Confession

Another time travel here...circa 1991...

 

            Bob’s mom was the one I went to when I realized the first time he’d hurt me was not going to be the last.  His promise to never do it again had not held true.  I don’t know if I wanted her advice, if I expected her to reprimand him, or what.  But I needed to talk to someone and I chose her.  I couldn’t figure out how to come right out and say he had choked me when he was drunk.  It seemed impolite to say such a thing to the woman who had raised him.  So I waited for an opening, which she soon gave me by asking how the concert in Detroit had been.

            I answered, “It was great…except…” and then paused, my eyes on the floor.

            “Except what, princess?”  she pressed.

            “Except something happened with Bob.”  I said quietly.  I still didn’t know if I meant to tell it all, but I needed to.  The words were in my mouth like a bad taste I couldn’t swallow past.

            “Did you two have a quarrel?”  she asked.

            “No.  He was drinking…a lot…and, he, uh….he choked me in the hotel room.”  There, I had said it.  Now I waited.  Why did I feel so embarrassed?

            The next thing she said was a question, and one that I least expected.  It wasn’t, “Oh my God, are you okay?”  It wasn’t, “How dare he?”  And it especially wasn’t, “Are you leaving him?”

            It was, “Well…what was he so upset about?  Something must have really been bothering him.” 

            Oh.  Her something clearly meant me. I was caught completely off guard.   I tried to convey the excitement of going to my first live show, the roar of the crowd, the people who milled around– each separate in their own little world but together for one night –part of something bigger and better than what might be waiting for them at home.  I tried to express the sheer energy- the contagious, and almost manic feel of the concert goers.  The moment the headlining band came on stage and the night was lit up with pyrotechnics was one I’d never forget.  For a split second everyone’s faces were glowing, and you could feel the heat pushing out, as if to ask, hey, are you paying attention?  And, are you ready to see something amazing?

  We had double dated with Bob’s friend and his girlfriend.  She and I were jumping up and down on our feet like twelve year olds gone completely mad, star struck, even if the band was hundreds of feet away.  We were caught up.  When the lead singer came out, twelve feet tall on the big screen, and knelt down in his leather pants, belting out our favorite song –live– we went absolutely, unapologetically berserk.  Sherrie said something about the lead singer being hot.  I agreed and mentioned how well he wore those leather pants.  I said I liked his ass.

            Bob’s mom said, “Oh, Nick”, shaking her head, and clucking her tongue.  Her voice was heavy with reproach.  I dropped my eyes again immediately, feeling ashamed, and wishing I’d never opened my big mouth in the first place.  When I looked up, the disapproval in her eyes knocked the breath right out of me.  She was mad at me.  This was my fault, not Bob's.  And  I had gotten so comfortable up there in the clouds, soaking up her unconditional love and feasting on peeled grapes, right along with her son. 

            “Have you thought about how that made him feel?  You hurt his pride, in front of his friends…not to mention whoever was right around listening.   He must have been completely humiliated.  Nick, that was his manhood at stake.”

            I shook my head.  I hadn’t thought about it, but some of those words were the very ones he’d screamed at me.

            “And wasn’t he treating you taking to that concert?  For your birthday?  Just trying to make you happy?  What a shame that such a nice gesture had to be totally ruined.”  She turned away and left the room without another word. 

 The message was loud and clear.  That was your fault. 

 And there was no help here.