The Fox in the Cemetery 2 (Kipling)

I know you weren't expecting, or probably wanting, a response to your last email. And even though I know I've said more than my share, and I've been aggressive in my delivery (which I realize is ineffective), I feel compelled to say more. So, do with this what you will: contemplate it, consider it, disagree with it or simply delete it. Please know that it doesn't come from a state of "anguish," but genuine concern and care for you. 

When I first met you, which was around last Christmas, I felt so sorry for you that you had nowhere and nobody to spend the holidays with. I felt that it must be difficult for you to be in a new place, a foreigner, with only your classmates for company. And I thought, "I would like to help him feel at home." As much as my family gets on my nerves, we make our holidays count and spend them doing fun, and enviable things. There are delicious meals and games and lots of laughter. How could anybody not want that? So, soon, we spent time together, and with my family, and I believe you enjoyed those times and the people. I saw it as though you were finding your place - in a town, in a country, in a family, with the pets. We never considered you, nor treated you as anything other than as one of us. And how could anyone not want that?

And then a couple of days ago I was reading an interview with the writer Charles D'Ambrosio and this paragraph caught me up.

"You’re always kind of there and not there, sitting in the room but also watching the room, alert to some other, less innocent possibility. That distance feels safe, but it also stirs up the most intense feelings of loss and longing, the dream of making the distance go away, of ditching the divided self and all its tensions and simply being there—you know, just crossing that threshold and coming inside, coming home. But it’s hard to do, hard for me to do, anyway.”

Those Were Different Days (Joce)

We're sitting around the table, everybody on their second or third margarita, worn out from a long hot day, but the mood is light and easy. Somebody asks Brandon about his sister, she's had a lot of trouble with men in her life, good juicy gossip: Her live-in boyfriend got somebody else pregnant and left her, then the next guy she dated was dealing heroin. Heroin! And went to jail. "She's just one of those girls," says Brandon, "that if you tell her she's pretty, tell her that you love her, that's all it takes. She holds on and won't let go." Everybody laughs. We all know girls like that. So insecure, so desperate for the approval of a man, oblivious or forgiving of the red flags. We pity them.

I laugh, too. I laugh at Brandon's sister and those poor, pathetic girls starved for the affection and validation of a worthless, piece of shit guy. I laugh but I don't say anything. Because, in my heart I know that I, too, am that girl. I order another margarita.

I made the error of writing about love in May as if I knew something, anything about it. As if being love thirsty for all these years and years has given me insight into what love is. As if keeping a blog about relationships and dating and feelings qualifies me as a love expert. What a fool!  Enter swift karmic retribution -- I got tangled in a couple of flash-in-the-pan relationships where the word love was bandied about, one was just a lie, a messy, twisted love lie, and the other was unwanted and non-reciprocal love. I realized I know nothing about love. Not one little thing.

I used to think, up until about a week ago, that my big relationship character flaw was having too much empathy for others. Did he have a bad childhood? Was he unloved by his mother? Was his heart broken in 15 different places by 15 different women? Is he naturally timid? Or mean? Or manipulative? I understand. No problem. I can help him overcome. I can heal his wounds no matter how deep or wide. My comforting and kindness and nurturing will make him whole again. He will change. He will love me, too, eventually, finally, and we will live happily ever after.

Wrong.

Brokedown Palace (Ken)

I recently made a submission to The Museum of Broken Relationships: 

"In the summer of 2010 we were preparing to move into our new house in Tucson, Arizona. We spent weekends at antique fairs and shops finding all the perfect things to fill the rooms. One day I stumbled across a little wooden soldier with a round head and a drab canvas overcoat. Ken was in the Army Reserves and I liked the idea that this humble soldier would stand watch at our home when he was away. 

