It had been about a month since Date Night. He had left many messages that I hadn’t answered. So on that August late afternoon, 90 degrees in the shade, he came knocking on my door to have it out like a gunslinger in a western. He had walked the ten miles or so from his house and had plenty of time along the way to get good and worked up. I peeked out the back door window and saw him standing on my doorstep, red-faced, sweating, and wanting answers.
I opened the door. “Hey.”
“Hey Nick, I need a moment of your time. We need to talk.” he said in his smooth, telemarketer-meets-used-car-salesman voice.
“Let’s go outside.” I told him.
“Outside? Nick, it’s like 90 degrees out here and I walked –“ I cut him off by moving past him through the doorway. For once, the shoe was on the other foot; he followed.
“The kids don’t need to be part of this.” I said quietly and led him down the driveway. My heart was pounding and I could barely breathe. He affected me just by his proximity. It was dangerous. My only safety was distance, and I needed much more than mere inches. If he touched me, or tried to take me in his arms…
“Nick, I need to know what’s going on. I thought things were going okay. Then we went out on that date – I thought you had a good time, I thought we both did – and now you won’t take my calls, you’re not answering my texts. It’s driving me crazy. I love you. I know you love me. I need to know what is going on with you. With us. I want to marry you. I’m in love with you. Don’t you get that?” He paused for a breath. I said nothing. He gestured with his hands, “Don’t you understand? This is killing me. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I can’t even breathe. Say something!”
I stood and looked at him. He was wearing pin-striped overalls with no shirt underneath, with a red bandanna tucked in one pocket that he used to mop the sweat off his face and neck every so often. He wore an old baseball cap turned backwards. He looked hot and tired. He looked defeated. I knew I had hurt him. But I resented him showing up here demanding answers I wasn’t ready to give. How could he not know? And why did everything always have to be on his schedule, his time table? It was always about his needs; what about mine? He needed to know, but I still needed to figure it out. Or at least how to put it into words and say it out loud.
He was offended by my silence, I could tell. He didn’t like it when I didn’t respond to his cues. He furrowed those dark eyebrows and switched tactics. “Nick, I’m gonna marry you. You’re gonna be my wife. I’ve prayed about this and God says it will be so. He has promised you to me. You are everything to me. Now, go inside and get that ring.”
I stood my ground and shook my head ever so slightly. I wasn’t going to comply, but I didn’t want a scene. There was no way in hell that ring was seeing the light of day right now. I was painfully aware of how much I loved this man and how much that ring meant to me. I didn’t trust myself to be around both of them at the same time.
He couldn’t believe I wasn’t minding him. He looked at me as if I was a disobedient child and said it with more force, “Go get that ring, Nick.”
Intimidation had worked so brilliantly for him in the past, but what he didn’t know was I was getting stronger, a little bit at a time. To put that ring on now would be saying I was okay with every nasty name that he’d called me on his bad days, every put down he’d thrown out during arguments, every bit of blame he’d settled on my shoulders once he’d lost his temper and the damage was done. I refused. Out loud. To his face. Looking him dead in the eyes while I did it.
He waved his arms, grabbed his head in both hands, and growled. Seriously, growled. He turned around twice, looked up at the sky, centered himself, and tried again. He spoke slowly, gently, and with great tenderness. I’d heard that tone before, right before he’d wrapped his hands around my throat and began to squeeze. “Nick. Go…get…the…ring.”
“No.” I might have had one hand on my hip. I hope I did.
I watched in disbelief as he took the sun-faded baseball cap off his head and threw it to the ground.
“Fine, Nick. If that’s the way you want, we’ll do it just like this.” He then bent at the knee and knelt in his ludicrous pin-striped overalls at the end of my brick driveway.
His proposal went something like this: “Nick, do you have any intention of ever marrying me?”
Of all the times I’d fantasized about this moment, I had never expected to feel trapped, cornered, and bullied; I felt all of those things. I didn’t say anything, just looked down at him. It was surreal to be above him, in a position of authority in even the smallest of contexts. Who was in charge in here? Time spun out. I could feel a teeter totter inside me shifting the tiniest bit as I searched his face, which was creased with worry, for he did love me.
But how many times had this man put himself at my feet and for what reasons? I took a deep breath and hardened my heart. It must have showed in my eyes or perhaps in my posture that didn’t give one inch in his direction.
“It’s not a difficult question, Nick. It’s real simple. Yes or no?” he demanded.
“Babe–“ I began.
“Don’t ‘babe’ me. If you’re gonna turn me down, you just go right ahead and call me Bob, you worthless bitch.” He was off his knees.
I nodded. I affirmed. Yes, the real Bob had just stood up. Thanks, babe, for making this easier on me.
“Worthless bitch? Wow, Bob, there you are, true colors and all. If you really wanna know the truth…Bob…you’re not ready to marry anyone. You have to be able to take care of yourself before you can take on a family.” I said.
“Can’t take care of myself?” he repeated slowly, tasting the words. “You think I can’t take care of myself? CAN’T TAKE CARE OF MYSELF?” he roared. “Woman, I am a grown ass man. I am 38 fucking years old. I don’t need some stupid bitch like you telling me I can’t take care of myself.”
“Bob–“
“Huh-uh, you’ve said your piece. You said a little too much, I think. You want me to tell you some hard facts of life, you stupid slut? You ain’t nothing to me. I lived without you for 10 years and I was happy- happy, do you hear me? They were the best years of my life. I’ve heard crowds screaming my name. You think I WANT to marry you? You poor little naïve thing, I almost feel sorry for you.” he stopped to chuckle at his own wit. “I’m just using you to get to my kid. It’s always been about Cory. I’ve had to sleep with you all these years just to see my kid. You ain’t nothing special. You’re just the bitch that spat out my kid. Fuck you. Don’t call me. Don’t show up at my house. Just….move around.” With that, he turned on his heel and stomped away. For once, I let him go. He could calm himself down, just wind down like some old-fashioned toy.
As he started away from the house, he waved his arms and shouted obscenities. He got partway down the street only to circle back when a particularly eloquent cuss out occurred to him. He roared. He yelled. He spat, his aim not being what it once was. I showed him my back, and like a small child suffering from separation anxiety, this drove him completely over the edge. Nearly out of ammunition, he brought out the big guns, “I’m turning off your cell phone, you ungrateful little bitch. Count on that. And find someone else to mow your fucking yard. Cunt.”
I kept walking up towards the house, shaking my head as I went. Shaking all over, actually. Just get inside, get inside and lock the door before he comes back. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. Did he actually think a cellphone payment was worth being treated like this? I think he did. As I shut and locked my back door, I could still hear him yelling from the street. I didn’t bother to arch an eyebrow, but I wryly thought, Young Wagner, whatever will the neighbors think? I leaned against the door, wondering how many marriage proposals ended this way when the girl said: no, I don’t know, I need more time, or not until you’re on your meds properly. Maybe I should google that, cause I’d still like to know.
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