of curiosity, heart development.
Commitment never waned, experience did.
Women are interesting. Ive never in this lifetime been one.
Men are interesting in terms of horse power, women are feelers.
Ive got outside plumbing, but Im a feeler by nature.
Met lots of people at work.
Began spending more time with women. Always careful to mention wife and kids, just to keep things clean.
Tongues began to wag. Small minds in the big city.
Phones rang. Before long, I had this raging liaison happening, but I didnt.
So who do you believe? Therere the phones and theres the partner of ten years.
She chose the phones.
She chose the phones.
Vitriolic hyperbole ensued. Cuss words flew around like I was some kind of monster.
Wed never spoken that way.
Something was terribly wrong.
There was a silvery object, a missile of some kind, flying directly at my head.
I dodged just in time. The clothes iron smashed against the wall and burst apart.
It was incomprehensible. Had the wagging tongues come to me I might have had some warning.
I thought we were good.
I was a more complete person.
I was learning things about humanity that school didnt teach.
And now I was totally incredulous. Totally heart broken. Totally understanding that things would never, ever revert.
She chose the phones.
More importantly, she didnt believe me.
All those years of trust, of loving kindness, of partnering vaporized that night.
Still I thought we could make it work, if only I would come to terms with the incident.
The incident. It became the unspoken noun. So unspoken.
I turned to drink.
For another ten years, I really thought we could make it work if only I would come to terms with the incident.
Couldnt bring myself to leave.
Had to consider the boys. Maybe it was more self serving than that.
Didnt want to run the risk of her poisoning them against their philandering, besotted father.
Things get sick that way when youre drunk most of the time.
Became quiet and careless. Spoke when necessary to maintain civility but began thinking I would die in the not too distant future.
Later she became a lesbian. Probably there all the time but undiscovered.
Explains a lot I guess.
Then she ended it.
Not just me, but she left the boys too.
Left us all.
My burden was lifted.
Sobered up. Got involved. Befriended my sons on a whole new level.
Made friends. Met a special woman.
17 years. No missiles.