The Wrong Man

    Bill was forty-one by the time I realized what type of man he was. This silver haired Scorpio prided himself like an arrogant peacock. He had a telltale way of standing when he lied; squaring back his shoulders with his head up and chin tucked; he’d suck on his cigarette, holding it with two fingers pinched together. He did this quite often and many wondered if he even knew what the truth was.
    In selfishness, he typically stretched out on his bed in the living room of our tiny two-bedroom apartment. He’d cross his chicken legs with his black bottom feet barely touching my television; he dominated the remote with a Western on the screen. “C’mon guys, I haven’t seen John Wayne in over a month,” he would gripe as Brian and I hid in our rooms, hating Westerns. Both of us knew that it had barely been a week since Bill watched True Grit. He didn't care that all I asked was to watch “Young and the Restless”. If it coincided with one of his Westerns, I lost out.
    Bill’s selfish and laziness was exceeded only by his greed. He spent money like it was water out of a faucet. Even though we were a month behind in our electric, he still had to spend a hundred and sixty dollars on a radio for Civil Air Patrol, leaving me to pay the same amount on the electric or lose it. This forced me to sacrifice on the payment on my Visa.
    In the six years we were together, he became domineering. Blaming two tours in Vietnam for the mental problems that landed him on social security; he denied that he just didn't want to work. I've also come to learn that all he does care about is money, even if it’s not his. Though he’s promised to help me out, he’s taken cash advances, maximizing my credit card and preventing me from saving the money for the gown I need to attend our friends wedding. It’s a semi-formal affair and Bill had three tuxedos in my closet.
    Since the threat of my leaving and moving in with my parents has become a reality, he’s done what he could to change my mind. “Everyone’s going to say that they were right about us not making it,” he told me in a cold tone during our confrontation as we sat on my twin sized bed, whispering. “And if you think your parents are going to let you see your friends, they won’t.” He went on with his desperate scheme of manipulation.
    Typical to his behavior, he refused to admit or let go when he was no longer wanted. Bill has paid little attention to my plans already set in motion. He and Brian would both be gone for a week attending the Sun-N-Fun Air-fest in April. The timing was right and with my conscience telling me to move before Brian does, I remember an old adage: Pride cometh before the fall.