paisleypiper's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- soap and water The past two days I have been thinking about feeling trapped by vague malaise. It is the horrible, energy-sapping, blazing, blasting heat that is working to whither and blister anything and everything under its watch. The house starts feeling small, as Quinn and I organize our days to stay in the path of one of the fans that we turn on and off in combination � and if we get out of synch our circuit trips and everything goes black. Or in the event of daytime, it all goes gray. The constant whirling of fans fills the mind with a certain clatter � on one level it is white noise and on another level I have to turn the stereo up to greater and greater volumes to hear music. Sometimes it is only the sound of the fan these days, which is a bit mesmerizing. Last night, a little group of friends were talking about weddings. I shared with them how now that I am older and have fought my way through life a little more, earned a bit of credibility, I can look back on my wedding day and see something entirely different. By the time my wedding approached I no longer wanted to get married. The dude lacked sufficient self-control to hold a job and corral his temper, significant warning signs to end the relationship. But, thinking of everyone else, I decided to keep forging ahead � plans had been made, plane tickets purchased, gifts, deposits, catering,�. I felt my fate was sealed and my life over. At twenty-three. The day of the wedding I was terrified and anxiety-ridden. We had thirteen inches of snow the week before, and I saw in those drifts and plow-made piles all of the mountains of problems I was neglecting. What will I do the next time he screams at me, threatens to kill me, punches me instead of the wall? It will be too late to just walk away because we will be married. My friends could tell that I was not happy to be getting married. My eyes must have been the saddest shade of blue. My lips, pale and quivering. I was trapped in this makeshift dressing room, standing in front of fan, trying to keep cool and trying to keep from crying. I confessed to my best friend that I wanted to crawl out the window and she said, �why don�t you? I bet I could round up four other people who do not want you to go through with this wedding.� And she did. We thought fast, charted our moves, passes, throws and tip-offs. The master plan involved three states, two cars, a rental truck, a shocking confession and a rendezvous weekend celebration in honor of my ditching this guy, who was nothing but trouble, before I became legally and semi-permanently associated with him. It was exhilarating to have the best minds I knew helping me to overcome my guilt and build up my courage. Three friends, two of them former roommates, sneaked out of the reception hall, with my apartment keys, to drive up to Omaha, rent a moving truck and move my stuff out of the apartment and into my the garage at my grandmother�s summer house in rural Nebraska. My grandmother, the attorney, thought this was a necessary move so that I would not have to deal with this man, as furious as he would become with me. Meanwhile, my grandmother began instigating stall tactics. We guessed that people would wait around for about two hours, provided they had entertainment. This would give the moving team enough of a head start. My grandmother told my father to get his guitar and hold a concert, as though that was part of the plan. I watched my mother get suspicious that my father was taking the limelight. But people listened as he played. They clapped. He played some more. Finally all of those hungry years�classical musicians do not make any money�paid off. Delay time: 1 hour. We need another hour. My grandmother then decided that she would recite poetry. So she organized an open mic session, reciting a few of her favorites, shall we say that this went on for at least thirty minutes, people astounded with her memory at her advanced age as well as her dramatic presentation. But the groom�s side was beginning to wonder what all of this DieHard talent show meant. But the thing about my family is that they are just so overbearing that I think quite frankly that whole clan and their gang of friends just sat in a culturally inferior slump as my grandmother informed the entire room of the necessity of a close reading of Homer for any married couple. In reality, it was a real-life, non-political filibuster. No one has the nerve to shut up a five-foot-one eighty-one year old woman. Well, no one but a freaking scary Christian sect minister that the groom family insisted perform the ceremony. But my grandmother then began asking him to recite certain passages from the Bible and corrected his errors in front of his whole flock. If you can, imagine this woman�s hold on our family. Delay time: 2 hours. Guests in a supreme state of confusion, anxiety and downright amusement. The wedding begins. The groom-to-be is furious with me. He keeps asking me why I am screwing everything up. Saying he didn�t trust me. That I was ruining the wedding like I ruined everything. That I was a no-good bitch and should just go to hell. I asked him, �So why do you still want to marry me� and he said �I love you.� We walked down the aisle. The groom-to-be�s final outburst serving as my final inspiration to stick with the new plan. The minister gave a sermon about love and the duties of husbands and wives. Then we started the ceremony. We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite _______________________ and ______________________ in marriage. With my heart beating and a little smile sneaking onto my face, the moment arrived. �Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, they must speak now or forever hold their peace.� My best friend appears at the back of the room, in the aisle, and says �I can. I love her and do not want to see her go through with this marriage. And I think she loves me too.� I turn around and look at this young, brave, incredibly cool woman. Hand my bouquet to the groom-to-be, look him in the eye and say �You need to respect life and the people you supposedly love. I hope you never hit another woman again.� I run down the aisle with the gasps and glares, a few brave claps. My best friend and I hop in her car and motor off to Omaha, just as fast as we can. It�s a good fantasy for the hot day. Instead I got married and found out just how bad a bad relationship can be. I told myself to hang in there for three years. That three years was all anyone would expect me to be married and not feel putout about their gift or the purchase of a plane ticket. Then I shortened that time to two years. And one day, after a particularly ugly fight witnessed by my younger cousin, I shortened that time to eighteen months. The day I told my husband I was leaving him, I had the back door unlocked, the car full of gas, and $40.00 cash. I told him, he became enraged, and I ran out the back door and drove off, temporarily, into another life. But then I had to return, because we were married and had to deal with each other until a judge gave us permission to become strangers. That is what we are now. Strangers. 3:53 p.m. - 2002-08-04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||