We moved in at the beginning of August and only a couple of weeks later, while we were still unpacking, Ken lost his job in a mass layoff at Fort Huachuca. He panicked. There were very few options for jobs in our area, and we could barely afford the house payment as it was. He started sleeping on a cot in his office, often staying up nights to do job research. He suggested we take a trip to do some scuba diving in Mexico over Labor Day, to relax, forget about our troubles over the long weekend. 

Late Sunday night we returned home to find the inside of our house flooded ankle deep - the tiny hose to the ice maker in the fridge had a hole in it and had been spraying water for three days. Nearly all of our belongings were waterlogged and ruined. The house was unlivable. 

About a month later I found out that Ken had tampered with the hose - he had intentionally flooded our house for the insurance money. He had also taken out an insurance policy on my life just prior to our scuba trip. Had he planned to drown me in the ocean and lost his nerve? There were other deceptions, too. He had maintained a relationship with his former girlfriend and those trips away, the ones where my little toy soldier was standing guard, were rendezvous with her. 

I packed up my remaining belongings and moved back to Idaho."

Listen to a longer version of this story here. 

Babes in Arms (Rocco)

5 am. First thought.  He doesn’t love you anymore. You were up late. You drank too much. You didn’t have any food. You threw up. Three times. Was it the wine? Or the sadness? He doesn’t love you anymore. Valentine’s Day.  The worst. Because, he doesn’t love you anymore. You get ready for work. Hung over. Your heart is dull. Your head is dull. You make oatmeal and choke down two bites. Throw the rest away. You try coffee. Same thing. He doesn’t love you anymore. A whole year and then, just like that, he doesn’t love you anymore. You go to work. Why is everybody so cheerful? It’s Friday. It’s Valentine’s Day. And they don’t know, he doesn’t love you anymore. You can’t bear to say anything.  It makes you so embarrassed. You’re a failure. Epic failure. The biggest loser. The weakest link. You leave your phone at home. So you can’t obsessively check and see he’s not calling. He’s not calling. He doesn’t love you anymore.

But you still love him. Is that the worst part? You try to stay calm. To say nothing. They ask, “What are your plans for tonight?” No plans. No plans. Everything is okay, you pretend. But, it’s not. Nothing is okay. He doesn’t love you anymore.

Fifty/50 (Rocco)

Real Life Scenario #1

Fairy Tale Scenario #1

Your second date is Valentine’s Day. He gets you calla lilies and you cook dinner together. The chemistry between you is off the hook. You talk about dating history – always bleak and a little embarrassing – and mention that you have a blog, specifically about your ridiculous love life. “Wouldn’t it be funny, if this worked out between us, and you could have a happy ending to your blog?” He always says exactly the right thing.

Fairy Tale Scenario #2

You finish dinner at a restaurant overlooking the river. He’s hurrying you, wants to get out to see the sunset over the high cliffs. The wind is blowing, hard, and you’re both laughing over some shared silliness. You try and get a picture with the canyon and the sunset and the water below, but he grabs you by both arms and holds you tight. He looks you dead in the eye and for the first time says, “I love you, Joce. I really, really love you.” After, you get the perfect picture, all canyon purples and blues and sunset oranges, with the light from your heart radiating out through your eyeballs and your teeth.

Fairy Tale Scenario #3

You celebrate the anniversary of your first date every Thursday, usually beers at the “scene of the crime.” The waitress knows you now, always asks you how long it’s been. You love the story of your first date and tell it often. It always makes you both laugh. How earnest, how excited you both were, how the evening completely careened off track to your mutual horror. And how you fixed it, found common ground again, fell in love despite it all. You think of your relationship as a classic screwball comedy – the brainy beefcake and the busty bombshell – fast-paced repartee, courtship hijinks, slapstick and pratfalls, with a “happily ever after” thrown in for good measure. Another Thursday comes around – Cheers!

Fairy Tale Scenario #4

Sunday drive. He loves to go fast. In the passenger seat, your body sways and rolls with the turns, the acceleration, the music. He conducts the stereo – prompting the swells and beats with two hands, returning a finger every now and again to the wheel, his car is so fancy, it could probably drive itself. He takes your hand and squeezes it, “Hey, Babes.”

