I will give you a couple of stories. One is of my decision to leave my
marriage. My decision to be true to myself...
The first is a letter to myself. It goes like this...
Dear Teaspoon Del Rio,
This is for you to read at a very special time. When you are living
in a roach infested apartment, when your children are sad because they
can't be popular in cheap clothes, when you need a loaf of bread but you
haven't the money... Remember what Marty said the key was. She said
once you know what you have to do you must SET YOUR RESOLVE.
Let's go back. To the pancake incident. When you camped at Rayburn
and Tim's parents came along. That morning his Mom finished tossing
pancakes and asked if you would like to make your new husband some.
Yes, you said hesitantly. You had never cooked a pancake before, but
when did that ever stop you? It didn't work. They flipped miserably -
Tim's mom and the others all watching you, cackling away, making jokes.
Then Tim joined in. "No, she can't cook. Why do you think I'm so
skinny?!" There, my friend, is your first indication of the husbandly
support you would always receive. And as you have thought, a million
times since, I should have left that moment. But you didn't.
You stayed quiet while he, in ignorance or lack of any sense of
responsibility or maybe something worse, took Ralphie out of the car at
the DQ in Buna, to pee. Without a leash. Remember Ralphie? You loved
him like a child, his beautiful red coat, his wild animal blue eyes. A
Siberian Husky, Ralphie. He took him out of the car beside the racing
highway. And you will never forget the sight of Ralphie's body lying
in the street, cars racing by. Or holding him - your hand firm on his
throat, to stop the pulsing blood. His eyes never left yours and you
told him over and over that it was O.K. (he looked so worried, he knew
he had been bad.) You called him a good boy over and over and when you
saw that he wanted to die you said its ok baby, you can go baby. And
you looked up and saw all your friends circled around you, (you were
going camping, remember?) And someone took you to the bathroom to clean
up but your shirt was drenched in blood, and you kept thinking what a
horrible thing for them to have to see.
And you got the feeling that Tim was embarrassed for you and you knew he had been jealous of the love you had for A DOG from the beginning.
You can think of the loneliness you felt when you carried Emily and the betrayal you felt when you and Tim got into trouble with 'the law.' His mother blamed it all on you and he let her. "I know, Mom, I know."
That is the kind of man you married. Or that he never could
attend a doctor's appointment with you, couldn't even make it to the
magical ultrasound. Either of them. He couldn't miss work. But when
the speckled trout were calling he suddenly got time off. This is the
kind of man you married.
Remember when you were pregnant with Katie? You didn't have real
morning sickness with either baby. Just queasiness and the blahs. But
then you got that virus. Remember how you threw up all night. Remember
how weak you were? You CRAWLED to the bathroom, you were too
lightheaded to walk anymore. The diarrhea was so bad that you sat on the
toilet and threw up into a bowl.
Remember how you begged for help? You, who will never admit to needing help, with tears running down your face, said PLEASE, PLEASE, HELP ME. And remember how he put his face into his hands and said "I'll never make it to work tomorrow." It was 2:00 am. Remember how you got in the car and drove yourself to the hospital? Remember how you opened the door twice on the way there and threw up on the street? Remember how they pushed an i.v. into your arm and said, "honey, there's no way you could have kept that baby if you hadn't come in. You are completely dehydrated." And until daylight, you threw up in a blue dish and had diarrhea in a bedpan every 20 minutes, then every hour. Alone. And cried. And begged your new baby to stay, to be all right.
And remember when they discharged you and you walked to your car and drove home. The house was a shambles and your vomit bowl still sitting where you left it.
And she was born and she was beautiful. And your father-in-law insulted you for not having a boy and your spineless husband said NOTHING.
