First Impressions

I had waited for this day forever; had envisioned it. I pictured myself far out on the water, where only the depths of the ocean could pull me down deeper than him… and be as cold. I used to think I was a boring person but now my secrets are so deep I could drown in them.

I imagined who I would call, since everyone was gone now. My sister was my best friend and the only person I would ever confide in about my rendezvous’. Around her, I didn’t have to pretend to be something I wasn’t; but she’s gone now, too. It’s just easier that way. I haven’t spoken to her since our brother passed away nine months ago.

Our imagination is a powerful place; it can create a world separate from reality, one that isn’t so bad, no matter how bad it really is. One where we can tell ourselves, you really don't need anyone, and believe it.

It can make good people bad and bad people good. For me, all it took was a free ticket to Wonderland; some bad Chinese food, a roller coaster ride, and I walked right into the devil’s wardrobe, trapped in his Narnia. Actually thinking this man was a saint because he bought me some fried rice. I’m going to take her on a roller coaster ride and then I’m going to fuck her.

But I have to shake the words from my head really fast. We’re not there yet.

When I first started talking to him two years ago, him and his daughter were riding roller coasters all across North America, just waiting for the next biggest ones to be built. We bonded over parenting. I was naive and awkward and the distance made me think all our late night conversations were adding substance. All I was doing was giving him information; the distance, only allowing him to hide.

I was so blinded because I imagined it was hard being a single father, trying to raise a daughter on his own. He never shied away from talking about these things with me and he admitted that having a stable woman in his life would help him, and her. I cringe, now, when I think of how hard I tried to establish a bond with his daughter and how much she knew, and knew that I didn’t know. How many women came before me, all believing they mattered to him… so wanting to matter to her. They didn’t. I didn’t. & neither does she.

But I pity her for having to think that’s normal. I wonder what it’s like when she goes to her friends houses and sees what all their families are like, she’s 14 now. I bet it’ll be a shock when she learns that some parents actually want their kids and love them, completely. Some kids aren’t just an inconvenience.

I had thought he wanted to get it right this time and so did I. We both had kids from previous relationships and came from broken families. He wanted to establish a spiritual relationship before a physical one. For years, I avoided men like the plague but dating was exciting and gave me confidence. It still didn’t mean I was ready for sex, so I didn’t mind waiting. I actually thought it was romantic, like our own Nora Roberts novel. I actually thought that he wasn’t intimate with other people and if he was, it was because he was still too nervous to admit his true feelings for me. I would have waited until forever for him but I didn’t have to.

The day was finally here. The day five years later when we would both sign “on the dotted lines,” as they say. Such a simple gesture. Even though the pages laid bare all the secrets that I had believed through all these years. The secrets that I built my identity on, right beside him. The lawyer, in the tuxedo, jet-setting around the world. Secretive not because he wanted to be but because he had to. Now, all the pictures that were proof of his profession and importance, irrelevant; the lies that had sustained me, crumbling to oblivion with one signature. The most horrific, degrading, dehumanizing experience of my life and with one flick of the wrist, it all ended.

And yet, I was one of the lucky ones. I got to walk away. It’s actually a blessing to be able to walk away. Even more humbling to realize that this could happen to me. It’s not abuse if he doesn’t hit you, right? It’s not abuse when you make all the money but have to ask to buy a pair of sandals, right? Is it abuse when he says “no”? Is it abuse when your six months pregnant but he wont let you buy new underwear?

Abuse can make you forget who you are. It can make it forget you know how to write. It can make you scared when someone wants to write a book about you, slandering you, when all you ever wanted was a family and all you were ever promised was a home. It can make you forget that you can write and he’s given you a novel. I’ve had boulders thrown at me. Crazy things happen to me but they've been the building blocks to my life just like I hope to use my words to finally tell my story. I hope you’ll read it.