Aint No Ash Will Burn; Feb 11 2021
My first husband seduced me away from my boyfriend with flattery and good treatment. Handsome, a Bass player musician, off the road now; he wanted me to love him, and I was willing, after two weeks, to say yes to his proposal. Soon after, unremarkably in hindsight, what I’d signed up for began to manifest.
His disappearance. A call saying he’d had to spend the night in jail. I, often not knowing where the heck he was.
Remarkable stories from him about his life in Vietnam, (Don’t ever wake me up from a sound sleep. Call to me from the doorway or I might try to kill you.) His musical touring with a band, and conquests; suspicious notes left in windows from ?? That he wouldn’t let me see. Admission from him that he was a “Stud” meaning, evidently, that many women were wanting him.
Later, an heirloom ring from my grandmother disappeared. After that, he borrowed an amplifier which inexplicably had to be sold.
I was not a good cook. Nor was I a good house keeper. He did try to improve me. He had convinced me to move out of my small apartment in a big house, and to rent a small house in the middle of strangers far from friends and family. Later, into the town where he worked. I got a job. I became pregnant. He asked me to get an abortion, and when I couldn’t do it, he said he wanted me to have the baby.
About that time I found out he had a (new) girlfriend. I had seen her at a gig, once, before the shit hit the fan. She was a tiny, skinny, mousey looking woman who none-the-less wore chains across her belly and knew the moves. She was dancing with a man who looked tired and rather sad, but who obviously adored her. He was her match; a good pairing I thought, with some rue, since my pairing was beginning to tarnish. Soon enough I realized she and my husband were “an item,” when I found his sides and back scored with nail scratches.
At some later gig I accosted her in the lady’s room.
“You’re his wife?” she said, uncertain first, followed by an incredulous “You’re pregnant?”
“Three months,” I replied, pushing her dawning awareness.
“Oh! He didn’t tell me.” Oh, surprise. Oh, the torment. Women, kept in the dark. She was in despair, vulnerable, ambivalent, but hoping to see me out of the picture, saying wretchedly, “I love him.”
The official story from my husband was a huge lie about him having a previous relationship with her and her having a baby by him. Unbelievable, but I did want to believe it, in spite of what was plain to see. She was going to give him the child if he would live with them for some (unspecified and increasingly long) time. Complicated, right? He moved in with her, in a city about an hour away.
So while I was stranded, pregnant, in a town with no car, in economic hard times that resulted in me being laid off the week before Christmas, my husband was in another woman’s bed. I never saw another nickel from him.
I managed to find another job and rig up a ride to and from. My husband would swing by frequently to “check up” on me, which basically meant to see if I was still captive. Every week, the same impotent promise. “I’ll come back home on Friday.” Friday, “I’ll come back home on Monday.” At that time, there was really no option for me but to stay where I was.
And then, I began passing clots. Quarter sized clots. My OBGYN made me quit work and told me to stay in bed. That was problematic, eh? No friends, no family, no money, no nuthin. Welfare was not available to me at that time because I was just pregnant, not a mother with a child.
My grandmother Harriet wrote me a letter telling me she was moving back to Connecticut; and with that I finally broke my own silence and told her everything that had happened to me. When she arrived, we settled in a small rental and she literally spoon fed me from April to July, when I had my son. I can honestly say that Harriet, and having that baby, saved me.
But the drama continued for another year before I gained the understanding to cut the connection with the man.
Flattery, followed by the best treatment, followed by infractions, supported with lies, undermined by theft and blatant betrayal..
After the honeymoon it was flattery, which didn’t work, followed by promises never fulfilled, followed by threats, followed by physical abuse. Fortunately for me, when he once slammed me against a wall, it made me furious, and that surprised him, and he backed down. He continued to try to talk me away from the truth, to silence my rebuttals, to bend me to his will. It was two years of living in dread and suspicion, and finally, catching him in his lie irrefutably. Even then, I had to stand up to him repeatedly, and finally, disconnect. Refuse his phone calls. Cut him off entirely. And nowhere in this time did he evidence any concern for the child other than to try to use him as a bargaining chip. I was on Welfare by that time. I learned that some relationships can't be fixed.