“Hey, Babes,” you say back, tugging on salty bit of his salt and pepper hair.

The Beginning of the End of the World (Bryce)

But that is not the end. The end comes months later; en route to a new life, a new home, a new job in a hot, desert state that you have never seen before. He says everything is going to change, everything is going to be different, new slate wiped clean. He promises. He wants that for him, for you, for “us.” Before the move you give him a list: these things must happen before we go. Before you agree to take this leap, drive this road with your life puzzle packed neatly in a Penske truck.  He agrees.

You take care of your obligations, your responsibilities. And most of his. You sublet your apartment. You give notice at your job and apply to others in the new city. You sell your couch and give away other pieces and parts. You spend hours online searching for a house close to his new work, in this new town. You set up the utilities, make the calls about the moving truck. You collect boxes and pack them neatly with all your things. He goes to work, he calls occasionally, mostly he just texts you. He checks nothing off the list.

And then it’s too late. It’s three days until your supposed to be on your way. He has packed nothing. Taken care of nothing. He’s still going to his job 12 hours a day, neglecting his inevitable future, your inevitable future. You take boxes and cleaning supplies over to his house. You scrub his bathroom, you wash his laundry. You throw away bags and bags of trash and sweep up mountains of dirt and cat hair. You pack his boxes. You walk his dog.

Sea Salt (Unknown)

Mid-week work trip. Drive 5 hours, eat a burger and tots at the Shoshone Snack Bar and check in to an old Best Western with a “river view.” There is a great big TV but nothing on and nothing to read but a Holy Bible. “Good Lord,” you say out loud and sigh.

You wash your hands, your face. Eye cream, Vitamin C serum, overnight cream, hand cream. Tomorrow someone will tell you you look younger than your 35 years. Have you fooled them with your snake oil elixirs…or maybe it’s the big zit punctuating your chin.

You turn in early.  Ghosts of the motor inn age: squeaky screens, metal car doors slamming, wafting smoke from a Lucky Strike, interrupt your already compromised sleep. “Good Lord.” Sigh.

The next morning you attempt to fortify yourself at Buddy’s Drive Thru Java Stop. This is a mid-western vanilla mocha double-whip with chocolate chip town and your cappuccino is resolutely thin.

It’s a four-lane road, wide and pitted and dusty. Up ahead and to the left, a digital billboard flashes pixilated fireworks and a robotic American flag. Your name in lights, misspelled. Welcome!!! You pull in the parking lot and park. The air is humid with the smell of chilidogs and pizza. Someone somewhere is practicing duck calls. It is a flat, desperate sound.

Standing there, behind your plastic table with the plastic tablecloth underneath a striped tent you turn on your alternate personality: you smile at everyone, chat easily with strangers, coo at children, tilt your head and nod knowingly. You answer questions and make jokes.

Hours go by, you meet hundreds of people. You chew on ice cubes and feel your voice weakening, cracking from use. You find it exhausting.

About 3 p.m. the throng thins and quiets. For the first time you can just make out the Muzak through the tinny speaker overhead. Don Henley. Sting. You sit down. You check your phone. No messages. You look up and out into the multitude.

Hunters/Gatherers (Joce)

I will never again be a virgin, a born-again virgin, a born-again Christian or even just a regular old Christian. The Christians might have had me once, when I was very young, I liked the formality of the fabrics at the alter, the stained glass windows, the dark arched wood of the high church ceiling and the singing, but they kept handing out the same old coloring sheets in Sunday school, with Jesus in his big brown robe standing next to a wooly lamb. Brown and white, brown and white. I much preferred my coloring book at home based on Bulfinch’s Mythology: The Age of Fable or Stories of Gods and Heroes. I used all the colors to fill in the lines of the Pegasus and the Chimaeras and Centaurs. Medusa had snakes for hair! Even the fleece was gold. I’m a gold digger.

