ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier I'm Outta Here

Here's how it all happened. On the night before Oops' day off I called him and asked him to get a ride to work, (girlfriend), because we had a rush job at the shop that no one could handle but me. Yes, he would get a ride to and from work. I left the shop and drove to my parent's house. They were having dinner. I walked in and explained that I needed a favor. Would they please follow me home in both cars, 1 medium land yacht, 1 huge land yacht, and leave me the biggest car. Get in their other car, drive home and leave the door unlocked.

My time was ticking away and I didn't need a bunch of questions. Dad of course started with the why are you doing this and why can't you use your own car and what on earth was happening. "Could you please just do this and I will explain later." No, of course not. I explained briefly, "He beats me, I have to get out NOW and I have to leave my car there....I will explain just PLEASE this once, follow me to my house and yell at me later". Now dad is all macho and he is going to wait at the house with me and explain things to Oops with a bat. "Dad, I have thought of nothing but this for more than a year, please, let's go".

We got to my house, they left me the huge car. Oops was at work. I waited til dark. I started loading the car. P A system, speakers, HUGE speakers at least for me, monitor, microphones, stands, boards and MY guitar. The Martin D-35 had been lost in an incident I refer to as the Unfortunate El KaBong. My dear grandfather had sent me enough money to buy my own, real grown up instrument and I treasured it, My Guild D-55, (if you have been paying attention imagine how much I loved a guitar with a model number 55). The music stuff went in the car first. Then I started loading albums, clothes, personal items I didn't want destroyed and things I new my parents would kill me if I came home without. Then I got the dog leash and removed the claw hammer from off the bed side rail. 

When the car was packed to the headliner, trunk full, only the front seat empty, I drove it around the corner to another street and parked it under a street light. I walked home. Then I waited. Claw hammer under the seat cushion, feigning sleep. I heard a car and knew that freedom was so close. My heart was POUNDING. The door opened. I lay there quiet and breathing regularly best I could. I prayed he would not open the music room door, that was the one thing he could not see. He stumbled down the hall, turned on the window unit and collapsed in a stupor. PERFECT.

I waited until the snoring was even and loud and tiptoed in the bedroom. I stole his car keys, went out in the back yard in to the shed, found the flashlight I had stashed there. Got the Polaroid Camera and pictures, opened a small tin box, took out a small package and replaced it with his car keys. He had chased me before and "pulled me over" in the most unpleasant way. He wouldn't be driving tonight.

I went back through the house, grabbed the leash and claw hammer. Snoring still loud and even. Good. I went to the far gate and got the dog. She had to be quiet. Put on the leash and walked to the parked car around the corner. FREEDOM!!!! All I had to do now was drive.

No. I had one more thing to do. I drove back to the house where Oops lay sleeping. I pulled up to the curb, left the dog in the car and walked up to the front door. I had my hammer, two pictures and the small package in my pocket from the tool shed. This was going to be my shining moment.

I opened the bedroom door and turned on the light. Oops stirred. "HEY", I said, "YOU'RE WIFE IS LEAVING AND SHE HAS SOME RULES".  I went on to explain that in the morning, after he located the car keys, he would contact an attorney, file for a divorce, pay for it, he would drive MY car until the divorce was final and once the car was in my possession I would sign the papers, he would make all payments on the car otherwise I would have him arrested for stealing my car. It was about now that he got out of bed. I showed him the hammer. "I will kill you", I said, he sat down. Then I threw the pictures of my bruised face on the bed. "If you ever fuck with me, my family, my workplace, enter any place that I happen to be these will be plastered everywhere you go for the rest of your life. I will go to every store, every club, every shelter you can find and I will tell everyone what a pig you are. You do things MY WAY. I have no more fear, you might want to develop a little".

Then I took the small package from my pocket. It was a pair of earrings I had found in our bed. Not one earring, a pair. I showed them to him and said, "tell the girlfriend that I am keeping these in trade for you. Also tell her that one earring is a mistake, two earrings...you get what you deserve."

I walked out, got in the loaded yacht and laughed and hooted and yahooed all the to my parents. I tossed the earrings somewhere on 820. 

Now, all I had to do was face my parents. I was ready.

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier I Will Spare You Details

The next two years of my life are hard to recall in some cases and hard to write down in others. Some of the things that happened I will never even say out loud. I will say I tried everything I could think of to not die. Not be injured. Not suffer anymore humiliation. At first I was meek. Then I begged to go to counselling. Then I fought back. Plain and simple, you can't out smart what you don't understand. There was never a specific thing that would set him off but one thing intensified his moods and that was drinking. Sex was on demand, his. Anytime, anywhere. I prayed through these acts of what passed for passion, "please God do not let me get pregnant. I would rather be barren than bring a child into this world who would have to deal with him". Sometimes my prayer was more like, "please God, let him die of a heart attack right now".

One day I was at the print shop when who should drop in but Elsie. He came to announce his engagement. He just wanted me to know the wedding would be small so I was not invited. I didn't say what I was thinking which was, "Is there a church big enough to hold the parade? Doubt It". Now I had a new goal, get out, get away and never, ever see Elsie again. It pissed me off that he dared to be happy. He walked away all bronze and rock god haired without a look back.

OK, L O N G story short. In these two or so years I got left in a hotel in west Texas with no money. Food was frequently thrown across the room, my dog had boiling water thrown on her, I had numerous bruises and scrapes and a broken bone or two. Life sucked. Like most people who suffer abuse, I was isolated from all my friends except Bill, he was my boss. Time with family was limited. Holidays were timed. I had an hour and 15 minutes to spend at my parents for most occasions. I started thinking of ways to kill Oops or escape. I was not going to prison.

I started saving every penny I could. I hid the money at work. I started eating lunch with the maiden ladies at the print shop, they fed me. I loved them The talked about growing up on the edge of the prairie, (TCU). Vendors coming to the house everyday selling vegetables, and meat and ice and tamales. They talked with great excitement about the first grocery store. These women were God fearing, lovely ladies and they were just what you imagine four sisters who lived together their entire lives would be like. Bill's mom lived across the street from the sisters. This family was a novel waiting to happen. They spoke of the wild days in Ft. Worth when there was Hell's Half Acre, bars and whorehouses. Of course they didn't say that. They said H E double hockey sticks with bad women and drunks.

One day while we were having lunch the topic of discussion was the woman who had set her husband on fire after years of abuse. They all agreed that this woman probably was of a low life type who deserved it. These God fearing women thought that someone like me deserved to be abused. I was stunned.

One time the police showed up at the door. The neighbors had called. Oops and I were separated and questioned by separate policeMEN. The conclusion: I shouldn't make him so mad.

I was on my own. I had managed to save maybe fifty dollars. I bought a Polaroid camera and hid it in a ramshackle tool shed in our backyard. I bought a claw hammer and taped it to side rail on my side of the bed. I would kill him if I had to.

My LeMans had long ago bitten the dust and dad had sold me his eleven year old car for fifty bucks. It was worth maybe half that. Eventually this car stopped running and it was my job to get us a new car. That would involve my dad. OH NO. Oops had a bad habit of driving like an idiot and burning up engines. Right now he still had the VW but it too was on it's last legs. I got my dad to co-sign a note just for me. I told Oops that dad wouldn't co-sign unless I was the only one on the title. I didn't know why exactly but I knew that community property would make things worse.

Oops started working nights. This was perfect. We were rarely home together. I made a habit of sleeping on the sofa. I felt trapped in our room when he came in late. I wanted out the door if I needed to go. One morning I was sick. Too sick to work and it was Oops' day off. As was his habit, he worked then went somewhere and got real drunk, came home and passed out. I was very quiet. I didn't want to deal with him one minute longer than I had to. Someone knocked on the door. A woman Oops worked with, All dressed up and shocked when I answered the door. She looked at me and I knew she was sleeping with Oops. Good. This could only work to my advantage.

I feel bad I didn't tell her. Didn't show the pictures I was accumulating of my injuries but she was my ticket out. I would let her know once I was safe just what he really was. I also knew she would not believe me. I wouldn't have believed it of him.

This is when his VW bit the dust and we only had my car. He took me to work, picked me up, took me home and took the car to work. Repeat day after day. We had no money to fix th Beetle. One car complicated my plan.

Finally, I had my plan and I was ready. This was freedom or hell. I had the timing of my plan. I had told Bill what was going on and that one day I just wouldn't be at work. I would be back but I didn't know how long I would be gone. I waited to tell my parents until the absolute last minute. Like the night I had chosen to escape. I had no where to go but home. They could belittle and berate me later but first they had to do things my way. Exactly my way, no questions. Not until I was safe.

Yeah, right.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier Uh Oh

I sat in the passenger seat and looked at the driver. It was Oops but it didn't look like him. This man had a bright red scar against very white skin. Oops had a tiny scar from childhood you could barely see. This man had shark eyes. All pupil, no iris. This man had a very square set jaw and didn't move his mouth much when he talked. The Beast said, "RUN". The next thing I saw was stars, not the pretty kind, the kind you see when you have been sucker punched in the head. My head bounced off the window of this suddenly even smaller car. Oops talked very quietly and very softly. I needed to learn my lesson, said this satanic looking man.

I remember stopping at a convenience store. I had 5 minutes to get 4 quarts of beer. I was not to say anything to anyone. If I wasn't out in five minutes I would be dragged out by my hair. My mind raced, tell, scream, run, call my dad. No, I would rather die than call my dad. My five minutes was running out I got the beer and headed back to the car. "Please, can we just go home", I asked. He laughed.

We drove for hours it seemed. We were at a lake. I was so lost I don't even know what lake it was. I heard a whole new version of what was expected of me. There were rules. If I didn't follow the rules he would kill my mother so I could grieve about that and then cut me into to tiny pieces and feed me to animals. He had strange tales of killing hobos, cutting them up, putting their body parts on trains and watching the bloody trail on the tracks. He stopped the car. I ran through the dark. I fell, I got up and ran more. I hit a tree, didn't even see it and fell flat on my ass. He was on me in no time. He sat on my chest and arms and held a now broken bottle to my throat and cut me just enough to burn.  Oh God, I was going to die. Maybe not tonight, but I was going to die, I knew it.

