Sweet Revenge

 As I sip coffee in calm of the morning, I am trying to remember a dream I had. It evades me, but I sort of remember the gist of it. 

I was only 15 the first time I married in 1969. I had always considered myself to be rather plain and fat. Looking back, after perusing photos of myself, I realize I was neither. Hindsight, you know. My mother, whether intentionally or not, reinforced this feeling. For whatever reason, it made me feel anxious about my future. I was always in a hurry to be settled into my life as an adult.

With that attitude I was relieved to be sought after for a date. As insecure as I was, it comes as no surprise that I was easily manipulated and when asked to marry, I was eager to do so. I was a month shy of 16 when I donned a white satin dress and walked down the aisle on my Daddy's arm. My mother ruled supreme in our house and Daddy did her bidding. She was all for the wedding.

I guess Daddy had some reservations, as we started down that long aisle that would determine my future, Daddy looked me in the eye and said, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to." At the time I thought he must be crazy. How could I call off what was happening? It would be a huge embarrassment! I will admit now that I had started to see signs of what my life was going to be, and I was having second thoughts.

I went on to the end of the aisle and spoke the vows that will forever be the biggest mistake of my life. He was 4 years older than me and had just graduated from high school. I was not pregnant, though I am quite certain that most people thought I was. Small town, big gossip. Looking back, I can see how he manipulated my emotions. I was always on guard, afraid to say or do the wrong thing that would set him off. 

Whoever thought telling children that sticks and stones can break your bones, but words will never hurt you was an idiot! All the signs were there staring me right in the face, but I stubbornly refused to see them. He was quick to tell me an action or something I said was an affront to him and then proceed to belittle me until I would be in tears, only to be further harangued for that. He held himself in high esteem, making me feel that he was smarter than me, superior to me in every way.

On the night of his senior prom, we stopped at his house because his mom wanted to see my dress. I liked her. I decidedly did not like the man who became my father-in-law. When we arrived at a scene that was surreal to me, his father was lying in the back seat of their car, legs hanging out of the door, hands clutched to his chest, a gun laying just under his hands. His mother was inside, on the bed, a cold cloth across her eyes. This did not faze him in the least. He simply asked his father if his mother was inside, then turned and ushered me in. Niceties were exchanged as if this was normal.

I was in shock. Questions flew out of my mouth as we went on the prom. I was told it was no big deal, that they had probably been arguing. With a gun!! My Daddy was a gentle man, who only raised his voice when he was really angry. I voiced my concern that my marriage would not be like that, would it? Of course, he reassured me.

He lied. I had never been punched in the face until the second day of my doomed marriage. Ashamed to admit failure, I made sure that any marks were covered. After my initial introduction into a violent union, he was always careful to hit me under the clothes line and my hair line. No, I do not mean we stood outside under a clothesline. I am referring to the areas of myself that were covered by clothes.

Shame can only last so long. Nine months into a nightmare and I had had enough. I was 4 months pregnant, and it finally occurred to me that if he hit me, he would also hit my baby. I sucked up my pride and called my Daddy to come get me. We were living south of Atlanta at the time. No close friends or relatives to witness any marks left by a fist. He was no longer careful at that point. 

My mother hired an attorney in that small town. Supposed to be the best. Well, he took the case and then started talking to the monster's family and decided to run interference based on the claim that my mother was behind the whole divorce issue and that I was being manipulated by her.

Illegal? Probably not, but certainly unethical. He called me in for a "meeting" and told my mother to just go home that someone would bring me home. That someone was my husband. He was there in the inner office to ambush me. Any doubts about my decision to end the marriage were cleared up by me. 

This particular attorney went on to be a circuit judge who was later convicted of misappropriation of funds and stripped of his position and his license revoked. He was as arrogant and misogynistic as my husband. He sat there behind his desk, listing all the legitimate reasons for divorce. He thought me to be somewhat simple minded and decided to break out what he must have thought were the big words that a simpleton such as myself would not know the meaning of. The joke was on him and my soon to be ex-husband. He calmly looked at me and asked if impotence was an issue. Before I could answer, the wife beater spoke up and asked what that was. Oh, how I wished I had been as quick with words as I am today. I would have laughed in their faces! What I did say was that I was pregnant, so what did he think? Both of them looked shocked.

I admit that I was overjoyed when I heard of that attorney's downfall. After all, he got what was coming to him and I sincerely hope that it was a woman who brought him down!

I called my mother to come pick me up, ruining what they thought was going to be a reconciliation. You will note that I did not use any names. I must be somewhat intelligent, after all. The downfall of this attorney was big news in the county and in the state. Made the Atlanta papers!