Spawn of Satan's First Kiss

It's weird how memories come back. I hear people talking about memories being triggered by a sight or a smell or song and coming rushing back. Yes, that can happen, but for the past week or so, I’ve been experiencing a trickle--an extremely frustrating, bordering on non-existent trickle. Oh that it would be a flood and be over with!

A couple weeks ago, I stumbled upon a hand-drawn rock band poster a musician named Scott gave me about three decades ago. He told me to hang on to it because when his band became famous, it would be worth a lot of money. I've kept it all these years in a scrapbook--not because I necessarily believed he would make it big and the poster would be valuable but rather because I promised, and because he held a special place in a young girl’s heart--the young girl who became me. When I found this poster, I wondered if Scott’s band ever achieved some level of success... then I realized that in this day and age of technology, there was no need to wonder.

Enter Google. I googled the name of Scott’s band, along with his name, the instrument he played and the state he lived in when I knew him... and low and behold... the top result was a youtube video--a different band, but Scott was the lead singer and keyboardist. Under the video, there was information about the concert venue that Scott now runs, complete with a link to the website.

Perusing the guidelines for submissions of bands interested in performing there, I discovered that Scott himself was the one in charge of it all. Hmmm, wouldn’t it be fun to “submit” his own decades’ old band for consideration? I thought how crazy it would be if someone sent me a long lost piece of my childhood or adolescent writing out of the blue to be “considered for production.” What a hoot that would be!

So, I snapped a picture of the poster, and sent it off with an email saying I thought this band would be perfect for his venue. I figured that given his stint with regional fame, and the accompanying groupies, he probably wouldn’t remember me, so I simply said that: “I don’t expect you to remember me--It’s been a L O N G time. I hope you are doing well and that you enjoy this poster.”

At that point in time, I was having trouble scaring up many memories of him myself--and he definitely held a more significant place in my life than I did in his:

Scott was the administrator of my first real kiss. We were 14-15 years old, and I know I didn’t want to make it to “Sweet Sixteen” without being kissed. I think he kissed me within a week of my fifteenth birthday. Other than that, I was drawing a blank on our short, shallow “relationship” (if you can even call it that.)

Right after our brief stint (or actually in the midst of it), I met the guy who became my high school sweetheart, so I basically let the thing with Scott fizzle out--which wasn’t hard to do since he lived in a different town and neither one of us had a driver’s license yet.

I didn’t expect to hear back much more than, “Thank you, I’ll add it to all the other sketches my former fans have sent me”--if even that. But a reply did come. Scott was amused by the poster and the “delusional dreams” of his adolescence that it exhibited, but that wasn’t all he had to say. After exchanging a few niceties about seeing that what I was doing (via google and imdb) was great, he went on to add something more personal:

“Well, I DO remember you sending me a letter calling me the spawn of Satan or something about burning in hell.”

I read those words in disbelief. I didn’t even remember writing to him at all, let alone ever saying anything so harsh.

I replied: “WHAT??? Not seriously? I'd like to see that, 'cuz I sure don't remember anything like it.” Recalling that I had basically dumped him for another guy, I went on to say that maybe I didn't treat him fairly and that I may not have been honest with him then because I was confused myself and wasn’t being totally honest with myself. “Did I really say horrible things in a letter, though???” I asked. His recollection sounded so out of character for me.

Since sending off that reply, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember. I'm just waking up to the fact that I may have actually hurt him... It really had never dawned on me that I was anything more to him than a fleeting fling, but now that one of my sons is just a year younger than Scott was--and just starting to take an interest in girls--I'm thinking how easy it would be for some girl to just crush him. Awww, Scott was some mommy's little boy, too... Did I really write something to him that he interpreted as meaning that I thought he was the spawn of Satan? And since I now have a faith that I didn’t have then, it’s really bugging me that whatever hurt I may have dealt out was tinged with any religious overtones that may have been interpreted as “Christianity.” I know that I wasn’t a Christian then, but he doesn’t know that.

As the day went by, since reading his note, my memory has been stirred a bit more, and another trickle has seeped out. Now, I do remember writing him a “break up” letter, but I don’t remember what I said. I remember deliberating over the wording, and yet the words I settled on now completely elude me. The memory is almost like I’m watching a silent movie... a fifteen-year-old girl, whom I barely recognize sits at the kitchen table... no, on the living room couch... no, on her bed... actually, I do see myself working on the letter long enough that I am carrying it from one location to another. I may have even spoken with my mother about it. I’m kind of wondering if Scott had called me about getting together and that was what prompted the letter. Is it strange for a memory like that to be so incredibly foggy?

