Darts, machetes and more

Life as I knew it, as bad as it was, was about to get worse and I never saw it coming.

I had my husband, my children and my little house. .

I got what I had always wanted; a family all my own. It’s funny isn’t it, how you can want something so much that you refuse to see it for what it really is. The Reed’s we were not.

Now, the friends that had drifted pretty much out of my life, suddenly were coming back, mostly because of Gary and the fact that we had a house now too. It’s always good to have another place to party. It didn't hurt that my husband could get you almost anything you wanted, if you wanted to party seriously that is; uppers, downers and anything in between.

The name of the game back then besides getting high was darts. The boys played darts at our house, their house, bars; it didn’t matter where, just so long as they could play.

Gary hung our dart board on the linen closet door and put permanant tape on the floor in the living room to show you where to stand. You didn't want to cross that line now; that would be cheating.

This game would prove to be more than a game in the not to near future.

I didn’t mind so much that that’s all these people wanted to do, it was the mood that it put my husband in if he lost. Winning was great, but losing, that was another story entirely. Losing a dart game to friends could put my dear husband into a mood that I can only describe as dark. He hated to lose.

With my children all tucked in their beds, the parties went on.

We still went to other homes as well, and on one occasion I was actually the envy of my not so close girl friends.

Everyone was pretty high at this point; my husband was passed out in the other room and the kitchen was full of drink, drugs and darts. My drug of choice by then was beer, just beer,so I took my sober self and my beer and went into their second living room to just get the hell out of that scene.

It isn't easy being the only sober person in a room of say 10 or 15 people.

You have to realize that I wasn't the girl I used to be. I had gained 60 pounds when I was pregnant with Shayne and 30 more with Brittany and I hadn’t’ taken it off yet. I was working my way up the fat chain and was now a size 18. I was huge. So, it was a surprise to me when our friend Chris came in, sat down and initiated a very intimate conversation.

Chris was ok. His family owned the house next to Gray’s parent’s house where we had partied so many times. We didn’t see him often, but when he was down the shore, he partied with us.

He was a few years older than I was; thin, curly hair but cute.

He was also the lover to several of my married friends. I believe the term that you would use today is friends with benefits. Back then I called it adultery.

Their husbands had no clue. You know what, maybe they did and didn’t care; maybe they had their own little benefits-thing going on, all I know is that I had never been approached by him for a tryst nor had I initiated one.

It never occurred to me to cheat. What is it that they say about nice girls?

So, when Chris planted himself next to me on the couch and started up the conversation by telling me I was the prettiest woman of all our friends, I was pretty surprised, and nervous. What the hell was that all about and where was this going.

I took a long drink of my beer, blushed and muttered an inaudible thank you.

Of course, his next sentence was to ask how I could let myself get so fat and out of shape. Talk about a downer, but you know me, don’t hurt his fucking feelings. I just agreed and tried to justify my weight gain to him.

We sat there for over an hour talking before one of our friends, one of his lovers, came in, gave us a snide comment about how cozy we looked and left.

Not more than week had gone by when Chris showed up at my home, pushed me on the couch and kissed me. He was stunned when I pushed him away. The look on his face was of complete shock.

What the hell was he thinking?

It seems that since I was the only one of his lady friends that he hadn’t slept with, he felt the need to not only add me to his list, but to do me the favor of sleeping with me. Since I was overweight he assured me that I wouldn't have any other prospects and that he would be glad to "to it" with me.

What I have learned ever so slowly is that if you let people hurt you and take advantage of you, they will. I wish I'd known that then.

I jumped up and just stood there; not angry or feeling violated in any way; to put it in the simplest of terms, I was hurt. Words cut like a knife and the wounds don't ever seem to go away.

With that said, even with everything that Gary had done to me I just could not comprehend cheating on him and I certainly didn't want to be a "pity fuck".

I asked him to leave and never told anyone.

Life of a suburban housewife!. Hell we could have had a hit show on HBO.

You all know that Gary worked for a block company right? Well, every day, little by little, there were cinder blocks piling up on the side of my yard. I couldn’t figure out what the hell he was going to do with all these blocks.

Make a tomb to put me in, build an addition to the house, construct a fence around our home? Nothing could have prepared me for the goal that this man had in mind.

Gary was going to build a pool, our very own cēment pond.

The pool was an above the ground model. Jesus if he had started digging a huge hole I would have been sure it was for me.

The pool was approximately eight feet by eight feet and about four or five feet high. It was completely lined top to bottom and ran off its very own filter.

Who needs a pool company when you have my man?

It wasn’t big but it did the trick. Eight people could easily be in it at a time. I believe I went in it once or twice; certainly not more than five times. I think that I had a fear of him drowning me. He on the other hand went in often. He would get in the pool and sit on the bottom. This man could hold his breath longer than anyone I knew. He would also take a tube to breathe through so he could sit on the bottom longer.

