It's June, which means it's my anniversary month! This anniversary is a special one. It is the anniversary that is the age I was when I married. This anniversary marks half of my lifetime. After this, I'll have been married longer than I was unmarried. That does give me pause. It doesn't seem like that long. Time has just continued to pass and here we are, 18 years later.
I've been thinking about our marriage and the time that led up to it. It was pure insanity. The further away I get, the fuzzier the details are. So I've decided to write it down, now, as I remember it, from start to finish. It is long. A saga almost, but I feel like it's important to have a record of that time. The story has been told, many times, in bits and pieces but here is, from start to finish.
I think it is important to note that it is not intended to paint my family in a bad light at all. I believe their behaviors and attitudes came from a place of concern.
On Christmas Eve in 2001, I was 17 years old. A senior in high school. My boyfriend was 19 and home on leave from the ARMY. He asked me to marry him and I said yes.
I decided not to tell my family. I knew that they would not take it well. My parents were very strict. It is not easy to have a teenage daughter and I think they had a lot of fear. In many ways, I felt like a caged bird. It's like that Pink Floyd song, "she won't let you fly, but she might let you sing." That was hard for me. I have always been fiercely independent and it had become a huge control issue for years.
I was turning 18 the following month and my relationship with them had deteriorated greatly. There was no respect there and no love at all, really. I feel terrible about it now but I felt nothing for them but disdain. I had told them for years that I was moving out on my 18th birthday. I didn't care where I would go but I would not stay another minute longer than I had to. I'd been saying that since well before I'd met my boyfriend.
Now, I was engaged to be married and my birthday was right around the corner. I don't know how it came to be, but we decided that I would move into my boyfriend's house. I got along with his parents, he was gone away so I could stay in his bedroom, and they lived directly behind the high school, which also was across the street from my workplace. I could walk everywhere. I only had 6 months of school left and then I could go to wherever he was stationed.
He received orders in mid-January. He'd been stationed at Fort Sill, Oklahoma. There was a 4-year university in the town there and I applied immediately without telling anyone. They had rolling admissions, thank goodness. I paid my own application fee.
For the first time, in as long as I could remember, I was hopeful. It was a strange time in general. My boyfriend had left the end of August, 9/11 happened just a few weeks later, my relationship with my family was increasingly strained. The world seemed "off" in so many ways, things seemed so uncertain.
But now, the tides were changing. I knew where we would be living, I had applied to college, and I was preparing to move out of my house. I am a planner and I like to know the things that are ahead for me and it gave me great comfort.
In the two weeks before my birthday, I began to go through my things. Teenagers spend all their time locked up in their bedrooms anyway. I decided I would only bring the things that I had purchased myself. I'd been buying my own clothes for years. I packed clothes in old bookbags and boxes. I stacked them neatly in the back of my closet, out of sight. I didn't have very much at all.
My parents probably enjoyed me in the weeks before my birthday. I was never pleasant to them but I wasn't combative. There was finally an end in sight, a light at the end of the tunnel. The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife but I could endure it for just a few more weeks.
On my 18th birthday, I hopped out of bed. There was a sense of freedom I had that morning that wasn't there the night before. I acted as if everything was normal. I went to school and was anxious all day. I replayed all the reasons that I was leaving in my head, to remind myself, so that I wouldn't chicken out and change my mind.
My friend Bill agreed to help me move. He had a mini-van. An old shitty mini-van which was 100 times better than what I had - nothing. After school, we met up and he drove me to my house. No one was supposed to be home. The plan was to be as quick as possible. Go down and grab my shit and GO.
We pulled up to the house and my father was home. My heart sank. "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. I'll be fine."
I walked in the house and my father was in the kitchen. He smiled at me, "Happy Birthday!" he said. I didn't smile back. I decided I would just tell him. Rip off the band-aid. "I'm leaving," I said. "I'm here to get my things."
His face changed immediately. He was confused and then angry. He yelled at me, screamed. I don't even remember what he said now. I felt nothing. I wasn't going to argue with him. My feelings were not hurt. I was done. When I am done, I am done forever. I didn't care if he yelled, or pleaded, or anything. I was leaving, case closed. I didn't yell back, I did just calmly walked downstairs and collected my things.
"You better not take anything we bought you," he yelled.
I calmly replied, "I'm not. It's just my clothes and books."