I know many of you would say, “Drop it! Forget about it! You were just kids--it’s really no big deal.” I’m sure Scott is over it, and if I was really so bitchy, maybe I even gave him some material for an angry song or two. So, once again, why do I keep digging back into the past???

Well, there’s the curiosity factor that just comes with the territory of being a writer and wanting to understand motivations and character arcs.

But then, there’s also the parallel I’m seeing between Scott back then and my son who is practically the same age now as Scott was when he received the allegedly awful letter. I never thought of Scott as fragile and tender back then, but that is what I see when I look at my son of the same age. Still, that’s not enough reason to stew over what exactly I did say in that letter. That’s more reason to just have some heart-to-heart discussions with my son about girls and relationships.

The main reason I think I’m feeling tormented over this is the fact that I think I may know part of the reason for the fogginess, and that reason has more to do with my own character. What if I’m blocking it out of my memory because I know that I lied? As I look back, I really find it hard to believe that I came right out and told Scott about the other guy, and if I didn’t tell him that, then what reason did I give him for suddenly not wanting to go out with him? I really, truly hope I didn’t use a judgmental God argument--a hypocritical excuse.

When I consider how crippled I still feel by some of the rejection of my youth from even before I met Scott, and how I’m still working through issues rooted deep in my childhood, I cannot ignore the possibility that any religious jargon I may have used in my letter to Scott way back then could have poisoned his view of the Christian faith to this day.

This is not a blog entry with any neatly wrapped-up resolution. I hope that I will remember more if there is anything I can learn from it (and, if there’s anything that I can use in my writing to lend authenticity to young characters and situations, and thus help another generation). And I pray that if there was hurt that turned to bitterness or that is in anyway still affecting Scott, that this silly little encounter over the poster now would bring clarity (especially on a spiritual level) that nothing I said then should be taken as representative of Christianity.

This story may be out of order--a strange place to start, but it is another chapter in my memoirs. If my memory awakens, maybe I’ll be able to complete this chapter of early adolescent lit.

I don’t think I’ve covered any of my history prior to college in this blog yet, have I? My high school sweetheart really was sweet... perhaps a chapter on him would lighten the sometimes-heavy mood around here. If I can’t remember more about Scott, do you want to know about the guy who replaced him (and was shy enough and respectful enough that he kept me out of a heap of trouble for the remainder of my high school years)? This I do know: If I had stayed with Scott, I probably would have ended up pregnant before I was out of high school and I could be in a situation even worse than my struggles with Todd.

Busy & Tired

I've been alternating between too busy and too tired to fit this in. This blogging. This sorting out. This hoping for healing. It's been all about surviving; little room for thriving. So many trivial little things have been happening to tip the scales back and forth in the whether to keep trying or quit debate.

As of today, quit has sprinted out into the lead, but I'm too busy to do anything about it.

Todd just dumped a load of paperwork on me to "do now." He's had it for a week, but didn't tell me about it until the day it's due. I already had a full slate of things to do today, and when I didn't react with glee to his not-so-nicely worded "request," he launched into an argument about how what he was asking me to do was "easy" and he didn't understand why I have to turn everything into a fight. I'm too tired for these mind games. Maybe I really am the problem--overreacting and lacking in meekness and generosity. I know he believes his point of view is without flaw . . . so, I consider the fact that I am equally as stubborn as he.

After he finally let up (ie. left for "work"*), I was left shaken and confused. What happened? Why do these confrontations always leave me feeling so confused? Like sci-fi quality alternate realities are being constructed around me and I awake in the midst of a landscape that is totally unfamiliar . . . and Todd looks at me blankly as if nothing has changed. Is he deluded or schizophrenic or (?) himself, or is it a more sinister, intentional mind game he plays with me--trying to drive me crazy??? OR . . . maybe I actually am crazy--insane--mentally ill??? I don't know the answer, but I do know that it's hard to function in the simplest of tasks when you are questioning your own sanity.

One of my older daughters who was home during the argument came out from her room to comfort me. I apologized for the uproar. She said she understood. I said that Todd might be right--maybe the problem is all me. She then said, very precisely and deliberately: "Trust me. As an objective observer, I can tell you without a doubt, it's not you." I didn't want to get into it any more with her--to involve her in worries that shouldn't be hers to bear, so I welcomed the interruption of a phone call reminding me that it was time to rev up the mommy-taxi and go pick up the younger kids from their various activities. I wish I could accept her reassurance that I'm not insane, but I question whether the tie that binds mother and daughter is too strong for there to be true objectivity.

Work calls. The day is already more than half over, and I haven't started on my writing project yet . . . or hemming the dress my youngest daughter needs for a formal dance tomorrow . . . or numerous other bullet points on my never-ending "to do" list. BUT, Todd's paperwork is done. Now, all I have to do is try to pull myself together emotionally so I can really focus on my work. The producer on the project I'm doing just called and he needs a specific write-up delivered to him by tomorrow for a last minute meeting with some investors. Oh, and I'd better figure out what I'm making for dinner. My work day won't really get going until everyone else is fed and sound asleep.