I will never be leggy or lithe or coltish. I will never have a “peaches and cream” complexion or a button nose or be cavity-free. I will never have long, lustrous hair, perky breasts, or feet sans callus. I will never have the hands of a pianist or the legs of a runner or the arms of a swimmer. I will never be quick on my feet or graceful when I dance. I have the shoulders of a shrugger, a sigher; I stoop collecting the missing buttons of your old coat. Beauty is weightless –I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. I am Atlas, 2004, out of date. God or hero? I am quick to judge. I can’t read a map. Or drive a stick.

I will never again have an original thought. I will not express this thought through a singular and creative voice. We are all sheep, brown and white, brown and white, comforted by our wooly thoughts. Hunter/gatherers. Cast your pearls before swine and dive for abalone, sheep.

Not Srry Enough (Collin)

He’s a musician and paints hauntingly beautiful luminous portraits but he also has a good job and a decent car. He can talk intelligently about movies and literature and art. He appreciates good food and knows what to order off the wine list. He wears cute jeans and trendy sneaks but never looks like he is trying to hard. He has dark wavy hair and soft grey blue eyes shaded by shy lashes. He is never cocky but carries himself with a quiet confidence. He is quick to laugh. You find him incredibly charming. 

A couple of days after your second date, this happens:

Peace in your heart (Malik)

"You think what I've told you is an anecdote. But really it isn't. It's my whole life. It's the only story I have."
Charles Baxter

There are two sides to every relationship and two sides to every story about that relationship. This is my story; it is only one side, my side.

It is presumptuous to think we can understand, even if we do have both sides of the story, what goes on between two people in a relationship. Very often they can't understand it themselves.

Obviously, the stories here do not represent Malik as a whole person (nor do they represent any other man, or even myself, as a whole person). They are a tiny sliver, a snapshot of a moment in time, between two people.

In the end, the only thing I knew about Malik was who we were together, the interactions, power plays and manipulations that defined us as a couple. Neither of us were our best selves at that time, in that place, in fact, we were probably our worst selves. And, despite the fact that love existed somewhere in that whirlwind of turmoil, the chemical reaction, the combination of our hearts and souls left permanent scars on both of us. Sometimes, even if we love somebody very much, we do them irreparable damage.

Malik was one of the first people to truly break my heart and I have carried the anger and frustration that he left me with into the rest of my life. We were never able to come to a resolution, and despite his efforts to reach out to me over the years, I was never able to forgive him. When it came to Malik I could only be a 17 year old girl with tears in her eyes and her heart on the floor.

I am sorry for us, for him, for me, that we could never truly see each other as a whole person or know each other as we got older and matured. But, life is about lessons and we did learn from each other.

On July 4, 2011, Malik passed away. My heart goes out to those who loved him. I am so happy that he was so loved and by so many.

The Love that Was (Malik)

The Haj, where Muslim men beat themselves with chains as they walk around the pillar that Mohammed ascended to heaven from, was last month. I don't beat myself over our relationship often but I cite the lessons learned.

In retrospect, I view our relationship as typical of my experience: I couldn't make up my mind as to whether I wanted it or not and I often tuned-out (should I stay or should I go) rather than doing anything about it.

I wrote in one of my journals about something you said when I moved to Chestnut. I remember it vividly not only because I knew what you said was true, and how you said it, but the overwhelming sense of not knowing how to handle it. You were standing in the living room, yelling at me, crying at me, "Why can't you love me when all I give you is love? Why do you treat me so mean?!"

At the time, I didn't think much of it. But over the past few years, as I repeated the same mistakes with relationships, I remembered you standing there and hearing your haunting words. I can't go back and change the past but I've learned, not just from you, that Love is precious and should never be turned away.