He dragged me to the car, threw me in the passenger seat and drove home. He passed out across the bed. I sat on the sofa and cried quietly. For hours. I had no idea what to do but I knew I couldn't reach out to my family.

You know when Oprah has women on her show about being abused and they talk about how sorry the abuser is later?  No. Not in my case. Oops got up and reminded me to behave or else. I said. "I think I need to go to a hospital, pretty sure I have a broken rib". I thought maybe a doctor could help me. I did not think the police would. "You don't go to the doctor, not ever". "Fix me my breakfast, and hurry, I'm hungry."

I started fearing for my life everyday. The fear of what could happen was worse that what did happen sometimes. On the other hand, my OCD was much better. I still had the 3 and the 5 thing and I smoked at the right time for three minutes but I didn't count anymore. The constant counting in my brain ceased. That section of my brain had other things to worry about. I needed out. I needed a plan.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier Small Wedding, very small

Oops and I rehearsed and practiced every free minute we had. He was a perfectionist and I was too, at least in music. I had no intention of not sounding perfect before I performed in public. I had had my own little gigs for happy hours at a couple of places but Oops wanted to be a draw, have a following, be IT. And he wanted to marry me.

I was very ready to have children. I had "female" problems all my life, (Bubba, you can close your eyes and skip this paragraph). I was always hounded with horrible cramps and heavy periods. I had been to my doctor whose motto was, "I am your doctor until you get pregnant and I refer you to an OB/GYN". He had explained to me that I was a wimp about the cramps and that I had a strangely twisted and bent uterus. "Once you get pregnant all this will straighten out and your period issues should resolve themselves". I tried birth control pills for a while but if they were strong enough to work I vomited all day, if the dosage was too weak I bled irregularly. No birth control for me. I took my chances. In the back of my mind I wondered if I ever would get pregnant and secretly  prayed for a baby all the time. OK, this man wants to marry me, be a musician and have children. Too good to pass up. We planned a small wedding at my parent's house. Real small, Zelda was there I think and our parents, that's all I remember. His mother took me aside and welcomed me to her family. Oops was an only child and she had always wanted a daughter. "We think you might keep him calm", she said referring to her husband, Oops' dad, Angry Face. The knot in my stomach got tighter. What an odd thing to say.

My parents expressed no opinion about this man or this marriage. They had washed their hands of me to a degree. I was not at all what they had expected to have to contend with as a daughter. Brother was still in college adding to his many degrees. I'm not sure how many, I know it is at least 3 maybe 5. He worked and went to school. My saving grace was that he wasn't married and didn't have perfect children yet. My dad was always lecturing me about getting a real job, with a real company that offered benefits and paid vacations. He didn't care that I loved my job and was very happy there. He was worried about the practical side of life. All lectures ended with, "I could be wrong, but I don't much think so".

Oops and I rented an house in a questionable part of town, it was what we could afford. He had a day job in addition to wanting to be famous. I worked at the print shop. We went weren't working we were rehearsing. Playing the Martin was proving to be a challenge. I was used to a classical style guitar with a short, fat neck and nylon strings. Martins have long, thin necks with steel strings. This is what blisters and eventually calluses a player's hands. I didn't have those and all my fingers landed in the wrong spots from having a narrower fret board. Oops would get irritated that I was clumsy but we kept at it. My fingers bled and hurt but eventually the guitar became a familiar, easy friend. I got my calluses.

The singing part was easy. We both had about two and a half octave ranges that overlapped nicely. He also had an amazing falsetto that he could leap to easily. We could weave our voices like a tapestry. When he thought we were ready we went to "sit in". Oops and I would show up where he knew someone and asked if we could join them for a few songs. No one said no to having Oops on stage. Then he would ask if we could play the set breaks. Oops' objective was to be better than the musicians with the actual paying gig. This embarrassed me a little. I was very fond of jamming and blending, not so much as taking a gig from some band.

One day Oops announced it was time to go pick up a P.A. systems so we could start booking gigs. We were ready. Except for the paying for the P.A. part. Oops said to me, "we'll borrow one from the music store". Oops had been buying all his equipment from one store for years. It was good to be Oops at the music store. We borrowed a two speakers, two monitors, a mixer, and equalizer, four microphones and four stands. About $1800 dollars worth of equipment. They gladly loaded us up. Wow. I didn't know this sort of thing happened.

I invited my parents to dinner one night and wanted them to hear us sing. Even dad couldn't deny we were good. We gave ourselves chills when we sang. Dad was impressed. Oops obviously had real talent and I worked in there nicely. That was a nice compliment for him. After a while we wanted to buy this equipment and I went to dad and asked to borrow the money. He agreed, with a payment plan, and wrote down the numbers in the ledger.

Oops and I played one night and a local music critic came to hear us. In the morning we couldn't wait to see the paper. We got a good review, some hoopla about Oops being back on the scene. Great harmonies very nice. The next paragraph said "however, if you want to be entertained go see THIS GUY and THIS CLUB. He is a one man show!"

The next night we went to see the one man show. Oops was not at all impressed. He starting heckling the guy from our table. People around us asked him to shut up, but not quite that politely. Oops got real drunk and real loud. "You're a JOKE, I cannot believe you people are paying money to see this JOKE".

The manager/bouncer showed us to the door. I was so humiliated and I said so as soon as we got in his VW Beetle. "Don't ever do anything like that again", I said as I slammed the door. "What is your problem, can't you just leave instead of making a scene?".

The next 12 hours topped every nightmare I ever had.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier I Think I Might Be Famous, finally!

Even though my heart raced every time I saw Elsie I knew that he was a fantasy. I wondered if he had all the parade members names in a bowl and he just picked one everyday. Or maybe he had us on a rotation of some sort that only he understood. It was always awful when he showed up at one of the family of friends gatherings with another lady on his arm. This bothered him not in the least.

Two or three weeks after I met Oops he called and said they were going to THE LEAD SINGER's house and he wanted me to go with them. Let me think, yes. Hell yes. THE LEAD SINGER, squeal. He advised me that they would pick me up in a couple of hours. I was so excited and nervous. I decided not to take my guitar. It was truly pathetic compared to what Oops and his calibre of guitarists had. For years I had made a Christmas list for my parents, not that they asked for one, that always had the following items:
Martin D-28 or D-35
Precious Gems
Precious Metals
Money
It was my idea of a joke. No way I was every receiving any of the above from Money Bags and Pollyanna.
When Oops got to my house "they" turned out to be Oops and his son. I was expecting his wife.  Oops's little boy was just adorable, my biological clock ticked loudly. Seemed odd that he would bring his son and not his wife but I was going to sing with THE LEAD SINGER and that's all that mattered. When we arrived there were other players there from the band of yore and I became one of them that day. I was singing with people whose names I had spoken with such reverence 10 years earlier. It was an amazing day for me.

We went to Oops place on the way back. "You have a place over here and thought you and Mrs. Oops lived in the mid cities?" We're separated he said. My stomach tightened just a little. The Beast, quiet for a long time said, "get him now, he will make you famous".  I expressed my sympathy for what he must be going through while his adorable little boy slept in my lap. "When I met you, I knew my marriage was over", he said. Brain explosion, disbelief, eerie stomach. I laughed that comment off a bit with some smart ass retort. "No, really" he said, "we belong together, just give me time I'll prove it".

Then he said to me, "that guitar you play, it's like a toy, here I want you to use this".  "I can't use that", I said looking at the Martin D-35 he was taking out of it's case. "Yes, you need to learn to play a real guitar. This one may be a little to large bodied for you but we can get you a 28 later". I didn't know universe he lived in but that made me laugh. "Do you pull these out of your butt?".  "No, I just got my handmade fancy named acoustic guitar and I don't play the 35 much so you use it". He then went on to explain his plan. We were going to rehearse, get damn good and go kick every acoustic groups ass in public. The Beast whispered, "nothing is this easy, this never happens to you because you don't deserve it". The Beast was correct.

This was weird, my dream had just been dropped in my lap but it seemed to have a wedding band attached to it. He wanted to marry me and have more adorable children and be singers and make records and be famous. There had to be something wrong.

I told him that I had not really enjoyed my first marriage experience and I wasn't sure that we should say that word, however, more than anything I wanted to sing with him and get to know him better. He would settle for that...for now.

I saw Elsie and told him all about meeting Oops, THE LEAD SINGER and getting prepared to play in public. YOU'RE GOING TO SING WITH OOPS?, said Elsie with great excitement. He went on and on about how great we would be. I said, "yeah, it's a real opportunity for me but he wants more than music"." Far out said Elsie, "you two would make a great couple".

No, please, please stop with the jealousy. I thought Elsie just might be willing to walk me down the aisle, hand me over to Oops and merely remove me from the parade. Poor thing, he was so upset.

That fame thing sounded real fun, I mean small fame here, local fame, the thought of national fame was silly. I just wanted to be a singer a damn good singer but I really wanted to sing 3 part harmony. Maybe we could get LEAD SINGER that would be wonderful.

I decided I'd talk to Oops. Oops thought this might work but didn't think LEAD SINGER would really be interested. "Let's just you and me get ready, have 3 full sets and then we can bring someone in". He knew better than I did. I never stood on the same stage as Jimi Hendrix. "OK, we'll do it your way", I said.

That would not be the last time I said that sentence.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier A Bit About Oops and What Jim Morrison Taught Me About Sex

Oops was locally famous. At least in rock and roll circles. At the age of 13 or 14 he played in a band that was among the best in Fort Worth. When rock and roll shows came to town, local bands opened the show, then lesser known national bands and then the headliner. Oops had opened for The Rolling Stones, The Loving Spoonful, The Byrds and Jimi Hendrix just to drop some names. His first band dissolved and a year or so later he returned in a band that kicked every other band's ass in Fort Worth. They had Oops on guitar and he could make his instrument cry or growl or talk. They had THE LEAD SINGER and a great side guitarist, bassist and drummer. They all sang harmony. They were amazing. I thought of Oops as a Firebird or a Rickenbacker. LEAD SINGER made me drop my jaw in awe. His voice was charismatic. I tried to see them play as often as possible. They almost made the big time, they had signed a recording contract and then poof they just disappeared. But before that...

