I knew.
Sitting in the back seat of the white Lincoln Town Car my Dad had rented for the occasion. As my hands, clad to the elbow in white satin, slid apart no matter how tightly they grasped each other. As my dress – so much more satin meringue than I had ever imagined wearing – billowed around me, the train cocooning my legs. I knew, in that back seat, hands wringing, satin wrinkling, praying my most fervent prayer:
“Please, God, please. I promise not to doubt you again, if anyone says one worth that suggests I don't have to go through with this. Please, God. Make them speak. Make mom turn her head and see my horror and regret. Make dad feel my pleading eyes burning into the back of his head. Make my maid of honour comment on my most unusual silence.”
I knew - as the Town Car pulled into the church parking lot filled with satin and silence - that the vows I would say that day were a lie.
I knew.
As the first birth control pill circled the drain. Within weeks I knew, as I felt my breasts ache and stretch and then felt BBs first fluttering movements. I knew that he didn’t want a baby, yet. That he didn’t feel the same unbearable ache of loneliness in that frozen damp village we’d landed in. I knew, as I planned and dreamed and sewed and read What to Expect When You're Expecting.
I knew that ultimately I’d be raising that baby alone, so it was my decision to make.
I knew.
Staring absently at the marriage counsellor's ugly yellow teeth. As I tried to ignore that he was talking to my chest again. As he rattled on about wifely duties, and commitment, and not saying yes unless you mean it. I knew as my husband reiterated his favourite highlights of that pointless conversation on the drive home. I knew. At long last I really truly knew.
And after ten years of knowing, I finally stopped waiting for permission and left.
____
*remembeRED is a weekly memoir writing prompt from Write on Edge that will now be a regular part of this blog
This is heartbreaking, but I'm glad you found the strength to do what you needed to do.
ReplyDeleteGood for you, for moving on. Time is not important, you did it, is what matters.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Yvonne & Kristina. It's hard for me to look back on that decision with regret, or to hold it against the 19 year old who didn't know how to take back that first 'yes' ... especially because I have two amazing sons. It sure feels good to write about it after all this time though. Thanks for your encouragement!
ReplyDeleteI am sorry you had to go through those years of not feeling comfortable making that decision without permission. I know that feeling. I am so glad you realized it and had the confidence to believe in yourself :)
ReplyDeleteSo hard to go through with it feeling so wrong. But you did. You have lovely kids, and the hard road taught you so much. I'm glad that you moved on , and hope that you have found joy :)
ReplyDeleteThis was really gripping to read. I felt flashes of the pain who must have felt. This is a story many--to many--people have lived. Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThank you all! Wow - being part of Write on Edge is so great. I so appreciate the feedback and community as well as getting to read all of your writing.
ReplyDeleteBTW - I had this conversation with my parents a few years after leaving, and they both remember telling me at the time that I didn't have to go through with the wedding. I think at 20 I probably thought I knew better. :)
ReplyDeleteIt's great when you get the perspective and balls to do what you need to do isn;t it?
ReplyDeleteI related to this a lot.
The difference between an insecure 19 year old and a 'I'd be better off alone' 30 year old - I do seem to have struck a common chord here.
ReplyDelete