As far as being a "fairie princess," I believe you are. I see you in your Van Gogh hat; telling me you were just a  "stupid-girl;" eating brie with me by the river. I think of you fondly, regardless of how it ended...

I hope you are happy and I believe you are.

Take care,

The Evil Dark Prince

Losing the Marathon, or Cry Me a River, Justin Timberlake (Bryant, Daniel, Shaw, Donny, Phil, and Pierre)

“Hi, Joce, It was great to have a drink with you Thursday night.  You are an attractive and funny woman but I'm not sure we are right for each other right now. I hope you're well.” Bryant

“Joce, don't worry.  I kind of thought this might be happening. Things seemed tense in your life and we seemed to be kind of cooling off a little bit.  I figured it'd either work out or we'd come to an end.” Daniel

“Your truly an awesome person and I have been thinking allot about you. The whole dating thing is difficult for me this I know...  You are one of the coolest people I have met and I most definitely want to be friends!  I think that would be the best place for us to categorize ourselves haha.” Shaw

“Work, work, work (at least for the next few weeks)…we ever going to get together, go do something fun, you remember fun don’t you :)” Donny

“I have a woman hanging all over me right now but would give her up for your company any time of the week.” Phil

"What would you like to eat?"

"I don't care!"

"Some lovely cream of wheat?"

"I don't care!"

Don't sit backwards on your chair."

"I don't care!"

"Or pour syrup on your hair."

"I don't care!"

Pierre*

Having lived in the same body and mind for my entire life, and having been a fairly introspective and self-aware person, I’ve always felt relatively sure about WHO and WHAT I am. My personality, attitudes, interests and feelings have always fallen within a certain predictable range (predictable to myself, and I would argue, to my close friends and family). I’ve been consistent (not to imply rational) in my response to events and situations in my life. I think I have many good traits.

Join my network on LinkedIn (Malik)

LinkedIn Malik has indicated you are a Friend. Send me your phone number...if you dare. - Malik If I dare, or if I care? -Joce Don't be so harsh. -Malik I'm not being harsh. We are not friends. We "dated" for less than a year, when I was 17, and you were 30 and that was SEVENTEEN YEARS AGO. It was a really, really dysfunctional and destructive relationship and it doesn't inspire a single ounce of sentimental feeling in me. I don't think it's fair that you force me to revisit a really awful time in my life over and over, especially when the communication seems motivated by your latest relationship or life fiasco. I know you're sorry about what happened but it's honestly just a tiny blip on my life. I was 17, and I made a bad choice, do I have to be haunted by it every six months, forever? If you hadn't noticed, I've moved on to other dysfunctional relationships with other jerks. I'm more focused on that right now.  -Joce I have terminal cancer, Joce. -Malik

Not buying what you're selling (Ken)

I am human, as are you. I know that you were/are deeply hurt, and I am sorry for doing that to you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't, but the past can't be undone.  But I am sorry, I really mean it. Coming via an email, it probably doesn't seem like much, but I don't wish anything bad for you, only the best.

I think you'll move on and heal just fine. I'm not the only relationship you've ever had, and others have dicked you over in some way. I stated earlier that we are human beings, and human beings screw stuff up in relationships. Not all relationships are perfect and harmonious - we each have our past relationships to reflect upon to realize that. This one is another ruined relationship among many others in the world that are in ruins. The terrible thing is that I did it. That it happened to you. When you read about something like this in People about Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie/Jennifer Aniston, we take perverse pleasure in absorbing all the details. When it happens to us, it's a damned tragedy. Again, you know this.

But don't get sanctimonious and act as if you're perfect. We know enough of each others pasts to go back and forth and turn this into a dirt-slinging mudfest. Is that what you want?  Do you really want me to go point-by-point? I don't want that, I'm certain that you don't, either.

What I would like is this - to know that you've moved on, that you're successful, that you're business is flourishing and that you're family is well. I haven't contacted you yet because I knew that it would only result in something like this, something mean. While I may understand your anger and bitterness, I'm sure that you know that this really accomplishes nothing in the long-run. 