The summer of 1967, The Summer of Love, I was 14. School was finally out and my family went on vacation. I will cover these vacations in my next book. "See America But Only Where They Offer S&H Green Stamps". Anyway, on the third or fourth day of our lovely family vacation I started feeling bad, nothing specific just achy and tired and CRANKY. We were gone two weeks and by the time we got home something was wrong with me. I was OK in the morning but in the afternoon and night I ran very high fevers. Mother thought I must be dying from something on the list. I thought I might be dying because I felt awful. Off to the doctor, blood work and a shot of course, just for good measure. I was limited to bed rest until the "test results come in". That sounded ominous. I wondered what 14 year old girls die from. A few days later mother came in to my room and woke me up. She had been crying, my heart beat rather fast. Oh God, what could this be...."You have mononucleosis", my mother cried. Big fat tears. "The Kissing Disease, we don't have to tell anyone". "I thought I was DYING mom, mono? big deal". "But the neighbors, what will they think?", she sobbed.

I was very, very sick. I lost weight I could not afford to lose, (I miss being called too thin), I ran fever for three weeks and I was confined to bed until my fever broke. On the up side I got the TV in my room and all my meals served to me. It was summer, why couldn't I have mono during school? That would have been awesome. My mother bought me Sgt. Pepper but I couldn't listen to it until I could get out of bed. I memorized the lyrics before I heard the music. That was a unique experience to finally hear what it actually sounded like. Finally, I was out of bed and summer was slipping away.

I had a friend from school whose parents were jazz musicians. They had gotten her tickets to the Mardi Gras of Music or some such name presented by the local A.M. radio station. Oops's band with THE LEAD SINGER were going to play. Oh yeah and the Boxtops, The Doors and a few other famous bands. When we got there things were already in progress. Multiple stages were set up in a huge building, maybe two buildings at the Will Rogers Complex. We asked a couple of official looking people which stage Oops's band would be taking. They pointed to an empty stage with no one around it. We went and sat on that stage for a bit then people started loading the stage with equipment. We got off the stage and stood directly center stage, knees against the stage. Amps, guitar, Vox organ? That was weird, LEAD SINGER's band didn't have an organ. Soon we were stuck up against the stage by the number of people pressing in from behind. Jim Morrison walked out on stage with Krieger, Manzarek, Densmore and Lit Our Fire. My friend and I were eye to crotch with Mr. Morrison in his brown leather pants and white, open pirate shirt. Jim liked performing. Jim liked Jim. Jim liked his microphone stand. Soon Jim had presented us with that diagram I had so dreaded when I was nine. Not naked flesh but lets just say leather leaves little to the imagination. Whoa, Jim, I still blush.

We missed seeing Oops's band but we walked away so much wiser.

Now I was meeting Oops in the flesh. I had no less than 9,000 questions to ask this man. We sang all afternoon and into the evening. Then he said he had to leave and get his wife and little boy home. This relaxed me a little. Music and relationships do not mix well. Jeff and I had both dated people that just could not understand our relationship. Music is intimate, it looks like it is sex without touching sometimes. Boyfriends and girlfriends do not like that. I was comfortable knowing Oops was married and his wife obviously didn't have this insecurity. I hadn't seen her all day. Oops asked for my phone number as he wanted to sing with me again. Now, on a very, very small scale this was like Paul McCartney asking me to hum along. Sure, my number is......

Oops.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier Elsie is Contented

My first date with Elsie I was still at my parent's house. Zelda and I had not found our house though we were looking everyday for freedom. Elsie came and picked me up looking like he was going to sing a few verses of "Free Bird". My mother looked afraid. This bushy haired man with the gorgeous eyes did not make her happy. Elsie and I got in his car, well, car is an exaggeration, it was more like a stereo that rolled. The vehicle had the body of a Chevy Vega, the world's ugliest green, and the interior was speakers. He started driving and hit the "on" button and suddenly Steven Tyler was screaming at full volume about Dreamin' On. My ears bled slightly. I know Elsie talked to me because I could see his lips moving but all I could hear was Aerosmith and my silent prayer that my teeth wouldn't rattle out of my head. This was our date, driving, ear bleeding and smoking a pipe between us. At one point he stopped the car and turned it off, got out of the driver's side, opened my door, took me by the hand, leaned me up against his car and kissed me like I hadn't been kissed since that cold January night on my parent's front porch. I think I melted, he poured me back in the car and suddenly I was part of the Elsie parade.

There was no hoping to be Elsie's "girlfriend", you could only try to be one of his favorites. Lots of us tried, I almost want to poke myself in the eye when I think of things I did for this man. Cook him dinner, buy him gifts, (I couldn't afford to eat), be one of his "beck and call girls".  I had something many of the parade did not. All those liner notes and album covers that I devoured were right up his alley. He managed a record store for heaven's sake. One morning he called and asked if I wanted to go to Dallas with him to a very cool music store. Of course I did. Duh. We drove to Dallas, we laughed and sang all the way there. We talked obscure musicians and album cover artists. We played in the music store and had a ball. On the way back to my side of town we stopped at his place and engaged in what some would call a late "nooner". I was lying there thinking about pizza when Elsie said, "shit, you gotta go, I have a date." Excuse me??? "I have to pick up Spring at 6:30 I am taking her to see Joni Mitchell". Oh I wish he would have just shot me. He was taking this skank, (personal opinion), to see JONI? MY JONI?  Man, I was never so humiliated having to search for all my clothes. I just dressed and left, in tears. Of course I didn't let him see that, he might  not call again. Yeah, he should have shot me.

Other than the perils of being in the Elsie parade I was loving my life. I loved being at the print shop, it had ambiance. I know that sounds stupid but it had been in business since 1907. We had three presses that had been converted to electric power from steam. These German presses, Kluge's, were amazing just to watch. Cogs and wheels and rods and mechanical arms performed what appeared to be impossible tasks. We had two modern presses, once for small jobs, one for full four color process printing. The shop was packed with antique cabinets full of cold type and blocks with logos, clip art in block form. The shop was run by Bill and his mother and her four maiden sisters. This place was like the Twilight Zone, very odd and very cool. Bill taught me everything, how to set cold type, how to set type using the electric typesetter, how to layout copy, how to edit, how to strip negatives and how to run the smaller presses. In the process of all of this I learned the practical application of math. Without anyone screaming at me or whipping out a slide rule I was surviving.

Zelda and I found our house. It was perfect! In the "arts district", built in the 1920s. It had one fuse in the fuse box. It also had no air conditioning. Not a problem, I knew that somewhere on my mother's list of things that will kill you must be living without AC. I went humbly and asked my parents to buy me three window units as a gift. New house for me and Zelda seemed like a gift occasion. My mother, Nervous Nellie, said to me, "sometimes we just have to make do". WHAT? "Mom, we have NO air conditioning the landlord does not provide that and we are going to die from the heat." "Your father and I lived without air conditioning for a long time. What does not kill you makes you stronger. Be thankful for your fan." Great, mother had become Pollyanna. After sufficient histrionics I "borrowed" the money for the window units. My father noted the amount of money in a small ledger.

Every weekend our "family" of friends all gathered at one house or another and had dinner, happy hour, hang out time, music time and just great fun. We all leaned on each other, we took care of each other we would have been a commune had we all lived in one spot. I loved this, a group of people loving their fellow man.

Two couples rented a house on a "farm" outside of town. This became a weekend hang out from time to time. These gatherings would be 30 or 40 people, all guitars players came armed and ready. I was one of the few girls who played and sang. The girls loved hearing the Joni heartbreak stuff, most of the guys liked my laying over harmony with whatever they were singing. We be jammin'. There was one dude, guitar player, great voice, rich and thick and great timbre, who didn't enjoy my participation in these events much. I could tell by the eye rolls. One Saturday afternoon I arrived in time to hear him and two other guys "rehearsing". They were singing something by Poco as I recall. I heard something off. My brain said "shut up", my mouth said, "I hear something off". Eye Roller looked and me and reminded me that my opinion had not been requested. "Sorry, but there is something off. It isn't the vocal, it's that chord, you're playing a minor and singing something that clashes".  One of the other player/singers who looked familiar but I didn't know said, "she's right, I thought something was wrong. Let's try it as a minor 7th". Sounded awesome. Guitar player looked at me and said, "join us, you obviously know what your doing, I'm Oops".  I knew he looked familiar. I hadn't seen him since I was a teenager and followed his bands around. Wow, Oops, THE OOPS asked me to sing with them. Move over, Eye Roller, I think I just stole your lead guitarist.

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier Please Love Me

At this point in my life I felt so alone. Zelda and our friend Lildeb had gone to UT after graduation. Jeff graduated from high school the year after I did. We were still music obsessed. Jeff and I drove to Austin every time we could pool our money for gas. I got the college experience without going to class, in other words, party! A few times I went to Zelda's American History class with her. I was fascinated. This was interesting and they let you talk and THINK! I should have gone to college, dad was right. We also discovered LSD or what passed for LSD in Texas, it isn't like Kid Charlemagne lived next door cranking out pure chemicals. There was always a price to pay when you "crashed" after a fun trip. LSD also turned off my OCD. You try it, take a mind altering drug, sit outside and marvel at the bark on the tree. Figure out the the leaves moving in the wind are actually reactions to wind, the wind itself was invisible. Now count a lot and worry about what time it is. Yes, I loved LSD.

