All WetA Story by Barbara Walker This is a memoir of an incident that happened when I was newly married, a relationship that was going nowhere. It is a "sweet" memory!
I married at the age of sixteen. In those years when sex wasn't discussed and you got pregnant, marriage was the road you took to keep society happy, no matter how miserable it made you.
My boyfriend, John (names have been changed to protect the guilty) and I had been going together for two years. I loved him in the only way a naive, lonely girl from a broken home can, thinking we would be together forever. John was five years older than I was, but his maturity level was about five years younger than me. That would not reveal itself until after we married. Or maybe, that is when I finally opened my eyes. That I found John with another girl, the night before our wedding speaks volumes. So you know that I wasn't a complete idiot, I wanted to call the whole marriage off. However, as my proper Catholic mother told me numerous times, I had made my bed and by God, I was going to lie in it. For committing the damnable sin of fornication approximately fifteen times, I was being sentenced to life. Once John and I were married, in his eyes,I was no longer the fun girlfriend. The girl he said sweet nothings to and took to dizzying heights of pleasure. I was now the battle ax, the pain in his neck, the pain in the a*s, who was to be avoided at any cost. On Fridays, John's payday from work, we had always gone out together, having a blast. Now that I was his wife, on Fridays, after getting his check, John would disappear for the entire weekend.When he showed up late Sunday night or early Monday morning, he would be broke. I would cry, he would be silent, until my anger erupted and then the fight was on. To everyone, I presented the picture of a happy newlywed. I didn't want everyone to know I was a failure at being a wife. A part of me thought it was my fault my man wouldn't stay home. One night, to my amazement, John said he would take me out to this bar/pool hall and meet up with his best friend, Glen and Glen's girlfriend. When we arrived, there was Glen, his girlfriend and another girl sitting in a booth. John and I joined them and John introduced me to them. As the guys played pool, one of the girls asked me how things were going. The story I told was how I really wished things were. My story had no basis in reality. I told them how happy John and I were and that just that very night he had brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. How John would talk sweetly near my growing abdomen, communicating with our child. It was such a crock! And later, I realized that they must of done everything in their power not to burst out laughing at my pathetic attempt to appear like the happy little housewife, since those girls obviously knew the truth, as John was sleeping with one of them. Introducing the wife to the girlfriend? I was the big butt of that joke. At any rate, going out with John was rare to non-existent. I would sit home alone, my pregnant body growing by leaps and bounds, as I took solace in huge bowls of mashed potatoes with lots of butter and sheets of homemade chocolate cake. It was just such a night that I sat before the television, not really seeing the program. With no job, no money, this huge pregnant body and married, according to a piece of paper, I felt powerless. I began to fantasize on ways to "do something!" to John. Suddenly, a memory from a cartoon watched long ago came to mind. MMmmm, would it really work? As I thought about that idea, I began to realize a truth. I didn't deserve to be treated like this and no way in hell was I going to live like this. I had a lot of thinking to do and changes to make. If I stayed in that relationship, I would be raising my child by myself. If that were the case, I would be better off by myself, period. But in the mean time, I got my bucket and filled it three quarters full with water. I took my kitchen ladder and placed it by the front door. I hauled my pregnant body and the bucket of water to the top step and placed the bucket at the top of the door. Keeping the door open a bit, the bucket was precariously balanced over the doorway. I slowly descended, glanced up with a smile, then put the ladder away. I took my shower, put on my nightgown and slid into bed. A smile, occasionally, crept across my lips. I had no idea what time John would come home, but I prayed, if there is a God, let me, at least, have this. Twenty minutes passed, when I heard (and the neighbors, too!) a clang-y commotion and then a very loud, "God Damn it!" As I heard John slam the door and noisily go back downstairs, I gleefully giggled, turned over and went to sleep. © 2013 Barbara WalkerReviews
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Barbara WalkerLake Havasu City, AZAboutI am retired from the Postal Service. I find I write poetry to help myself through difficult times and I have written many poems in response to the chronic pain I've been living with for over 30 year.. more..Writing
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