backhoe wrote:... it helps- not much, but a little- to be able to vent some of this stuff.
There's a dark side, too-- I've hinted at it, and have not yet decided how- if at all-- to write about it.
Welcome to the Dark Side... and no, we don't have cookies...
I finally decided to tell... a little about the “rest of the story” ( Paul Harvey ref... )
In my own words. You, reader, can judge for yourself... the depth of love, the truth of words written, somewhat by what I have written before.
Whatever you read, and see, and hear-- is only a fraction of her life... and remember, there always was another life- another World, involved-- mine...
I have my own “griefs and cares...”
( “Try a Little Tenderness” ref )
In all those years together with Miss Emily, only two things made me think, contemplate, and wonder and worry about “calling my lawyer”- to divorce her...
One, was those “fugue states” ( google it ) I told you a little about-- what do you do, when your mate is irrational, violent, and destructive, and you can't do anything about it?
I toughed it out, but it wasn't easy-- I always worried she'd burn the house down, with all of us in it... chain smoking in bed is a really bad habit...
This is really hard to write about--
Yeah, that old “hide the salami...” “do the Deed...” “roll around in bed...”
Yes, I am letting you in to a private place- one I normally never would.
Because you need to know “the rest of the story”-- and I need to tell it.
Let's go back in time, first, to right before she died, then, to the beginning, and fill in the gaps...
And again, I have only my own words, and my own perspective- how I wish she were here, to fill in the places I, no doubt, will miss...
Back in April of this year, Haase Farm Service's abandoned buildings were plagued with vandalism, breaking and entering, stealing, and other petty crimes... buildings were broken in to, stuff was stolen.
Remember, while this is going on, I'm trying to live my life with Miss Emily-- getting things for her, doing things, walking miles on aching feet and trying to see and hear things I don't see or hear very well any more. Life, and living...
I am gathering tools, taking them out there, trying to repair and reinforce broken doors, shattered locks, damage...
And in the middle of all this?
Miss Emily gets an expression on her face I have never seen before-- and believe me, in 25 years of marriage, you would think I had seen them all-- and in a tone of voice I have never heard before, ( see previous ) tells me,
“It was those Butts Boys...”
( I've heard about those boys before- but it was 40 years ago those kids from the trailer park next door robbed and vandalized Haase Farm Service-- by now, they are dead, in prison, or maybe reformed-- the Butts Boys are History, by now... )
She tells me a short, disjointed tale about how, when she was 10, one of them “dragged her in the woods, and tried to rape her, but, 'somehow, Robert pulled him off...'”
Suddenly, for me, a lot of things fell into place... and if she had not died, maybe, just may be, we could have worked them out.
The “marital relations” side of our relationship was never satisfactory- for me, or as far as I could tell, for her. Sure, we slept together, before and after marriage, but I could never tell what she liked, or didn't, and she did not seem to care.
Or communicate about it. She always froze when I brought the subject up.
It was always a sore point- a source of friction between us. Sex every year or two really doesn't cut it for any normal man- or woman.
But there are other reasons to get, and stay, married-- like friendship, and common interests.
So, yeah, I “toughed it out”-- but it wasn't easy. I thought about lawyers, sometimes thought about old girlfriends... but I stayed with her, and I kept my hands off the other women.
Then, she told me about
“Those Butts Boys...”
And everything fell in to place.
God help me, I really thought she did not like me, at some fundamental level, and when she said “I love you,” I half did not believe her-- if “you love me,” why won't you enjoy screwing me?” was my unvoiced response...
Like I tell people- two things in life, you never have quite enough of...
Time ran out for her... she did not remember this until near the end of her life, and our years together.
If she had remembered sooner, we might- just might-- have worked something out, better, between us.
Forgive me, Emmy, for not understanding- I really thought you did not like me much, at some physical, fundamental level, so I took your words of love wrong.
Forgive yourself, for not speaking sooner of the wound you carried- I really would have tried to help you, if only you had voiced it...
And may... the Good Lord, the First Cause, the One who gave us life, forgive our pitiful human failures... we fell, to this Broken World, long ago, and we keep repeating the same, damn-fool mistakes that brought us here...
who still loves you
in spite of all that
on this broken World...<P><HR><P>That's as good as I can make it, folks...<P><center>-30-</center>