| Drerio finally got me over here so I figured I'd share our story like he was kind enough to do for him and his wife. I am going to go back a little farther though because I think the long-term success of our marriage defeats the odds for so many reasons of which I'd like to explain. I had an ideal/lacking ideal childhood and so the paradox that I grew to become springs from that. So this story will be long as I'm going to start early on. I was an ornery child, never easy to raise and honest even when something told me to not be. I constantly said exactly what was on my mind, and my strength of will, was always pointed out. I couldn't stand injustice. It didn't make sense to me and caused great frustration and confusion within me (still does). Yet, I never wanted for money in my family and attended great schools, had a huge extended family that was supportive and was given any opportunity that I requested. When I was fourteen my Dad, whom I adored, masturbated behind me on the couch on a hot summer evening. He took the sheets off my bum and had at it. I didn't know what it was until I knew what it was. Yes, I can still hear the sounds, remember the mental pitch of confusion and overwhelming sadness. When I then faced normal tasks like going to school everything was at that same high pitch. If a kid was picked last for the volleyball team I would cry openly, my ability to empathize became overwhelming, my desire to pretend none of what happened, happened was made possible by directing it outward. Granted, this is retrospection, at the time I only knew that the world around me suddenly looked very different. Remember how I said I was ornery and honest? I didn't let this strangeness go for very long and struggled to understand it. I confronted him and told my Mom. It wasn't pretty. My Dad said he thought I was asleep and that him and Mom hadn't been having sex in years. My Mom said I should have been sleeping on the couch in just a t-shirt and underwear. I was placed in therapy to learn all the ways I was to blame but never believed it. I began wearing darker clothes, having sex with whomever, smoking, drinking, dabbling in drugs, and writing very BAD poetry. I'd stick these hand scrolled poems filled with angst on my bedroom walls with Scotch tape until they covered up, entirely, the pink floral wallpaper. My parents guilt kept them from stopping me. Funny this, but I love my parents to pieces to this day and they are very much in my life still. My father and I later had a heart to heart about the whole situation and so did my Mom and I. My Dad is talented, hilarious and my Mom is intelligent and kind hearted. It's a shame that out of a very wonderful child, one incident always seems to be where my mind went. I met Mr. Trenton when I had just turned 20 and was two years out of a 30 day stay in a mental facility after a bad reaction to Prozac which was a last ditch attempt by my parents to save me. It badly backfired. Mr. Trenton was about to turn 22 and nothing like any person I had ever met before. We hung out all the time and spent hours talking on the phone. He was on a pay phone the entire time with a gadget he made with pieces he assembled at the local Radio Shack that tricked the operator into thinking he placed a quarter in the slot every time she requested it. I was comfortably on our couch hanging on every word that I got out of him but mostly rambling on and on and on. Mr. Trenton had a very different childhood from me. He was born in Bolivia and came to America when he was 7, alone. To be with the Mom who had deserted him in Bolivia to his Grandmother who passed away. He didn't know the language here and hadn't known his Mom. He had a half sister he didn't know too and a step father who believed in corporal punishment. He was kicked out of their house and sent to other half relatives he didn't know in Puerto Rico for two years before being sent back to the states at age 12. He left his Mom's house at 16 and worked, finished school while living with friends or in apartments he somehow managed to lease. He was artistic, painfully talented, extremely independent and very introverted. We met at his apartment building an hour away from my home because I attended a party with a boyfriend who broke the glass of my friend's car window after I very gladly explained to him that I didn't love him and I gave a blowjob to his friend simply to spite him. Not very nice, I know. So I was outside of that party to escape him screaming out to me that I was a *****. My soon to be husband came up to the stoop where I was very coolly smoking my Monarch Lite cigarettes. He was quiet and I found his stance and appearance to be thrilling. He was thin but muscular and had dark hair to his chin and the most matter of fact, sexy eyes I'd ever seen. Quiet is never something I've been accused of; however, and I very much enjoyed trying to figure him out that night on the stoop and had no issue asking him 1,000 questions. The music of the party I was suppose to be attending was escaping into the night air where we were. It was The Grateful Dead and I hated the sound of it. My not yet husband said his first full sentence, "It'd be better if it was Dead Can Dance." Be still my beating heart. That happened to be one of my most favorite artists/bands. I told him so excitedly. He said he had their concert on VHS upstairs (hahaha VHS). I practically jumped at the chance to get into his apartment. We sat and watched it. Mr. Trenton was so cool he dared not touch me and I was the type of girl who refused to make the first move and preferred to taunt boys/men slowly. So I found it even more exhilarating when his invitation turned out to be sincere. I then said we should drive to the shore. We did and we walked on the beach holding hands before returning to the car and sitting there till the sun came up. It may be my most favorite memory of all. He did kiss me. I did melt. I drove him home to get changed and dropped him off at his work. He gave me his pager number (hahahaha) and said I should call him. Puhlease. I counted the minutes before it wouldn't be obscene to page him. I only lasted about an hour when I got back home. He didn't call back. It was a week or so before he returned that page. He told me to pass by and I drove up to see him. I'd never felt so in awe or in such lust. I wanted Mr. Trenton like the air I breathed, nah, I think I wanted him more than that. Mr. Trenton had no idea on this though because the more he would play with me the more I would play with him and I was feeling very vulnerable and in unknown territory in having feelings like I did which left me paralyzed. We played this weird game for over a year and it was weird. Oh the stories I could tell. After that first year he finally called me to his new place and said he wanted to talk. I headed up and he gave me a ring. He told me he was sick of these games, that he had real feelings for me and that he wanted to know if this would mean I would run away from him. I cried berserk tears of joy and sort of knew our lives would be changing after that. | |||
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