I set all my things on the front stoop and my father sat in a chair on the porch and watched us load everything into Bill's van. He looked so sad and dejected. I avoided eye contact with him. Then, I got into the passenger's seat and we drove off.
I recall being confused about his reaction. I'd been saying I would leave on my 18th birthday for years. I don't think they thought I had the actual balls to do it. But I did have balls. BIG ones. Bye Felicia. I was done.
We got to my boyfriend's house and we hauled my things into the house. Then, I got dressed and Bill took me to work. It was a big day at work for me. I was 18, which meant that I had no restrictions on when I could work. I would get my grey apron. I would be taught how to use the slicer and the trash compactor. It was a training day for me.
I was hoping to catch my boss but he was gone for the day. I spent my evening learning the ropes of my job duties. I felt calm. At one point my stepmother came in. She looked pissed. She was holding a gift bag that she threw onto the counter. "Happy Birthday," she said in a way that told me she didn't want me to have a happy birthday. Then, she stormed out. My co-worker looked at me weird and I shrugged. I don't remember what was in the bag. It is one of those details that is fuzzy now.
I walked to my new home after work that night. My boyfriend's mother was still awake. We spoke for a while and then I got ready for bed. I walked into my boyfriend's bedroom, which was now my bedroom. All of his things were still there. There were some clothes still in his dresser, baseball trophies, his Simpsons comforter. It seemed wrong that I should be there without him. I stood there in the middle of his room, my things packed in boxes against the wall and I missed him something terrible. I cried.
The next day, I did catch my boss at work. He was aware of the situation and was sympathetic to me. I told him that I could work any day of the week, that I would pick up shifts, that I had no restrictions. I'd been working for him for about a year and a half and he knew I was a hard worker. He agreed to do what he could. He was a good guy. He put me on the schedule 5 days a week.
I went to school and work that week and adjusted to my new normal. I didn't speak to my parents at all. There was a peace inside of me that was new. I had been so anxious my whole life but now I had a little bit of control and I wasn't afraid. It was a feeling that I was not used to and I liked it.
My boyfriend was graduating from AIT the Friday after my birthday. I decided to take that day off of school and I drove down to Columbia, South Carolina with his mother, aunt and uncle, and little cousin. It was a long drive and I was happy to see the South of the Border signs as we got closer and closer. If you would have told me then that we would settle down and raise our children in South Carolina, that this would be home, I would have not have believed you.
We drove through the night and when we made in Columbia, we went into a Walmart to freshen up. I brushed my teeth and got dressed. His mother had brought us matching blue camo tee-shirts she got from Avon. I was planning to wear something a little more form-fitting and sassy but she was so excited about the matching shirts that I couldn't deny her.
We went through the gate at Fort Jackson and they directed us to the building where there were holding graduation. There were chairs set up that were full of other soldier's family members, waiting impatiently. Then, they walked in. I spotted my boyfriend in the crowd of green uniforms. They marched to the front of the room and sat down for the ceremony. It killed me to have him in the same room as me but to not be right next to him. I longed for him so badly.
The sergeant gave a speech and they called names and everyone clapped. Then, they released the soldiers to their families. I let his family see him first, of course. I wanted him all to myself in that moment, but I knew I would get him forever so it was only fair. He hugged his mother, and his aunt and uncle. His little cousin looked up at him like he was the coolest. Then we saw each other. He smiled and walked over to me. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me. When I tasted his lips on mine, I almost melted into the floor. He could always do that to me.
After our greetings, we had to go to the barracks to collect his things. His roommate was from Philly and he was catching a ride with us too. We waited in the van as they went in to retrieve their bags. He came out in plain clothes, his dog tags around his neck, and his rucksack on his back. He looked shaken. He sat down and van said, "Dude, your parents called my sergeant."
My blood ran cold. "What?"
"Yeah, they said I was encouraging you to skip school or some shit."
"Are you going to get in trouble?"
"Nah, I don't think he cared that much."
I was disturbed. They were really trying to get this man in trouble with the US ARMY. I was so livid. It was just another nail in the coffin.
The van now was full, with 2 extra people and a rucksack. We volunteered to hang out in the very back of the van. I was so happy to have him next to me - for 11 straight hours. I didn't care that we were in a van full of other people. "Wanna fool around?" I whispered. "Sure," he said. We were such whores for each other. haha.