Remember how Jack Burns took his penis out in front of your
five-year-old and rubbed it up and down? Remember when she told you
about it -- what you did? How you confronted Jack and his wife? How you
called all of the parents at the kids school and said Do Not Let Your
Child Go to the Burns? How you warned their neighbors? How Tim
seemed embarrassed by you and your actions? How, a year later you went
after Jack with the biggest baseball bat K-Mart had? How you had to go
to court? (how her nightmares were getting worse, how she stopped
talking...) How he did nothing? Said nothing? How you realized then
that it would always be up to you to protect your children? To raise
your children. How you realized then that your husband was born with a
terrible birth defect. He was born without character. (and later you
realized that he was born also without imagination.)
And remember that these are only some of the big moments. That a
million belittling, insulting, small moments lay in between.
And remember, because you have to, Thanksgiving at Big Bend.
Remember his horrible jealousy over Terry, (and remember that he was
jealous of everything and everyone you ever loved, even the bluejay,
Elvis) "What do y'll do? Huh? Do y'all lick each other?" In front of your children. In a tiny pop-up camper where you are warming turkey, cooking dressing, slicing cranberry sauce. And you say nothing. And he says more and more. And your children hear it all. Then he throws you down, barely missing Katie who is coloring away, pretending it all away. Your head hits the board below Mary, who stands now fist clenched, ready to fight him off. Your shoulder hit wrong. It's twisted. (You can't recall ever having landed so hard before. You know this is bad.) You are thinking that it is broken but you can't let the kids know. (This is going to scare the kids.) And even as you are falling, you are thinking where are my keys? If I can
get my keys I can get my babies out of here. And when you hit, you are
thinking I need quarters for the phone. And you keep humming all-we-are
saying-is-give-peace-a-chance. And you walked Katie to the bathroom to
calm her to reassure her. Remember how you hummed about peace until
the sun finally came back?
You are here for a reason. Your life has changed for a reason. You
are strong enough now to go forward. Tough it out. Meditate. Talk to
God. Go look at the faces of your children as they sleep. Smile at the
mirror. Your resolve is set. Everything is going to be all right.
Love,
Teaspoon Del Rio
Ok, that was part one. This one is after we left. After I came to
Austin with my two daughters....
Jealousy. And when the screaming had progressed to pinching, when
the hair-pulling was about to commence, I stopped the car. I turned to
face them in the back seat and they continued the battle watching me out
of the corner of their eyes. My eyes and their eyes and their
grandmother's eyes, all the same, fighting the same battles, protecting
the same space. Those eyes. Blocking a punch. Looking for a jab.
"If you do not stop immediately, I will get out of this mini-van. I
will climb up and stand on the roof of this MIN-VAN AND I WILL ANNOUNCE
TO THE ENTIRE WAL-MART PARKING LOT THAT I LOVE BOTH OF MY DAUGHTERS, I WILL SCREAM TO THE TOP OF MY LUNGS THAT I LOVE KATIE, I LOVE MARY, AND THEN SO AS TO KEEP THIS DELICATE BALANCE THAT THE TWO OF YOU INSIST UPON TODAY I WILL INTERCHANGE THE NAMES AND SCREAM I LOVE MARY, I LOVE KATIE! IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?
They stared at me, properly shocked for a minute, maybe half before
they remembered the importance of their war and began narrowing their
eyes again.
"Push me." I whispered. "I feel like climbing the van."
"No." it was Katie. "Please Momma, don't do it."
There-in lie the benefits of being crazy. Not a one of us doubted
for a minute that I would do it. And sitting there in that oven of a
car was making the idea more appealing by the minute. To be atop the
van bellowing to the wind.... they saw that feeling creeping into me and
shot each other be-good-quick looks. We drove home in silence and
overall I think I felt a little disappointment in missing what could
have been always remembered as the Wal-Mart Parking Lot Day.
I'm not going to reread this because, quite frankly, all of this has
worn me out. But I do want to say that Katie is going to college next
year, Mary to Jr. High. I have a wonderful, beautiful partner who is
kindness and love personified. I will dedicate all this meandering to
her, thank you Diane for being here when I got here!
©1999 Teaspoon Del Rio. All rights reserved.
Thank you for exploring this website and InnerMidst. Please feel free to give us feedback to help make this magazine one you would like to revisit.