Come to think of it, had I given it any thought at all I could have perfected my Weeki Wachee mermaid swim routine in that pool. I had always admired those women; this could have been my big chance.

It could get scary because he was usually stoned or high when he went in, and got very angry with me when I would ask him to please get; I had no desire to find him floating in that damn thing.

Nope, he was fine. I don’t know another person who got off just sitting on the bottom of a pool to meditate. It takes all kinds I guess.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to me. This is the guy who would strap an aqualung on his back, jump into the river and tie himself to the railroad trestle and walk along the bottom of the Manasquan River, visibility 0 inches.

When we split up and sold our home, the pool was still standing. How in the world would you describe that in a real estate brochure?

One project down, many more to go. My husband loved a good project.

What to do, what to do. What could be his next project.

He set his sights on our beautiful custom van.

I had to give it to him, he did have an imagination. Some of the things he came up with were very clever; others, not so great.

You remember our van don’t you? The one that we had on our honeymoon when my butt was violated by the female Mounted Police of NY.

When we bought this van it beautiful, the airbrushed American eagle on the side of it, our colors so proudly displayed, red, white and blue. The inside was thick red shag carpet on the walls and floor. It had a bed and a refrigerator. It was perfect.

NOT FOR LONG.

For reasons unbeknown st to me, he decided to gut it. He took everything out down to the metal frame.

I don’t know why I was surprised, this man had a turquoise Pinto when I met him. He decked that pinto out like nothing you have ever seen. He took out the normal steering wheel and put in one of those real small ones. The entire dashboard was carpeted and complete with little figures all over it, Army men, buttons, little trees. You name it, it was on it. You could actually see the dashboard display from other cars.

The Pinto was a small car, and when Gary got done with it, it looked like a pimp mobile for midgets. Huggy Bear he was not.

So, when he decided to make improvements to the van, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

We were now the proud owners of a metal tube with wheels and an engine.

Freezing in the winter and sweltering in the summer. Perfect.

But wait, it gets better.

He wanted the van to be cool, as if it wasn’t before. So, he drilled two large holes in the floor at the back of the van and two large holes in the roof and proceeded to put very large exhausts stacks right through the floor of the van and out the roof. Isn’t that the coolest thing you have ever heard of?

Exhaust stacks emitting toxic fumes and burning hot to the touch with two small babies in tow. You cannot make this shit up.

He strapped a reclining chair in the middle of the van and along with the two seats in the front, what could be better? That was it, our new family vehicle.

Child seats were not mandatory and rarely used by anyone then so that wasn’t an issue.

To say that my parents were pissed is an understatement. Besides being furious with Gary, they couldn’t understand why I had let him do that to our one and only means of transportation.

Little children, hellooooooooooooooo.

They must have overlooked the fact that I was a walking, talking lobotomy victim.

Although I hated these projects of his, they did manage to keep him happy and busy, most of the time.

Gary’s temper was getting worse and I was just as ill prepared to handle it as I was before I had the kids. I should have packed up the kids and gone home to my parents. But I didn’t, not even after he did the unspeakable.

It was a normal afternoon for me, Gary wasn’t home and I was alone with the kiddies.

Brittany was napping in her Jenny Lind crib and Shayne and I were in the living room. I don’t know why Gary was in such a rage when he got home, but I could tell that he was high. At that time, his likes turned from just drinking and pot to acid and angle dust.

Whatever high he was on that day, it wasn’t a good one. Our house was small, and when he came out of our bedroom with the machete, I grabbed Shayne, ran into their bedroom where Brittany was sleeping and slammed the door shut.

Time seemed to slow down at this point. Gary came in the room, raised the sword and swung at the crib. I don’t think he even saw that Brittany was in there. I grabbed Brittany, and along with Shayne, we sat frozen and terrified on Shayne’s bed. We couldn’t get out, Gary's body blocked the door.

When it was all over, Brittany’s crib was nothing more than a pile of kindling.

Gary left the room and if I remember correctly, went out.

Luckily for my little girl, she was too young to remember or comprehend what was happening.

For Shayne, I'm sorry to say, that must have haunted him for a long time to come.

Did I leave yet? Nope! I stayed; made excuses to myself for his behavior, cleaned up the mess and went on as usual, too afraid to tell anyone for fear of their reaction or actions that they might take.

That is one of the many instances that I will never forgive myself for. I couldn’t have stopped him, but I could have protected my children the way a parent should; I should have left after calling the police.

I didn’t stay because I needed a man. I stayed because I was so afraid of this man. It wasn’t just physical either. My husband had a way of systematically belittling and brow beating me to the point I didn’t think I had a choice.

Unfortunately, I also believed his apologies and was sure that he would change. His tears always seemed sincere and I always believed him.

Shame on me!