I don't remember what time it was when we pulled up to the house, but I was exhausted. I insisted that he sleep in his own bed and that I sleep on the couch. We may have been whores for each other, but his parents were super Catholic and also we were teenagers, so we weren't allowed to sleep in the same room. Which, was fine. Totally understood.
The next morning we got up early and took his roommate home to Philly. We walked around and ate street food and enjoyed each other's company. It was frigid but the sun was shining. It was just a great day.
He was home for two weeks to do hometown recruiting. So, technically, he had to work. It was just a few hours a day but I still had school and work during that time. We would see each other in the morning. He'd be putting on his uniform and getting ready for the day and I would just watch him. He was like a stranger to me. He was so different. When he left, he was a boy but now he was so much like a man. I can't even explain it. I was in awe and madly in love with him.
He would visit me at work in the afternoon. He'd go for a run and show up in his ARMY sweatsuit and black beanie. Sexy as hell. He'd wait in my line to buy a bottle of water and I'd lean over the counter and kiss him. His face would be ice cold. New Jersey winters are unforgiving. He'd pick me up from work in the evenings and we'd stay up and hang out. I was calm now that he was back. He was my safe place.
My parents at some point found out we were getting married. I'm not sure if I had told them or if they heard it through the grapevine. They knew he was home and asked to have dinner together. All of us, including his parents. His father had to work but his mother came along. I should have said no, I should have known it was a trap. I was young and naive.
We met in a diner. Them on one side and me, my boyfriend and his mother at the other. The tension was thick and for some reason, I was afraid. My mother had this folder on the table. It was an hour of them convincing us that we shouldn't get married. Which, is understandable. But it was just terrible and cringy. My mother had my college acceptance letters in that folder which she pulled out like evidence at a murder trial. Exhibit one, acceptance to the University of Miami. Exhibit two, acceptance to Seton Hall. I was accepted into the pre-med program with a $10,000 a year renewable scholarship. I wanted to be an OBGYN. Could you even imagine? I think of my life if I hadn't gotten married. I'd be in North Jersey, sitting between some woman's legs like, "I'm pretty sure it's yeast, Susan...." Poor Susan.
They told my boyfriend that if he married me that he'd be ruining my life, that he was dishonorable for not asking their permission, if he REALLY wanted to be with just one woman his whole life, and if he truly understood what it took to provide for a family. They were low-key roasting him, which his mother did not appreciate. Her Puerto Rican came out in full force. My boyfriend kind of just stared down at the table and I just looked around and prayed to leave my body. When I tell you it was bad, it was bad.
After we ate, we all left. I wouldn't even look at them. It was horrible. My boyfriend was silent the whole way home.
We walked into the house and went to his room. He sat down on the bed and looked so sad and dejected. I had never him like that. He looked at me and said, "I'm not going to marry you."
I was TRIGGERED. "What? Why?"
"I'm going to ruin your life," he said. They had really gotten into his head. He was so upset.
"You are not going to ruin my life. It's going to be fine," I said.
"Your parents are going to hate me," he said.
I started to cry. "So? Hate them back."
I sobbed and was completely overdramatic. His mother showed up to see what all the ruckus was about. I'm trying to talk to this lady between sobs like, "He...said...he's...not....going....to....marry....me." Which makes me laugh so hard now. I was like, if you're not going to marry me, I'm telling your mom!
She was also TRIGGERED. She was like, "You're not going to ruin her life. Just marry her and give me some damn grandkids already." She didn't say the part about grandkids but she probably thought it. He came around and was like, "Okay. Let's get married." I was pissed at him. I sat in bed and pouted.
"You're not going to talk to me now?" he said. Then, this man just up and left. I was mad again. He was really leaving me. He came back a few minutes later with a pint of Ben and Jerry's Phish Food ice cream. My FAVORITE. "I thought this would cheer you up," he said, handing it to me.
I ate the whole thing. I ate all of my feelings. Get you a man that will run out and get you ice cream when you are sad.
Things were fine after that. We enjoyed the rest of his time home. He left just a few days before Valentine's Day. I woke up that morning to go to school, he was headed to Philly to catch a plane to Oklahoma. He drove me to school and I said goodbye to him. No matter how many times we parted ways or how long he was gone, I never grew accustomed to it. It was February and I wouldn't see him again until June.
My heart hurt so bad. I kissed him goodbye and I cried. I got out of the car and stood on the sidewalk and watched him pull out of the school parking lot. At that moment, I felt completely alone in the world.
To be continued...
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