I am sorry, Joce, and I wish I never hurt you. You're right about many things - one of the biggest is that I never really knew what I had until I didn't have you anymore. You were a large part of my life that I didn't truly respect and honor. I am sorry, but you don't believe that, and there's nothing I can do to change how you feel.

I wish you the best.  I hope everything works out the way you want it to. 

take care,

Ken

Keep Me Posted (Clinton)

Dear Clinton, 

I got your note and I thank you for the kind words, however, I fear that this relationship cannot continue on any level at this point. It is becoming unhealthy and very uncomfortable for the both of us. I am afraid and sad for you, but I fear that my sanity will be undone due to circumstances that I must control. Please understand the turmoil it is costing me to do this, hopefully, however, peace in my life (and yours) will resume eventually. I do not mean to break your heart, what I am doing comes about merely as necessity, for this I am sorry. Once again I hope you will be adult through this situation and you don't resort to hurting people or things. I would make me very upset if you did. I hope you move into your sisters and get your life together, there is nothing that would please me more. It is hard for me to see you upset, so perhaps it is better that I don't see you at all for awhile anyway. Thank you for all you have done, keep me posted on your life.

Sincerely, Joce

Serriously (Clinton)

There have been allot of things swiriling in a confusing funnel in my mind for a long time now.

Today, I was finaly able to focus and sort most of my thoughts out. Finaly I have some real advice for both of us. Through some slow unrecognizable events, we have let life leave us completely out of our minds. We have been taking life in general to serriously. Being to serrious, and trying to understand to many things that we just are'nt ready for, may be the source of our mental turmoil. I think that we have both lost sight of the purpose of a relationship in our life right now. As it seems to be the source of most of our problems. We both agree that we need some sort of love and friendship relationship to keep us happy and full. Of course we've got to be some what responsible for school and work, but a serrious relationship, and finding the right person to commit our entire life to, should be on the verry bottom of our list of priorities. The best thing for us now is a simplified bond, some one we can love and know loves us back. Since we already have this we have already satisfied and filled that part of our lives. Lets take a deep breath...and let go of so much of our uneeded confused, mixedup, empty problems. The best thing for me right now is to be your "boy friend", I need to stand by your side as a great friend, watch and help you grow, laugh, cry, and love with you, I hope you want the same. Dont worry, we both have so much growing to do, this is'nt the right time to confuse our selves by worring weather for you I am the right person to be your husband, and for me weather you were meant to be my wife. I consider you a dear friend, and you consider me your dear friend. We have already shared so many memorable happy times, as well as sad times, yet through it all we have always shared a permanent bond between us. Weather it means we are just meant to be friends for life, or to live love grow and share a life we make together as husband and wife some where way down the road, I am not sure. But I do know that I love you in to many ways to have it fade with time. This is the time of happieness, sunshine, flowers, smiles, friends, rainbows and love. For now lets grow, laugh cry, and love together, because there is no one else I would rather share those things with in my life now than with you.

Cheer up, relax, and think about what I wrote, I'd like to hear what you have to say about it.

I love you a million zillion infinity!!!

Clinton

The Burried Past (Clinton)

Dearest Joce,
Over the span of a few days I have slipped into a state of emotional limbo. So many things have been said and done that were horribly destructive to each of us. I have somehow, in my selfishness and greed overlooked your needs, and likewise you have failed to encompase mine. Some how, withstanding all our Pillar of love has supported us through some of the worst of times. 


I find it impossible to collect, organize and communicate clearly my thoughts verbally. There fore I resorted to this letter of thought, to maby help clarify the inner workings of my mind. I am hurt, that you have somehow lead yourself to believe that you are allone. That you must find friendship and contentness in Avery. My fealings on this subject, are verry strong. I fail to understand why, so many times we have jeaperdized our love and happieness so that you could remain friends with Avery. I have often pondered "Would you be willing to risk the verry fabric of our relationship on the friendship of one who has caused so much anguish despair and turmoil between us?" I fail to grasp the understanding of WHY?