*the mocking tone of voice indicated by "work" in quotation marks is because Todd says he only has about three hours of work today, and I know I have many more than that, but because I don't leave the house or punch a time clock, he seems to keep forgetting that I too have "work" to do -- I still owe work on a writing project for which I've already received an advance . . . and that's not to mention all the unpaid housework and hours of caring for and driving around his kids . . . .

Strength from Safety

I've been fluctuating a lot this week. The past has shown me the damage that can be done by impulsive action, so, even though an accusing voice in my head calls me weak for not "doing something," I think where I am right now is searching for clarity. Seeing clearly is essential if I am to make wise decisions, and presently there is too much confusion.

I've been praying for wisdom. While researching a project, I stumbled upon an article on divorce that seemed to verify the sense that I've had of being deserted.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Love-Family/Relationships/2007/06/Let-There-Be-Divorce.aspx

I'll have to look back on the actual vows that Todd and I agreed to (even if I actually didn't say the vows, as Todd alleges, he said them... I think). I wonder if there was any mention of provision in the vows of the church we were married in. However it was worded, I think it's pretty obvious that there has been some vow-breaking in both directions here.

All that said, I don't question my right to divorce. That isn't the issue. The issue is whether or not I should assert that right.

"All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify."

1 Corinthians 10:23

The world does not revolve around me. There are others to be considered. I don't want to be responsible for causing another to stumble because of my own selfish actions. That's the bigger picture. That doesn't mean I should be a doormat or an enabler... but it does mean that I'd better be good and sure that I have examined my own heart.

I've often said that the world would be a better place if people would put more emphasis on their responsibilities than their rights. I know my rights. What I'm seeking clarity on now is my responsibility. Unlike the impression that I've gotten from Todd, I know that responsibility is not a burden, but rather a wonderful opportunity to fulfill what we are designed to do. Part of the reason Todd has been miserable for so much of his life is because he doesn't embrace the opportunity of responsibility. Living with him, and feeling neglected, I too must admit having fallen into that trap. "Todd's not going to contribute or sacrifice, so why should I?"

After my last blog posting, a dear, true friend admonished me:

I really think that the cat is out of the bag! He has not verbalized the ending to his story until now, cuz he knows that you will not be interested in it. SO he is passively leading you down the road to his ending, with no options. You seem to instinctively know the end he had in mind and in your own denial were stalling and hoping that God would save you or provide a different ending. I think you need to speak your desire out loud! You have to “call it out”! you have to speak the truth in love and tell him NO! his ending would be suicide for you…..your dream, the one you were made for has gotten off track. He is abusing you to live his dream, with no consideration for yours. I predict he will blame you with your own religion. I believe he will brow beat you with the Bible verses. You have to believe that they are lies and manipulations. I think you have been very very patient and actually enabling him all these years. I think in order to be guilt free, you have to start to call this stuff out into the open. You need some Back up plans though. I did have to leave a couple of times, I did not have a full blown plan, but I did have to call it out! I felt I had to give [my husband] a chance to make the right choice. I think you have to tell him flat out, that you are not interested in his ending. I do not think you should be afraid. I also think that you need to get a better understanding on the legal system.... [This] is a no fault state. I think you need to freeze your assets before he bankrupts you and then splits to his dad’s. DON”T LAY DOWN! Or faint!

The thing that stood out to me was the idea of giving Todd a chance to make the right choice. Calling out my desires. Let him know that I'm not interested in the ending he is headed toward. I feel like I've done that, but have I done it specifically enough and clearly enough? It's not even so much an issue of his dreams vs. mine. When I read her words, "He is abusing you to live his dream, with no consideration for yours", I thought that wasn't exactly true. It's more like he's so afraid of pursuing his own dreams that he's settling, and he's pulling me down with him.

He may have a dream of a life of ease back where he grew up, but deep down inside I believe he realizes what a fantasy that is. He knows that moving back home would mean the death of his dreams, too, but he's too afraid to do anything else. Because of this, I wonder if the "calling out" I really need to do is the pointing out of how he is throwing his own dreams away and insisting that I'm not willing to go down that path. It would be unloving for me to let him commit emotional suicide by giving up without a fight.

What if the best way to make him fight for what is important to him is to leave him? That is possible. What's keeping me from doing it?