Under the circumstances, the divorce was quick and easy. My husband didn’t show up. "Your Honor, he left when I got pregnant, and hasn’t contributed to my support since." My defense. Judgement: ~ "Divorce granted." Gavel hits the desk.
Once we were divorced I found out from the local band members he played with that he was a heroin addict. He swallowed all the baggage of the whole “musician stud” thing alright. In retrospect, I’m sure he had PTSD, because the one conversation we did have about his time in Nam, he mentioned that half the men in his group killed were killed by “friendly fire.” I’m sorry for him. It's impossible to integrate these realities of war. It doesn’t explain the threats of violence against me and my grandmother, the show-off attempt to kidnap my child, (I met his bluff, and he backed down) or the threats of driving his car into our living room, or mailing letters to all my friends and letters to say it was MY fault that he commits suicide..)
My first husband already had been married and divorced twice to the same woman, and had six children by her. He had one by me and at least one by his new wife, the Girlfriend. I have wondered how many others there really are. The Girlfriend would call me occasionally because he "hasn't come home yet." She’d be frantic, calling everywhere to find him. I didn’t envy her. I could not imagine being a police dog in a relationship. He broke her wrist once, and blacked her eye another time.
Thirteen years later I had to find him so my second husband could legally adopt my child. I hoped my ex would have collected himself by that time, maybe, apologize for what he’d put me through, but no, what he did was declare his undying love for me, and that he’d leave his girlfriend/now wife in an instant if I asked, he thought about me all the time yada yada yada. I couldn’t believe my ears. It so insulted my sense of honor and decency that all I could say was “Over my dead body.”
That was the epitaph on the tombstone of our relationship.
For certain, now, I recognize the signs of that predator. We’ve had one in the presidential office of the United States. He calls himself the 45th President, like, he’s the last one we’ll ever have. But of course, his infidelity gives him eyes for every other woman; to become the emperor of the world. Flattery, flash, big promises (impotent) followed by bigger lies that people swallow like pudding, and when that doesn’t get him what he wants, insults Then, slander, veiled threats, and “You’re fired.” “Something bad might happen to you.” One “spouse” must be loyal to the death, and the other may philander at will. Abuse of the worst kind, to those who have (naively) given their trust and their commitment to one who will never return the actions of the vow and doesn’t know love. And if this doesn’t satisfy, recruiting violence against his “opponents” from people he will scrape off the bottom of his shoes.
My first husband just found me on facebook through old mutual musician friends. He wanted me to befriend him on facebook. I spent some time looking at his facebook page. Remarkably he is apparently still with the Girlfriend/Wife and in their photo they both look happy. He has a grand daughter. He has Christian friends. He even makes a few sort of Christian comments. I didn’t see any of the children from his first marriage listed as friends on facebook, but I didn’t look too long. Seeing his photo and reading his page brought the whole thing back to me, in living emotional color. What could he possibly want? Why on earth request to be friends? Some curiosity? Some hope? Some repentance?
I rode that unruly horse over night, and miraculously, in the morning, explained in a brief sentence to the mutual friend by whom we were connected that I would not be a facebook friend with my first husband, and, no offense, might have to block the mutual friend as well. He understood. I blocked my first husband and the storm went away.
Right now, the Senate is sitting in trial of impeachment for Donald Trump. The Republicans are in turmoil; some of them with arms crossed and eyes stubbornly on the table, others making notes, later many saying “We will acquit.” They may, but I won’t. I will excuse myself from having anything to do with political predators who are addicted, traumatized, victimized, and captivated by big lies, by accusing their “enemies” of doing the very thing they are doing themselves, by being willing to resort to violence against anyone, even their own, when lies and flattery don’t work, and by insisting they have the right to determine which votes count and which votes must be overturned, which people may be considered True Citizens, and which people must be Silenced. I am sorry for them. But they too have overturned my trust, and I will not go back to to the ashes of their betrayals.