We'll Always Never Have Paris (Malik)

Hi Malik,

Where are you now? You must, at least, send postcards from wherever you go. I have a collection. But please don’t send me anything that I will get arrested for (drugs, severed limbs, etc.) I’m really not in the mood. You must be terribly lonely there in the nether regions, to be thinking of me. Have you been back to Paris yet? I remember how you took that girl, the one before me. You only knew her for four months and she got a trip to Paris! We dated for a year. Anyway, if you go – apparently the Musee d’Orsay has a picture of me, I’m the spitting image of Madame Rimsky-Korsakov by Winterhalter. Different people at different times. Do you still look like the fat drugged up Elvis?

Honestly, I am very lonely, but that is my own fault. Loneliness is a funny thing. I mourn the loss of people who meant so much to me, even when I know I could pick up the phone and talk to them right this minute. I think it must be my cross to bear that I love unconditionally, forever, people that I shouldn’t. I am in a constant battle to forget them, to let them go. Having a dog helps with some of that.

I am ready for the life that I thought I would have: over the top, eccentric, fun and full of cash. Job interview on Monday. As my former boss, any tips? My interviewer is a woman and that never goes well for some reason. I have a new lipstick called Orb. It’s a very high brow, coked up, death mod shimmer gold.  I don’t think I’ll wear it.

I’ve seen it raining fire,

Joce

Moneypenny,

I’m in Copenhagen right now. I came by train and will be here for a few days.  Then I am off to London to negotiate my position with a new company.

Yet, even with all my grand adventures, I am still frightened and find myself wandering the narrow streets, in the dark, crying my eyes out wishing I was in Fair Oaks, California or better yet, running away to Kosovo to help the refugees, or somewhere in my past, like elementary school. Don’t know if I’ll ever be settled, I think my life is short…blah blah blah

JOCE, I was wrong. I treated you unfairly and poor at best. I think of you fondly, I wish we went to dinner more often, to the movies even. But, I was fucked in the head, I’m sorry you were part of the “collateral damage” of my fucked life at the time.  It breaks my heart that we never went to Paris.

Part 6, The End: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")

 “How the hell did I get away with it? I was a cheater and a liar, and it takes one to know one. That’s why he never suspected me. Because he’s not a cheater and a liar. He never thought in that way.” From “A Brutally Candid History of Breaking Up” by Adam Sternbergh, New York Times, March 11, 2011

Ken and I had been dating exactly a year. I knew that I was in love with him and cared deeply about our relationship. I believed he felt the same way. However, I was aware, from the beginning, that he had emotional problems. I thought with enough love and support, we could overcome those difficulties.

Ken had been raised by a mostly absentee career military Dad and a stepmother who supposedly despised her stepchildren. Ken spoke of cruel punishments and neglect when he referred to his childhood. After a failed first semester of college he went into the Army and spent the next ten years as a soldier, he spent time in Bosnia and did two tours in Iraq. His time in combat had left him deaf in one ear, impotent and physically scarred. He was also hyper-vigilant; he had loaded guns throughout the house, had an alarm system installed and talked of making our master closet into a safe room with a panic button. Once, when I was still living at my apartment and Ken was visiting, I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I didn’t turn on a light and as I was shuffling, half-asleep down the hall I was met with the loudest, most fearful screaming I have ever heard “GET THE FUCK OUT, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” I stopped dead in my tracks, was he having a flashback? “Ken, it’s me!” I yelled, “It’s just me!” I turned on the light; he was standing next to the bed, clutching the only weapon he could find, a water bottle. His adrenaline was pumping so hard he was shaking. I realized that had we been in his apartment, I might have well been shot.

Part 5: Finker, Sailor, Soldier, Spy (Ken, Sargeant "First Class")