Well, in the midst of my growing resolve to quit being an enabler and to be more proactive, circumstances have taken another sudden turn. I've heard it said that there are certain stressful circumstances during which you shouldn't make big life-altering decisions (things like hormonal fluctuations of pregnancy or menopause, grieving over a lost loved one, extreme sleep-deprivation, etc.) After the Charlie fiasco, I've tried not to repeat that decision-making faux pas. In fairness, I can't ask Todd to do that either.

A few months ago, Todd lost his mom. No longer having the "other woman" controlling his life has been a change that I can see could be positive in the long run as far as growing up goes. She was an incredible enabler--sending him checks to cover our mortgage and bills more than he ever admitted to me. His dad has helped out, too, but he's not as regular with his support, so we have been struggling more since his mom passed away. That led me to pose the question to a friend: "If it has been Todd's parents, and not Todd, who have been providing for us all these years... when they both pass away will that make me a widow?" Well, just days after asking that, Todd's dad landed in the hospital. Things are pretty chaotic right now, but one thing that is questionable is if his dad will be able to go home alone. He's just about used up his allowed time in the hospital, and will be transferring to a rehabilitation home across the street from the hospital in a few days. It's uncertain if he will ever be able to go home on his own.

I do not want my [alleged child-molester] father-in-law moving in with us, but I also don't want to move out of state to be with him, so I did suggest the idea that if he needs our help, it would be easier for us if he were to relocate than for us to relocate. He's not a very social person and he's out-lived most of the friends he had, so he wouldn't miss nearly as many people as we would if we were forced to move (including our adult and soon-to-be-adult children who certainly would not follow us out of state)... and since he's retired, it wouldn't make sense for us to be the one's moving away from schools and better job opportunities. I wish Todd could spend some time with his father, but we don't have the money for him to fly or drive out there, and we definitely can't afford for him to walk away from the work he has right now (since it's such a rarity). Our son made the comment that it's too bad we don't have more money so Daddy can just go back and stay with Grandpa for a while. He has no idea how much Mommy wishes we could afford that, too. I think him being away for a while right now might be a very good thing. He could see if he is able to find work back there. He could see if going home really would make him happy. And doing so might make the transition easier if we aren't going to make it.

I'm really not afraid of him bankrupting us nearly as much as I'm afraid of being stuck with a man I cannot respect. Last Sunday's sermon text--wouldn't you know it--came from Ephesians 5. If I'm convicted by my inability to respect, shouldn't he also be convicted by his shirking of loving me "as Christ loved the church and laid down his life for her"? The ultimatum, if it comes down to that, is that he has to grow up and take some responsibility. "I don't know what to do," just won't cut it anymore. How do I tell him that he'd better figure it out? And is now the appropriate time?

If it is decided that his dad will not be moving home, we may be faced with the challenge of what to do with his dad's house sooner than I expected. That could be an opportunity for growth. Will he try to hold on to an unneeded house for sentimental reasons while teetering on the edge of loosing our family home? (We've been waiting a long time for him to "leave his mother and father and cleave unto his wife"). Will he work with his dad to sort through the years of accumulated stuff and sell the house or rent it out? Or will he insist on moving back there so his dad can stay in the house a little longer, even if it means going alone?

If it does come to some sort of ultimatum, it will either have to be in writing, or with some sort of mediation. I don't feel emotionally safe conversing with Todd about these things. It has never turned out well in the past. Is it a sign of weakness to admit that I don't feel safe?

Not feeling safe... That makes me think of another little (slightly odd) thing that I almost blogged about last week:

There is one television show that I'm addicted to. Fringe. Anyone who follows the show knows that Peter and Olivia have loved each other for some time, but have struggled with connecting largely because of Olivia's fears. In last week's episode, Olivia was in danger because the deceased William Bell (Leonard Nemoy) had taken over her body and what was supposed to be a temporary situation threatened to permanently displace Olivia as her consciousness became "lost." The team was forced to take LSD and go into her mind in search of Olivia (gotta love Sci-Fi!) Anyway, after traveling through an Inception-like world that even included cartoons and zombies, Peter was finally able to find Olivia by figuring out the last place she had ever felt safe. Even though she ultimately had to save herself, the strength to do so came from discovering that safe place within her. When she came to, she was like a new person, free and safe for the first time in years. As I watched the conclusion of that silly little episode, a wave of emotion washed over me, and I thought, Oh how I wish I could find my safe place!

Where it gets interesting is this week, when we were watching the following episode, there was a scene near the beginning in which Olivia wakes up in Peter's arms. She is content and happy like her character has never before been. In that instance, Todd said, "They finally figured it out, didn't they?" I'm sure he would like to awaken in the bliss that Peter did, with a woman who loves and respects him in his arms. If only he could understand that a big reason that isn't happening is that with him, I struggle to find a safe place where I can be truly honest. I am like Olivia, wounded and hiding.