Pycho-therapy, Part Two
It was November the first time I flew home to visit my family. I didn�t want to leave. I did though. Possibly the biggest mistake of my life, going back to him.
My cat and books and clothes were there. The most important things in my life, at that time.
When I got back to him, the apartment was filthy. The housewife in me went on autopilot and I forgot about how miserable I was for awhile. All I cared about was removing the cigarette smell from the upholstery and making the toilet sparkle again. Everything seemed to have a sullied, male tint. Dirt and ashes and sweat.
He kissed a girl in a bar while I was gone. I was sitting on the floor and I don�t know what possessed me but I asked him if he cheated while I was away. I was half joking. I was completely joking. I wanted to laugh and feel secure when he said �Of course not, babe. You are my one and only.�
I was shocked but not surprised as a good friend of mine is fond of saying. I have never cheated before. It�s never been something I would consider. Maybe that�s just because, barring my husband, I have never been in an obscure and dismal relationship before. I dated boys who were fun and attentive and sexy. Boys who played puppy dog. Boys who told the truth. Boys who loved my long, dark hair. Real boys.
He hated my hair. He wanted me to bleach it blonde. He begged me. I kept dying it�black to chocolate brown to cinnamon to cherrywood to black again. He lamented it. I loved it. I�ll abhor blonde hair until the day I dye. I take secret pleasure in hating blonde hair.
I had a cat named Basil, but we also acquired a mutual kitty. She was a little black and gray tabby, a miniature replicate of Basil. Her name was Chloe and I spent most of my days tending to her like a child after we got her. She made a funny little beeping sound when she purred, so I started calling her Beebers and it stuck. Beebers and Basil grew to be great pals. Confidants. Links in the feline chain.
Beebers was an introverted and petite girly-cat. I had a love/hate relationship with her. She was shy and sweet but so cunning and mischievous besides. She would leave her prints all over the scene of a crime, but you could never catch her red-pawed. This drove me crazy, but also endeared me to her. I swatted her little tail and she feigned bewilderment. Once she left tiny inked paw prints all over the carpet in the living room, tracing directly back to a garbage can with a broken pen inside. Hate is too strong a word, it was more like a love/annoyed relationship.
It wasn�t all bad with him, but by and large�it was bad. There were little things to keep me sane, like the cats and walking in the park by myself. I got to know the guys who ran the coffee shop down the street, I had a few acquaintances at my night job working as a temp in a call center. I read and wrote a lot. If nothing else, I did gain a huge amount of world experience in a short amount of time. Things I will be able to draw upon for future reference, things I will be able to write about and think about.
I called 911 for the first time in my life when I was with him. I also posted bond for someone for the first time. I got pregnant for the first time, got married for the first time. Went to the hospital from injuries resulting from domestic violence for the first time. Hid from my husband in a women�s shelter for the first time. Saw the Smoky Mountains for the first time. Encountered Alcoholism up close and personal for the first time. A whole year of firsts. Firsts that are still coming as a consequence of my liaison with trouble.