Zelda and Lildeb had met a woman in Austin named Ruby. Ruby became my hero. She was a single mom with a little girl I always thought of as "Beauty". This child never had an awkward moment. She was born beautiful and is beautiful to this day. She was golden and brilliant and Ruby was an awesome mother. She took time to explain life to Beauty, she didn't coddle her but let her explore and learn. She also didn't instill any fear in this child. Beauty was brave, and strong and awesome. I had a friend from high school, Frankie, who had gotten pregnant our senior year. She and the baby's dad, Frank, got married and had the world's most adorable child, Elise. I thought of Elise as a diamond, she sparkled all the time. She still sparkles all the time. Frankie didn't know it but she was living the life I wanted. Married, her own home, going to college, great kid. I wanted that. And Frankie was an incredible mother too. She was amazing with Elise. They played and learned and laughed. I had to get me one of those babies. When I was in the process of divorcing Who? Elise, all of maybe 3 years old, asked me if I was sad because I was getting "revorced". I corrected her and said , "it's 'divorce'", then I spelled it like Tammy Wynette. (Elise, a personal note to you: I was wrong, I WAS getting divorced but later I would get "revorced".  You had just created a new word that should actually be in the dictionary. I stand corrected. And you are still brilliant.)

 Soon the tattoo on my forehead said, PLEASE LOVE ME, I WANT YOUR BABY.

I still was absorbing music and by now Crosby, Still and Nash were my hero's. Poco, Brewer and Shipley, The Eagles, give me harmony or give me death. I still had my  crappy little guitar I had received from my parents and no hope of replacing it with a real guitar, they were expensive. I took my little guitar everywhere. I was meeting new people through Frank. He hadn't gone to our high school and he had a whole set of cool friends. Frankie was a popular girl in high school, she had cool friends too. Lots of these people played guitar and that was like nirvana.  There was Frank's best friend Bill who was just wise beyond his years. He didn't play an instrument but he loved music and listening to us "jam". One day at a gathering at Frank and Frankie's Bill started talking about a great pianist he went to high school and college with, his name was Brother. "He's my brother", I said, "I can't believe you know him". "He said he had a sister who played rhythm guitar and had a great voice". "What?", I asked, "Brother said those words about me?"  "Yeah, you his only sister?" "yes, I am". WOW, this was big to me. My brother was and is an amazing musician. He used to sit at the piano and read Time magazine while he improvised. Brother is Rachmaninoff and Art Tatum all rolled into one. My confidence grew that day, just a little. Brother knew my name and knew I sang.

I wanted to sing harmony in a group or be Joni Mitchell. Zelda had let me borrow a couple of Joni's albums once. I listened to them and she scared me. This woman, with a voice that could jump an octave in one breath, sang like an angel or devil depending on the song, had some how crawled inside my head, written  down all my feelings, dreams, heartaches and pain and made gorgeous music out of my life. I read the liner notes: Words and music by Joni Mitchell, Guitar, Joni Mitchell, Dulcimer, Joni Mitchell, Piano, Joni Mitchell, Cover Art, Joni Mitchell, theory of relativity, Joni Mitchell. This woman set the bar very high. I gave Zelda back the albums. I was not ready to even attempt that. Now I began to think maybe I was ready to give Joni another study.

Bill worked in his family owned business, a print shop, started by his grandfather in 1907. It was still a family business and only family worked there. Somehow I convinced him to give me a job. I had two skills. I could type and answer a phone. Bill took me by the hand and taught me the printing business, he also saved my life. Zelda was back, I had a job, she had a job and we were going to rent a house together. I was leaving my parents house. THANK GOD.

My first day of work I didn't know a serif from a deckle edge. I was green, green, green. "First I am going to show you how to count paper", said Bill. Count, I can certainly do that. This is not near as easy as it sounds. Paper comes in huge sizes, maybe 36" x 40". You take a stack of paper, fan it out, fold it over itself and count it in groups of 5. This took dexterity and the ability to use the number 5. I counted by sixes.

Meanwhile, Jeff had gotten a job at a record store as the day manager and was living in a rented house with the guy who was the night manager. Jeff and I hung out at his house and played guitar many, many, evenings, I was still at home saving money for rent, deposits and Zelda and I were looking for a house we could afford that was not in the ghetto. One night at Jeff's, we were playing a song and singing with great fervor when the front door opened and in walked roommate. "This is Lillybell, said Jeff, he's Elsie my roommate". Elsie had some blond hottie hanging on him. Elsie looked at me and smiled. I swear a diamond glint sparkled off his teeth. He was amazing looking. I couldn't make words again. He was bronze with the bluest eyes ever created. He had rock god hair and a Fu Manchu with a soul patch. He oozed SEX.. He and Giggler sat with us for a minute then they retired to Elsie's room.

"HOLY CRAP", I said to Jeff. "Who is he? How do I not know him. YUM!".  Jeff explained to me in the nicest way that Elsie was way out of my league. There was apparently a parade of women that doted on this god of a man. Rarely did Jeff see him with the same girl twice.  "No, Lillybell, please don't go out with him if he asks, he will hurt you I just know it". "You think he would ask me out, really?"  "Lillybell, really, no, don't."

A few weeks later I was at Jeff's. He was cooking corned beef and cabbage. "What is that smell?", I asked, "that is some sort of poison, not food right?". We went in his room and played guitar to avoid that smell in the living room. Jeff went into the kitchen to cut up some potatoes and I said, "I'm going to play a song while in you're there, please tell me truth when I'm done." I had been working on Joni's "A Case Of You", only Jeff could hear it. He would love it or tell me "yuck".

I faced the windows, back to the door and I started singing. I got lost in the song, I closed my eyes, I made "the face" when you are becoming the song. I sang from my toes. Hit the high notes, carried the low notes with great timbre. I gave myself chills. I finished and heard a voice behind me, "That was killer, really killer, I am amazed you can sing like that". Yes, it was Elsie. I stopped breathing. "thanks" I said very small. "You wanna go out sometime?"  "Yes, I would love that", I replied.

Wait, I know what your thinking. Second husband is Oops not Elsie. Come one, you didn't think this was not going to be convoluted did you?

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier Uh Oh, I'm Getting Married

Planning my wedding with my mother was like trying to mix oil and water with a lot of venom thrown in. Dad advised he would show up, approve of whatever for the wedding and pay for it. He had a budget, we were not to know what that budget was. Control Freak was not yet a term.

I had teased  my mother from the first time I saw her wedding picture. She and my dad married very quickly before he was shipped to Japan. They married in tiny town Kentucky on a river, in the un-airconditioned church where my mom grew up, on July 31, 1945. There isn't a word for the heat and humidity in that environment. I am surprised every woman in the old south did not die from all those corsets and petticoats and skirts, mercy, I would have had the vapors 24/7. My mother wore her best suit for the wedding because her mother told her to. A wool suit with a wool hat. My dad wore his "blues", also wool. I asked her, "why didn't you go to Owensboro and get something cotton and frilly and COOL?". "Mother told me I had to wear my best suit", she said. Poor mom, she never got to think for herself.

Well, mommy dear, this was my wedding and I wanted an ivory gown, bridesmaids in deep purple or dark dusty rose with loose straight hair. I would carry purple irises and the bridesmaids carry white roses. I wanted no organ music but a string quartet. I wanted Jesu Joy of Man's Desiring, And I Lover Her, Spring from Vivaldi Four Seasons and a clarinet and piano to play Rhapsody in Blue. I considered the best piece ever written at the time. It was different, I didn't care. Ave Maria for the bridesmaids and then the traditional march from Lohengrin. I wanted to get married at 11:00 a.m., leave the church, go to a country club or elegant hotel for brunch. Then all the "adults" could leave after the traditional pictures and cutting of the cake and the people I really liked and I could party. NO RECEPTION LINE. I hated them. NO, I WAS NOT HAVING ONE.

First we went to buy my dress. We went to the discount bridal shop. Dad was not paying retail. Mother picked out all these white gowns. "Try these on", she smiled at me and the Bridal Shop lady. Mom always behaved "properly" so she was the happy excited mother of the bride. "I won't wear those". Mom smiled, "just try one on". "No, mother, look at me you I am pale. In a white dress I look like Casper. NO". "Honey", she said, "it's traditional". "You mean VIRGINAL, mom?" "If you make me wear white I will also wear a sign on my ass that says, "I AM NOT A VIRGIN".  I got the dress I wanted, well, I found it. Ivory satin trimmed in Chantilly lace and the mantilla veil I always wanted. The dress cost $135.00. We called dad, money bags as I now thought of him, and he drove to the shop. "A HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE DOLLARS FOR A DRESS YOU WILL WEAR ONCE?"  "Yes, dad, I can find one more expensive if you'd like". I thought he might have a breakdown while he wrote the check. This was the only easy piece of the whole mess, I mean wedding.

"Look", said dad one night. "I cannot afford the wedding you want". "You had money to send me to college, use that."  "No, that is college money, wedding money is different". "You mean money spent on brother is OK, money spent on me is as measly as possible, gee, do you see the surprise on my face". We were very close. "We will use the church organ and I will choose the music. You may have Jesu and Spring and Lohengrin. I will select the other pieces and hymns". "Hymns?" "Yes, hymns". "Could I have a soloist instead?" "No".

Then mother chimed in, "you know dark colors aren't done for a spring wedding we need pastel for the bridesmaids." "Mother, you know I hate that". "It would be so pretty a nice soft blue, and those hats". "Hats?, no, flowers in their hair." "But the hats would make the look".  "What look?" "Like nice southern belles". We could actually use different colors of pastels, It would be so pretty and the dresses are on sale at the discount shop".

Money bags made all the rules so I had my mother's wedding.

I still thought just maybe Paul might take me aside and beg me not to do this. Sometimes I thought I saw longing in his thighs, I mean eyes. Shit. This was all such a horrible dream. Please God let me wake up.

Finally it was my wedding day. Callie and Alan were here, she was of course in my wedding. This fact was the one thing I was most excited about for my wedding. We all got dressed and music started. The bridesmaids made their walk down the aisle. This was the moment I take my Dad's arm and he says something wonderful to me. Something memorable and loving I wanted this moment with my dad. I took his arm.

