Yes, Halloween. Ghouls and ghosts and goblins. I had no idea.
My mother is visiting on an extended (interminable?) forced vacation. I was happy that she'd be able to spend Halloween with the children, and even happier for them. I allowed my ex-husband to come over to trick-or-treat with the children. It seemed an innocent enough idea at the time.
You see, I'm very comfortable with our divorce. Sure, I'd prefer to have no contact with him whatsoever, but I'm also resigned to the fact that I will speak to him daily for the next 13 years. It's no matter to me - I stopped loving him long ago. His needs, his desires, his aspirations mean nothing to me. We have discussed our new relationships and it never bothers me even for a moment - there are no pangs of jealousy, no lingering moments of "what if". I mean, the things that always made me crazy continue to, but for fleeting moments I can tolerate them - knowing that it's time-limited and I will be free of his presence soon enough.
We take the children trick-or-treating in my neighborhood. My *new* neighborhood. The one where I'm still the only single mother. The one where I'm attempting to allow my children to spread their wings (to counter his stifling nature), the one where I'm attempting to show responsibility and independence, the one where I'm attempting to make a life for my children.
It's a lovely evening and the neighborhood is wonderful for the event - many people have TV's showing the UT football game pulled out into their driveways, and all say, "Hey, come by and watch the end of the game when you're done!". The family I know best in the area are having a large get-together. They have a fire-pit in the front yard and there are about 20 people huddled around. They invite us to stay and we agree. The boys are playing, the girls are playing, and the parents are drinking. It's a nice evening.
My mother is enjoying herself and having a beer (very rare event). The kids are completely occupied. My ex-h (Baboon) is chatting up a storm with my closest geographical neighbor. I'm not entirely bothered by it, largely because I don't care. I'm getting to know some of the other moms in the area and I'm enjoying the evening.
As the night begins to dwindle down, I see the neighbor becoming bored with the Baboon and I laugh to myself. I know the feeling well. I'm guessing that neighbor-boy hasn't been able to get a word in. There is little more tedious in the world than a one-sided conversation, and I spent the better part of 15 years engaging in such non-dialogue.
The crowd dissipates, and only a few people are left around the fire. Many of the stragglers are quite drunk. Two of the men start asking me how I got out of my marriage. It's funny - their wives are right there, and the alcohol has reduced their inhibitions to the point of not caring, and they confess how unhappy they are in their marriages. I'm surprised - not shocked, I'm well aware of the feeling - but I'm surprised that the conversation is so ribald. The wives are shooting the men eye-daggers, and I can only imagine that the rest of their weekends will be nothing short of abject misery.
One of the stragglers is a football coach at a nearby college. During football season, he travels to the college early in the week and comes home on special weekends only. He's a huge man - and quite attractive - 6'3 or so, built like an athlete, his balding head the only real acknowledgement to his age. His wife pops by briefly, dumps a baby in his arms, I hear them argue a bit. Then she declares to the crowd that she has a terrible headache and is going to bed. She's cute - not beautiful, but attractive enough. As she walks off, he rolls his eyes and sighs, shifting the baby on his hip. I'm giggling at the family costumes, wondering when exactly it was that his ball-sack was severed.
He plops down next to me, listening to the other two men ask me about the challenges of divorce and I suddenly get very quiet. All three of these men are living lives that aren't what they imagined, yet they don't have the energy? integrity? gumption? fortitude? to change their situations. It's makes me a little sick. I've tired of the conversation, I've tired of their lives, I've tired of my own life. Their unhappiness is none 0f my concern, and if they can't find a way out, I can't help them. But I'm giggling a little on the inside, until my world comes crashing down.
Duckie, who had been asleep, wakes up and crawls into my lap. Bear comes back with his buddy and both take chairs around the fire. The talk mellows a lot with the kids around. My mom is a little tipsy. The Baboon stands up and clears his throat. "I know most of you don't know me, but there's something I want to say and I want you all to hear it."
I cringe. I have no idea what's coming, but I know it's wretched. He has always carried an overinflated sense of his own importance, and this dramatic introduction only signals badness. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and my stomach absolutely sinks.
He turns to me. "Amanda, I still think you're the most beautiful woman in the world. I've never stopped loving you." He drops to one knee in front of me, in front of my mother, in front of my children and in front of my neighbors.
"I know we had our differences, but I also know we can work through them. I never resented your success like you think I did. I love you, will you marry me, again?"
The silence is palpable. My son breaks the silence with excited cheers, "Say yes, Mom. Say yes!"
I feel a sharp burning sensation in my throat. I can't breathe. I stare into my son's eyes and I know how much he wants it. I think he senses how much I don't, because he becomes silent and a little somber.
My mothers laughs out loud. "Baboon, you've always had a way with words."
Me? I want to throw up. I want to punch him. I want to spit in his face. I want to laugh - loud and hard and until I pee myself.
In a span of 30 seconds, 1000 thoughts flood my brain. I'm free of him. Finally. After all these years. To jump back into that - never. Not in a million years, not for a million dollars, not even for my children. Because they can't afford to have that mother again. Because I can't be that woman again. Because I now know what kind of love I'm capable of and I can't bear the thought of settling for anything less.
I thank my hosts for a lovely evening. I gather up the children and my mother and I walk back to my house, with the Baboon hot on my heels begging me to talk to him. Once inside, I ask my mother to tuck the children in and I escort the Baboon onto the back porch to have a little talk.
He looks deep into my eyes and reaches out to hold me. A hand catches my waist before I dodge the full embrace. His hand on my body feels skeletal - possessive, gripping and cold. Somehow, I do not scream. I do not smack. I do not react.
I look him dead in the eyes and say, "Never."
"But, babe..." he begins.
"No, Baboon. No. I'm done. It's over. It's been over." The tears filling his eyes soften me for a moment. I don't like to hurt others. But then I remember - I remember how much time I spent hurting and I can't sacrifice myself and my needs for him. Life is too short. One chance.
"You need to leave now." I tell him. He reaches for me again and I can't embrace him. I can't touch him. I can't give him even the slightest hope to cling to. "Goodnight."
"No one will ever love you the way I do." He says, walking out the door. And that did it for me, it was the only thing I needed to hear.
I heard it for 13 years. And you know what? I hope to God he's right and that no one else ever loves me the way he does.
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