I heard the fanfare begin on the organ, saw the people rise in the church and dad said, "it is not too late to stop this mess you are making here, I can stop this now". "I think it's too late, dad". And then he walked me down the aisle. Of course Paul was there, in the wedding party, standing up for his brother. The Beast whispered in my ear, "he's going to stop this and take you out of here......NOT", and he laughed so loud I hardly heard the minister or the priest, yes, we had both. I was triple dog married, in my church, in his church and in the eyes of the law.

I will spare you all the details but my wedding pictures look like Neapolitan sherbet in hats with ugly flowers. The reception was in the "fellowship hall", (gym), at the church. After the receiving line we had punch and cake. Special, every girl's dream.

Nine days later I stood in another church watching Paul marry HER. They had decided to get married very suddenly. Nine days and marriage number 1 was over. I mean it took two years but it was over when Paul said "I do" to HER.

This is what I remember about being married to Who? He would say to me, "that's not how mom did that". I would say, "maybe you should go live with mom".  He would say, "you don't have the gifts God gave a screw driver". Me, "big talk from a man who can't use a screw driver". Who?, "Don't use words you cannot spell.", Me, "Am I talking over your head again?". We were so happy.

Divorce, the first in my family and certainly this first in his very, very Catholic family. I was almost 22. So far I was batting a thousand.

When I moved back in to my parent's house, my father came to talk to me. I had 2 months to find a job and get out of his house. I was now considered a "used car". Only a certain kind of man would have a used car. I had lost that "new car smell". I had completely screwed up my life and if I didn't turn it around now I would be a pathetic, lonely woman, or worse, (whore). "I could be wrong but I don't much think so". If I had a dollar for every time I heard that sentence I would be so rich.

I needed out alright and soon. OCD got worse and soon I had physical ailments as well. Being a young adult was just what I thought hell would be.

I am just about to enjoy my life, I didn't know it yet, but something exciting was going to make things so different. But don't worry, nothing works out.

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier Dumb Dumb da Dumb Here it Comes

Things were not going well. I was lost as to why Paul just disappeared out of my life. He certainly looked awful. I wondered if he was sick or suffering from some sort of depression. I was too confused to wallow. Then there was the small issue of my parent's Greek chorus, "told you so, should have married Ringo, you have really made a mess of your life now, you have no future, you are the biggest disappointment in our life".

Who? was still hurting over his broken engagement and continued to want to spend time with me. He didn't really know anyone else. He had not lived in Texas,  he was a veteran, lonely and hurt. He had a little information about Paul. Apparently all those beautiful letters, so mystical and full of wonder and awe were drug induced. It seems the best place on earth to get drugs is the Army and cocaine kept you awake to enjoy all the mind altering fun. OH. Still didn't make me feel any better but it did explain his appearance.

Through Who? I continued to hear about Paul. He was in Minnesota on his motorcycle with his new girlfriend. I will call her, HER. OH, so he is taking our trip with HER. That didn't hurt much more that having all your teeth removed without Novocaine. I wanted to die. Who? wanted to get married. What? He thought Paul was a fool to leave someone as wonderful as me. Yeah, me too. He thought I would be a great companion and mother to his children. Yeah, me too. Sure, let's get married.

Now The Beast was choking with laughter. STOOOOOPID. REALLY STOOOOOPID, said The Beast. Then The Beast said something else, "if you marry Who?, Paul will always see what he missed. That horrible mistake he made when he didn't choose you, you could make him sorry FOREVER."  "You can raise his nieces and nephews and make him sorry HER wasn't the mother you are."  Damn, The Beast, he was making sense.

Who? and I got engaged, with a ring and everything. Our parents were so, proud wasn't the word, dumbfounded was the word. Paul never said a word, he was busy with HER. I was in a very strange world where Erica Kane and Scarlett O'Hara were my mentors. I could make Paul suffer by marrying his brother. NO, that's evil. But.....it had potential. You know that scene in the graduate where Dustin Hoffman pounds on the church door screaming, "ELAINE, ELAINE" and she leaves her husband at the alter and they all live happily ever after? Yes, me too, unfortunately.

In the meantime I had a wedding to plan. Not really plan as I had planned this wedding since 1969 when I first met Paul. It was going to be beautiful and spectacular and every girls dream.

I told my parents about my wedding, the things I wanted, the colors, the dresses, the string quartet, the music, the reception, the band I wanted to play, etc.  The next sound I heard was laughter. "Not just no, but hell no", said my dad.

Wedding Planning 101: You will have your mother's wedding the first time you get married. The one she wanted and didn't get. This is passed down from generation to generation. 

I began to blame everything on Walt Disney. What was all that happy prince, happy family, beautiful wedding crap about? Walt and I needed to consult on his next "princess" movie. "Life is Nothing Like You Expected and Prince Charming Sucks".

The spiral of my life continued and I was about to make it legal, binding and blessed by the Catholic Church.

help me.

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier It's Complicated

I was actually excited to meet Who? After all he was going to be my common law brother-in-law and we could talk about Paul. Who? had spent two tours in Viet Nam and then a few months in Germany before getting out of the Army. He had agreed to the second tour for the bonus money associated with it and this action guaranteed Paul would not be sent there. I felt I owed it to Who? to at least make him feel welcome, introduce him to some people. That was polite and proper and how I was raised. Besides Who? was engaged to a girl in Germany and I was obviously head over heels in love with his brother.

Paul and I sent letters, letters, letters, his were so beautiful. He had a habit of writing and then in parenthesis writing the album or song he was listening to at the time. It made the reading of his letters deeper. Sometimes he just wrote lyrics he loved. I copied this habit and soon our letters looked like:
Today I was driving down Hulen, (white album), and a big dog, (Oh Darlin', killer song), ran out in front of me, (well you know I nearly laid down and di i i i i ied)....you get the idea. His time in the Army was getting shorter. So were his letters. One day I got a letter that was just the lyrics to "Hello, It's Me". Look these up if you do not know them because they still make me cry. Something was off.

 Who? and I were hanging out, going to dinner, saw a couple of movies. Then one day he was very sad. Germany girlfriend had broken off their engagement. Now he needed someone to talk to, that would be me. He was nice, I liked Who?. He was funny and charming and well, I felt sorry for him. Viet Nam? I couldn't imagine. I panic if I have a blister. Broken engagement, that hurts. I was his new best friend.

One night we went somewhere, get ice cream or just drive around I don't remember. I was so anxious for Paul to get home. He pulled up in front of my house to drop me off, his house just two door away. He leaned in like he was going to kiss me. NO, I said. I am waiting for Paul. That was creepy.

I had also told my parents about my plans with Paul. The trip to Minnesota, living together, living in SIN. I wanted this over with before he came home. I wanted no arguments between dad and Paul. I thought the world might explode. My parents KNEW the world would explode if I lived in SIN. "Disowned", I believe was the word shrieked by my mother.

A few days later I was invited to THEIR house. Where Paul's family lived. I wanted to vomit from the anxiety. I walked in and his mother started talking about Paul. I was fine. I could talk about him all day. M*A*S*H was on their TV. It was about the Korean War. Paul was in Korea. In my OCD world this was an omen, a meant to be. I looked at Paul's dad and he was looking toward heaven, "please Heavenly Father, shut down this girl's reproductive system", my dad's prayer from a few years back. I could just tell.

Finally, one morning early my phone rang. "I'm home". (THANK YOU GOD!!!). "Come over, now!!!".

34 steps to Paul. To the front door. I was about to cry and laugh and scream and maybe pee.  The bell rang and I opened the door.....

There was a man there. He looked sort of like Paul only emaciated. Whoa, I wasn't expecting that.

I LOVE YOU!!! I AM SO GLAD YOU ARE HOME!!!! 

I am not sure why but we were alone. Mother was somewhere, dad was at work. We went to my room, my bed and made love. Finally, in my bed. Not the floor, or the sofa or in a car. Here in my bed. Thank you God, my life is just about to be perfect.

I saw Paul two or three more times. He got his motorcycle and moved to a small city near by to live with another brother. He never called or asked to see me. I didn't understand why then but now I realize he had his own demons to face. At the time, however, all I could do was stand in disbelief.

Pardon  my French again, but double LeFuck.

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier Best Phone Call Ever

Graduation finally came and went very quickly. We had a huge class and all the parents looked so proud. My parents were sitting in the audience they didn't look proud so much as amazed. I had managed to get my diploma.

Callie and Alan's wedding was to be the end of July and that was much more exciting than anything. Ringo and I were planning our wedding. Our wedding was going to be quick and simple. I was not enthusiastic and really neither was he. Oh, well, it was a plan and in the back of my mind I thought once we were married and I got pregnant he'd get over that not wanting to have children.

One morning about 4:00 a.m. the phone rang. I grabbed it immediately, before the second ring even. I was sound asleep and was trying to think of the word "hello" or whatever you said when the phone rang. Mom and dad appeared at my door with a worried look. Mother was asking, "is someone dead?" There was a voice on the phone telling me the this was MARS and Lillybell had a call. WHAT? my brain screamed by mouth still couldn't form words. Finally, I heard Paul in the background, "honey, I am calling you and am patched in through a radio operator. I talk then say 'over'. You talk and then say, 'over'". My mother is still asking, "WHO IS DEAD????" 

Paul was in Korea. His older brother Who? was in Viet Nam and by tradition brothers do not serve in the same theater of war. This was a huge relief to me. Paul would not have survived actual war I just knew it. Now he was calling me from half way around the world. This must be important. "I only have 7 minutes to talk, over".  "OK", I said....over?" This was weird and might make sense if I could just wake up a little. Mother and dad still standing there. I got up and closed the door. "Honey", said Paul, "I love you, I had to call to say the words...over". Now somewhere in my brain was a big party and music and and that chorus of heavenly angels that seemed to accompany Paul.  "I LOVE YOU TOO!!", "over". "Read my letters", he said, "I want to come home to you", "over". "OK", "over".  There was some more talk and "overs" but bottom line, I loved him. He loved me. This was my best day. Small problem, I had to tell Ringo, and my parents and Callie and Alan. I will wait until after their wedding. That seemed fair to them and it gave me time to figure out what I was going to say to Ringo.

I couldn't stand not telling Ringo so I did. I explained that I just couldn't marry him that I really loved Paul. I was so sorry, I didn't mean to love Paul I just did and I seemed to have no control over the feeling. Ringo seemed more lost that upset or angry. He agreed we would go through Callie and Alan's wedding and then let people know that we would not be married. They just don't make many men like Ringo. He was so reasonable and understanding. That made me feel even worse.

Dad in the meantime was teaching me things. He bought me a compass, not the math kind. He wanted to teach me how to find north. This was sad. I feared he might take me out in the woods and leave me there. One day he took me downtown to Merrill Lynch. I was going to meet his stockbroker, a personal friend, and they were going to teach me about the stock market. We walked in the building, met Mr. Humes and my first question: "Who are Pierce, Fenner and Smith". That's the name of the business Merrill Lynch Pierce Fenner and Smith. "They are the other founding partners", my dad explained. "Why don't they call it that then?" I asked. This was not going well. The rest of the day was a math lesson and about saving 10% of your income. I had a little job. I made $65.00 a week. I wasn't sweating that $6.50. (MATH!!!).

Paul's letters were what I lived for, writing to him and receiving letters from him. His letters were amazing. They were wise and mystic. Metaphysical and full of imagery and metaphor. They were other worldly and I loved his words. Magic. This man is The Wizard indeed. We had a plan. After he got home he was going to buy a  motorcycle and we were taking a trip to Minnesota. When we got back from our travels we would get an apartment. None of the marriage stuff. We were groovy and didn't a piece of paper to say we were together.

This sounded like my perfect dream except for one small problem. Motorcycle, no, I didn't do that. I had an uncle in San Diego who was a coroner. He told me all about "sweeping up" motorcycle accident victims off the highway. Where EMTs call motorcyclists "organ donors" today, coroners called them "vegetables" then. Time to get a driver's license and a car.

I drove Ringo's car all the time. It fit me like a glove. I loved it. I realized it would be in bad form to ask to borrow it for my driver's test. My parents owned 2 land yachts on wheels. I wanted to buy my car and then get my license in a car I might have a prayer of parallel parking. Dad agreed. WHAT? That had never happened.

My grandfather gave me $2,000 to buy a car. He had given brother a car when he got his license and though Gramps didn't have the dealership in tiny town Kentucky anymore he was a fair man. I found my car. A 1968 Chevelle SS 396, automatic on the floor, leather, buckets, it was fabulous. My dad and I went to negotiate the deal. I needed this particular car like a hole in my head but I knew Paul would drool over it and a motorcycle would seem silly to take to Minnesota when we could look cool, be cool, smoke reefers and listen to great tunes on the 8 track. I had to have this car. It cost $2,850.

My dad was the king of negotiation in his own mind. I heard the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly as we walked into the dealership. We went into the office with the salesman. Talk about the car, blah, blah, blah, engine, blah, blah, blah, payments, blah, blah, blah, whatever....give me the keys. My dad pulled out a notebook ripped off a piece of paper, wrote down a number folded the paper and pushed it across the table. The salesman looked at the paper and smiled shaking his head. He wrote down another number, folded the paper pushed toward my dad. Dad looked at the paper and laughed a little. That piece of paper went in the trash. Dad did some calculations in his notebook, wrote down a number on a new piece of paper, folded it and pushed toward the salesman.  REALLY? This went on for an eternity. Finally, my dad said, "sorry, no deal. Let's go". WHAT???? "Wait, dad I need this car."
""No, other cars out there" . "I will make payments". "No, you won't. Only stupid people buy cars they cannot afford".

Three days later my dad brought me home a car I hated. HATED. It was ugly, it was a Pontiac and it was NOT a GTO. "It's a great deal, dad said, "and you can afford it" .  This was going to be my car. I really wanted the Chevy and dad could have lent me the money but, oh well, I was the un-proud owner of an ugly Pontiac LeMans.

I went the next day and got my license. Whew. That evening I piled Jeff and couple of other guitar guys in my car for a ride. I was making a left hand turn on to a divided street when the car hit me. My brakes didn't work, I swear they went to the floor. No one was hurt except my pride. I was never driving again. Yes, look dad, I am stupid. I wrecked my car the day I got my license. Pardon my French but  LeFuck.

Oh well, Paul would be here soon and that was all that really mattered. One day the doorbell rang and there stood Who?  Remember me? I am Paul's brother. I just got home from the Army and mom thought maybe Paul's girlfriend could introduce to some people and show me around.

PAUL'S MOTHER KNEW I WAS HIS GIRLFRIEND!!! That was all I got from this conversation.

"Sure, come on in". This was not a good plan.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier I Are A Hi Skool Graduete with No Scillz

Some time after I started high school I would hear a Gregorian Style chant frequently, "you must go to college to get a good man. If not, you must find a job. Or marry right after high school". This chant came from my parents. The day was coming. I was going to graduate from high school. It really was a miracle.

How did someone with no math aptitude, no drivers license, no PATH, nothing, graduate? I cared about none of that. I wanted out. Fortunately for me senior year I finally took courses I LOVED. Government was not scary it was awesome. Our class read the newspaper and debated the issues of the day. The structure of government was covered as well but I knew most of that as Walter Cronkite was always there in our house right before dinner telling us about the world. Humanities I knew I would ace when on one of the first days of class the teacher had  written: Bach, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopan, on the board. I had this. I schooled him privately at his desk that the man's name was Chopin, with an i. Guitar was disappointing. First day the teacher, (same one who couldn't spell Chopin), welcomed the class and said he didn't actually play the instrument and we would be expected to play one song on our guitar to pass. Had that. Guitar became a free period where we could go to the student smoking area, (yes, kiddies, things were different then).  This year was a cake walk.

At home things were different. I had expected that maybe dad would be forever in a wheelchair, drooling and we would have to feed him and maybe keep him in the attic.  No. My dad came home like a man on fire. Desperate to make up for the time he lived in a pit. There was music to compose, a hydroponic greenhouse needed to be designed and built, (tomatoes. I was disappointed too). There was a music room to build. He slept like a baby. He had a personality. I didn't really like it, but he had one. And he realized I was qualified for nothing. This really worried him. He was going to fix it. HELP ME!

Oh, then there was just one small other thing. Ringo and I had decided to get married. It made sense. He was 22 or 23 ready to start a life. We had dated for almost 2 years. There had been some on and off times but he was my high school boyfriend. We could marry before Callie and Alan moved away so they could be in our wedding and we in theirs.  Callie and Alan had a life plan. He was in the Navy, was going to be a Dentist, start his own practice, then they would have children. They were moving to North Carolina after they got married. The four of us always had a great time together. Ringo and I however didn't always have that "thing". We were by now having sex, he was a perfect gentleman, always, my parents adored him so it seemed perfect. Ringo wanted no children, he said. That was not happening in my life. I was having children and I would be MOTHER OF THE YEAR every year .In my heart I knew I would marry this man and die. He was just too old attitude wise. I wanted WILD not mild. Well, crap this all could be an issue. Paul and I were heavily involved in a romance via mail. OOPS, that was an issue too.

THE DAY I ALMOST KILLED MY MOTHER
My mother had several habits that drove me insane. For instance, she would prepare dinner, put the food in serving dishes on the table and then tell us what was in every dish. "We have meatloaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, salad and two different dressings, Italian or Bleu Cheese". She would point to every dish as she named it. This made me want to choke her after 18 years.  Everyday when I came home from school she would hear the door and say, "Lillybell?". "Yes", I would snarl. "Are you home?" I began answering with, "no, kidnapped by a mad killer on my way here". GEEZ, this entire house is crazy.

My senior year, after dad was better then mother turned all her attention on me. Every day:  "Are you smoking cigarettes?". "NO", I lied. "Are you smoking marijuana?".  "NOOOO", I lied like I was insulted. "Are you and Ringo having sex?". "Of course not, mother, what kind of woman do you think you raised? I can't believe you would even ask me that!".  One day I had heard the series of questions just once too often. I looked in my mom's worried blue eyes and said, "YES, ALL OF THE ABOVE".

Oh yeah, Ringo and I were definitely getting married whether I wanted to or not, SEX!!! YOU ARE HAVING SEX???? NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Mom had to go to bed. She told my dad. He decided we should have, "the talk".  I asked him if he had any questions about technique because otherwise I felt well versed, thank you.

I was the apple of his eye.

Graduation was going to be fun!

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier A Word About OCD

I was never told my any medical professional that I had any illness about being compulsive. This might because I never told anyone about this THING that now controlled my life. It sounds crazy because it was but here is an example of a typical day.

I would wake up and immediately look at the clock. If if was 7:13 a.m. I was on the road to a good day provided all my other rituals worked. If I woke up at 7:15 my day was already ruined. I believed 5 was evil. There was then the 23 steps that I took to gather my things and walk into the bathroom. One day it occurred to me that 2 plus 3 was 5. I needed one more actual step to make 24 steps to the bathroom because 2 plus 4 was 6. I can't even explain the problem I had with 15 it was 5s but 3, 5s. All and all this is the world's worst way to learn math.

I had started smoking cigarettes and marijuana. Cigarettes could only be smoked for 3 minutes. (Those of you out there who always said, "why do you smoke half a cigarette?" the answer wasn't really that I was" cutting back"). I preferred to light a cigarette at anytime ending in 3 and put it out three minutes later on the six. Never light or put out a cigarette on a 5. Smoking marijuana had no rules. Anytime, anywhere.

Eating was done in three bites or in sections of three bites. I chewed my food in numbers ending in three. M&Ms were always eaten in groups of three. Nine, nine was awesome, almost too good to be true because it was 3, 3s. Nirvana for anything nine.

I checked everything 3 times. Were my cigarettes in my purse, check 3 times. Did I lock the door? Check 3 times. Did I unplug the iron or the electric rollers? Check 3 times.

Now bear in mind that all of the compulsion, and there were stranger things that I won't ever admit too, was a constant running conversation with myself in the back of my head. I didn't tell anyone I was nuts. I thought of it as a control system. Soon things had to be in their place. Everything went somewhere if it got moved I became filled with anxiety and moved it back when no one was looking. I thought of this as organization. Never, ever, put certain things on the bed. Never, ever, walk or drive down certain streets. Always, always, always listen to the same song three times in a row. Always start walking with your right foot.

The phone had to be answered on the second ring. That way in case I was late it would be 3 rings which was OK but 4 rings was way too close to five rings and that would mean doom.

Yes, I decided one day, I was indeed crazy. This could not possibly what normal people did, count everything, fret if the glass wasn't in the correct spot on the counter, smoke for three minutes. I could see myself in that bed where I had seen dad. I wasn't going there. My life was spiraling out of control from control. Husband number 2 finally cured of this habit in the most unusual way. Even today, though I do not count to myself and worry about number on the clock, I still have one remaining issue. I sit in one spot at home. My "things" are in their place lined up where they belong. I sweat a little if someone moves them but I don't think I will die from it anymore.

Next chapter: I are a high school graduete with no scillz..

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier Senior Year (I think)

I remember starting my senior year. It was the only year I ever looked forward to because it was the last year of what I considered prison. I had one class I had to take as I remember and that was GOVERNMENT. People spoke of this class like they did LATIN. Run, scary, very, very hard. Other than that I was taking, Home and Family Living, Performing Arts, Humanities, and Guitar. Sounds like a list of Magazines. There must of have been some other classes but I was busy keeping all my rituals and counting and repetition straight. Life was hard.

Paul had joined the army rather than wait for the draft. This might lessen the chances of going to Viet Nam. He had an older brother named Who? already in the Army. I think I had met Who? by now when he was home on leave but I honestly do not remember. Paul went off to boot camp and I worried constantly, (my mother, myself), that even this would kill him. He found college too structured now he was in the Army. I imagined soon he would be in the brig for telling the Army how it could run more efficiently.

Somewhere in here that little girl who wanted to perform was whispering in my ear. "you could star in the musical at school this year. Dad would be proud of you for the first time ever in your life. People might stop calling you by the wrong name". (You do know that Lillybell is not my real name, right? I had the number 1 and 2 most boring names of the 50s for my first and middle names). Great plan. Please let it be West Side Story or Bye Bye Birdie because I already knew both roles of Anita and Kim from repeated viewing and album memorization.

Strange, I could not walk into a room full of people and interject myself in a conversation or introduce myself or have to say anything without flop sweating and wanting to vomit. Being on stage to dance, sing or speak didn't bother me at all. I craved it. When I still had dance recitals mother would give me sage advice like, "if you fall down just get up, don't vomit on stage if you get nervous, you are nervous aren't you?, don't be nervous although there are hundreds of people out there watching every move you make. You might vomit. You could break your leg when you fall". PLEASE!!! I wanted to kick those little girls off that stage and be the solo star. Vomit? Fall down? No, I was gifted.

What I didn't know yet was that the musical for my senior year was My Fair Lady. I also didn't know there was a new girl in school. She had transferred here with her family when her dad was hired to direct the Fort Worth City Opera. She was a beautiful girl, waif like and innocent. When she was born she came out in full costume and performed The Mikado at the end of the delivery table. She was in a word Eliza. I was cast as one of the dance hall trollops because I could do the splits. Dad was not proud.

Zelda and I had become great friends. She was brilliant and had saved my butt from math. She could think on levels I could not follow. She taught me many things. I taught her that everyone understood that she was from California and if she did not stop talking about how superior it was to Texas someone might kill her. Her house was crazier than mine and not in a good way. Zelda's dad was The Lesser Santini. My house was like an amusement park compared to hers. That's her book but we bonded over being somewhat different. She would play a huge role in my life that continues to this day.

Finally, it was CHRISTMAS and the day after the WEDDING. My parent's best friends daughter and I had grown up together and this was her wedding. It was a big deal for all of us. Especially me as being a bridesmaid was like a supporting role. I loved it. We got through Christmas and dad seemed so weak and frail. He had not slept in many nights. He was gray and looked dead. He couldn't make sense he was so exhausted. Christmas was a very, very sad, quiet day.

The next morning I awoke with great excitement. Paul might have been home or maybe we had talked on the phone but his presence one way or the other made my morning. Plus it was the WEDDING. Then I sensed something very eerie in the house. An ambulance was coming to take my dad away. Mother had talked to his psychiatrist and he told her dad had to be "institutionalized".

I was in the wedding. I have seen the pictures but I don't remember any of the day. Ringo was in the wedding too. I asked him to take me to see my dad as soon as I knew where he was and if he was still alive.

We went to the hospital where dad had been admitted. It was like a prison with chain length fence locking doors. People screamed in there. People moaned like The Beast was killing them but I knew The Beast was killing me so I could only imagine their horror.

Dad was in a room by himself hooked up to IVs. He looked at me but I am not sure he saw me. I couldn't hold his hand, I couldn't hug him, I couldn't say I love you. We didn't do that at our house. Touching family seemed perverse to me. It was wrong and just not done. My dad was in hell and all I could do was stand there paralyzed.

I did not see my dad for three or four months. He had somewhere between 9 and 12 sessions of electro convulsive therapy in the mental ward. Shock treatments was what they were called. This sounded horribly barbaric and medieval to me. I expected him to come home slack jawed and drooling.

I was wrong.

ILYT Conessions of a Serial Marrier I Can't Keep It All Straight

OCD was becoming a real problem for me. I had so much to remember. How many times did I do that? Was it three or only two? Or did I mistakenly do four? Crap, start over. Whatever it was, steps, brush strokes of hair, lock checking, making sure everthing was in my purse, in it's place. What did I tell Ringo about Paul? What did I tell Paul about Ringo? I started counting everything. I tried to miss as much school as possible. I could whip up a cough and convince my mother I had gone outside with wet hair and was probably dying. Then I decided I might be dying. If I didn't do everything just so I might die. I could jinx myself into an early grave.

This was nothing compared to my dad. Dad had reached the deepest pit I had witnessed. I knew not to upset him with anything. He couldn't know the truth about me, ever. Mother was beside herself with fear and worry. While I feared death, Dad seemed to have a foot in the grave.

I saw Paul. My new plan was to act like he didn't matter one way or the other. I think. Some days I believe I fell for his charm in a small way. That kiss. God I wanted that kiss. I completely didn't understand why he didn't love me. We seemed perfect to me. We both loved him.

Ringo was the perfect boyfriend. He took me on proper dates with dinner and a movie. He would come over after work, (some nights he worked late), and be content to sit and listen to me worry about my dad or just hold me and let me sleep while he watched TV on the sofa.

Callie's house was full of pre wedding talk. Very exciting for me and a relief to have something joyous to look forward to. I was in the wedding party. Callie had a hope chest collecting things that start a married woman's life. She had a recipe box with recipes that only started with A. Alan's favorite soup. Alan's favorite spaghetti, Alan's favorite cake. They were just adorable. I was envious. I wanted a recipe box that only had P recipes.

Before Callie and Alan's wedding though I was to be in another wedding. The day after Christmas 1970. I was going to wear a gorgeous, maroon velvet, empire waist, long sleeved, high collared dress trimmed delicately with pink lace and satin ribbons. OH HEAVEN! I couldn't wait. My first formal dress. WOW.

Then something awful happened. The government was going to select military service draft order based on birth date. Paul was vulnerable. If his birthday was selected early he would be drafted in the first round. Like football only you could die. Now there was no game. There was no pretending not to care. This man I loved even though I did not want to, and he certainly seemed to have lost that lovin' feeling, could be drafted and killed.

This event, the drawing of 365 dates, was nationally televised. Paul came to my house. This time he didn't sit in the rocking chair. He sat on the floor right by me. We held hands. He smoked. Dates began to be called. Within what seemed like seconds his birth date was on the board. He was going to be in the military and soon.

Please, God, do not let him die. Please spare him going to Viet Nam. Please, God, I will somehow control this with my OCD but I need your help....

Calm Down I am Going To Save America

There are some basic changes that must take place in this country or we are all going to continue suffering. I have a plan. I admit that many of my plans are loosely based on I Love Lucy episodes but here is a basic outline.

We will have a no-party political system. Candidates will not be affiliated with or be supported by any party. They will be elected based on their platform and voting record if they have one. Two terms, period.

Everyone eligible to vote must do so or cannot renew a driver's or business license. All ballots will contain a box for "none of the above". All voting will be done from a personal electronic device. If you do not have a personal electronic device the county in which you live will assist you with a paper ballot.

If you are in a taxable income bracket and you do not pay your income taxes you will not be able to renew drivers license or insurance, both business and personal. This may not raise a lot of revenue but public transportation may be better utilized.

Customer Service jobs must be held in America by people who speak our language. If you do not speak our language, you need an interpreter. Illegal immigration will be controlled at the hiring level. You hire an illegal immigrant you lose your license to practice or work in your field. Illegal immigrants already here will have an opportunity to become citizens. If you do not complete the necessary process you will be deported.

Marijuana will be legalized. This will open a new industry that will provide jobs in agriculture, transportation, manufacturing and retail industries. This product will be controlled and taxed like all adult consumer products. This action will negatively impact the drug cartels and free law enforcement  to smack down killers, rapists, pedophiles and scurvy people who take advantage of the needy and vulnerable.

Churches that are large enough to house a small city and are actually TV studios, have schools and retail business inside their compounds will be taxed as businesses.

Corporations who expect tax relief because they don't want to use their profits to grow their businesses then send executives before Congress and whine will be taxed double. These top executives will also have to provide  personal financial statements, publicly published, prior to whining before Congress.

Pharmaceutical companies will quit advertising on TV. People know to seek help from a doctor about their physical ailments. Most of the products you advertise are not covered by insurance until a generic is available so you are wasting your money and our time. Really, TMI about the leaky pipe thing.

Insurance companies will provide massive group policies to cover whatever market is selected. Businesses, schools, small communities, unemployed groups of people, churches, whatever, at a reasonable price. Doctors and hospitals will not charge $11.95 for a cotton ball. That is an example but have you seen an itemized hospital bill?

People will not be allowed to select other people's morals. Standards and ethics will be determined by vote in the community where you live. You want to live in a strip club, fine move to Pole Dance City. You want to cling to your Bible everyday, fine move to Rapture City. People will not convince other people to try their lifestyle, religion or pagan rituals.

Car Dealerships will not be allowed to scream at you on TV. This is a pet peeve but I am adding it as it should be common practice. You are watching your favorite show when suddenly: BUY YOUR CAR HERE AND NOW! BEST PRICES IN TOWN! I WILL NOT BE BEAT. NO ONE HAS LOUDER OR MORE STUPID COMMERCIALS THAN I DO!!! COME IN AND BUY, BUY, BUY.

That's it, America, as I think of new ideas I will share. I know you cannot wait.

You're Welcome,
Lillybellblues

ILYT Confessions of A Serial Marrier Still Fuzzy After All These Years

After Paul moved and I turned sixteen I had a new set of rules. Never, ever tell anyone about the sex thing. I prayed somehow my hymen might grow back. Never tell anyone that I was taking tranquilizers. This was a secret like Dad's depression. Never tell my parents anything I did not think they could handle. Dad was obviously quite ill at this point. Mother had high blood pressure and constantly looked like she might burst. She was always red in the face and wringing her hands. Brother had started college the same year I started high school and he was on the road to the first of his many college degrees. My parents were very proud of him but it was necessary to remind me how very expensive this was. Dad wanted everyone to know college was a financial burden.

I developed OCD. I don't think OCD was an actual disease diagnosable by a mental health professional but I definitely had something. My life became ritual, repetition, pattern, omens and signs. I had to walk a specific number of steps across the street. Things were done only in a certain order. I had to answer the phone by the second ring. I had to hear a certain song on the radio or bad fate would befall me. Certain clothes promised a good day. Certain clothes I hid from view if I had worn them on a bad day. Some days I would have time in the house to myself. Mom and dad would leave and I would check all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked. Then I would check them again. Then I would check them again. Then I would stand in the living room and yell, "the house is mine!!!". Soon everything had to be done in threes. Three seemed to be what worked. Five became evil for some reason. I did realize that this behavior was not normal so it became something else I hid.

Paul called once to say "Hi, you're not pregnant are you?" He went on to tell me how all the chicks in California were on the pill. How very nice for him. Dear God, after you strike him fat and bald please make him blind too. I did not know the word impotent.

I somehow passed all my classes and would be a Junior. My mother was so relieved she cried. And cried. And cried. Callie and her most perfect boyfriend Alan were pre-engaged. They graduated in 1969. I had started dating Alan's friend, Ringo. Alan was every mother's dream for their daughter. He was kind, thoughtful, considerate, sweet, polite, genuine and he adored Callie. They were adorable together. They even argued about cute things. Once it was about the lyrics to Spill The Wine. Alan was a music guy. He too had been bitten by the Beatle bug. I loved Alan. Callie's family loved him. It was perfect. Ringo was much like Alan. I felt safe with him. Sex was not an issue. Where I saw "Slut" on my forehead he saw "Jail Bait". My parents approved of Ringo. Although he was even older than Paul he seemed safe. He was safe. He was also a generation older than I was. I wanted to let my hair down and Dance to The Music, discover marijuana and be a hippie. He wanted to have a glass of scotch, listen to Frank Sinatra and be a member of the Rat Pack. (As an aside: Callie and Alan have been married almost 40 years and have two fabulous daughters. Told you they were perfect).

That summer passed and school started. I acted my way through the days. Smile, be cheerful, be funny, say "HI" to people I knew. Avert my eyes when the real cool kids walked by. I made myself very, very small in class so I would not be called on for anything. I learned how to artfully change the Ds on my report card to Bs. This saved me many days of my mother loudly mourning my lack of intelligence.

I don't really remember my junior year. I do not know what classes I took. One year I took Speech and Debate or Debate was part of Speech. I took English. I wrote a doctoral length thesis on the Simon and Garfunkle song, The Dangling Conversation. That song encapsulated my life in so many ways.  I did start to smoke marijuana some time in high school. I think it was my Senior year. MUCH better than tranquilizers.

I remember the day I had to meet with the school counselor to discuss my future. I explained to him or her, do not remember, that I had no future and to please just come up with what I had to do to graduate with emphasis on electives. Typing was a must said the counselor. I was going to be a secretary.

I remember the day mother came and picked me up a school. This was usually reserved for days it rained or when it was real cold and windy. I remember this day being sunny. I got in the car and she started immediately. "Brush your hair it looks messy", put on a little lipstick you look pale, straighten up a little, tuck in your blouse".  In my usual sweet way I said something like, "what is your problem? so now I have to look a certain way to ride in your precious car?" I think I growled at her then and muttered something about stupid under my breath. We pulled in the driveway and I got out of the car and slammed the door. I walked through the garage and opened the door in to utility room. I walked through the kitchen into the den and then I stopped breathing. I stopped moving. I stood frozen in one spot. Everything had a wavy halo effect around it. Time stood still. I was at a loss for words though my brain was screaming things at me to say. The Beast laughed with new vigor.

Paul was sitting in the rocking chair.

Now I had been having non stop conversations with this man in my head since he walked out of my life. These conversations went from one extreme to the other. I could see myself at his feet pleading to tell me what I had done. "Why? Why? What did I do? What can I do so I could be HER? Your perfect HER? JUST TELL ME I WILL DO ANYTHING Please, please, give me another chance." That was one conversation.

Did I mention that somewhere in here I learned to cuss? Like a sailor? Like I could peel paint off a barn with a sufficiently strung together sentence consisting mainly of words that started with F? I could have been the head writer for The Sopranos. Secretly I knew I could kill my mother and my  father with one sentence. She would explode and he would slit his wrist. Callie, Jeff and I had a curse word we used: goddamnshitfuckscrew. All one word.

The other in-my-head conversation with Paul went more like this: You sorry, pond scum licking son of a bitch. What? Did you have a primal urge to do the "Look I have virgin blood on my penis" dance?  Do you laugh every day that you are charming enough to ruin a 15 year old girl's life? For fun?  Are you the fucking king fucking bastard of fucking California? Have you fucked every fucking girl there? Did your penis leave a trail of destruction? I hope you die a long, slow, horrible death, alone and soon, ASSHOLE."

OK, here was my moment.

I ran and sat on his lap. Kissed him on the cheek. "Welcome home! Wow, what a surprise!!! SOOO Glad you are back. I have a fabulous new boyrfriend named Ringo!!!" Then I whispered in his ear, "you were right about those birth control pills. They have come in handy".

Ah, the gift of bull shit.

ILYT Confessions of a Serial Marrier The Pit

Mother was right about one thing. If you are a 15 year old girl having sex with someone other than your husband you ARE a slut. If you are a 15 year old girl having sex with your husband you might have other problems like maybe you married a cousin. No doubt about it though, sex at 15 especially with someone who had charmed you out of your hymen, equalled slut in my little world. There were exceptions. If you were one of the "it" girls dating one of the "it" boys and you had been faithful and true to one another all through high school then it was assumed you were engaging in pre-marital sex. It might have been 1969, two years after the summer of love, but Ft. Worth had a tendency to run about 20 years behind the times.

Mother was wrong about The Beast marking you. The Beast crawls inside your head and runs a constant loop of just how easy and foolish you are. It mocks and taunts you. It reminds you daily of just how much you have ruined your life. It's taunts are dubbed over a constant humming sound of stooooooooopid.

In Paul's defense, it's not like he just walked away without a word. He did tell me goodbye and reminded me that he always said he wanted to move back to California. He loved me, he assured me he really did and he felt certain that, "someday we will have our time together". I said the only thing I could think of, "I hope I'm not pregnant". "Meee too", he said, "I'll call you when I get a phone". Then he packed my heart, my soul, my dreams in his suitcase and left me empty.

I was in The Pit. While I had always had a talent for histrionics and could have received an honorary degree in snarkiness I reached a new level of "LEAVE ME ALONE". First I had to hold the deep, dark, awful secret that I was a slut. No one must ever know the truth. This was the secret I would carry to my grave and God willing that day would come soon. Additionally I had a constant internal debate that never stopped, "What did I do to drive him away? Why wasn't I good enough? vs."How could he be such a bastard and what long, slow, painful, horrible death would almost be good enough to satisfy my rage". It was a constant, "please, God, bring him back I am nothing without him" to "please, God, strike him fat and bald and soon".

My mother added me to her list of things that must be worried about constantly and felt it was necessary to stand and wring her hands and tell me that, "he's just a boy, you are far too young to know what love is", or "you are making this house a nightmare to be in, your black mood is scary, you look awful, you are sooooooo thin, if you don't get a hold of yourself, well, what are the neighbors going to think?"

"SHUT UP!", I screamed at her constantly. Inside my head The Beast laughed and laughed.

One night I was in my usual spot, in my room, in the dark. It was the only place I wanted to be. Silence, darkness, the truth of how stupid I really was, listening to The Beast. The constant ache for this man I loved with all my childhood ability wallowing in all things bleak, my mother knocked on my door.
"Lillybelle?", said my mother in her most concerned, worried voice.
"WHAT?" I snarled
"Are you suicidal?"
"YES, AND IF YOU DO NOT GET AWAY FROM MY DOOR I SWEAR I WILL KILL YOU BEFORE I KILL MYSELF.  LEAVE ME ALONE".

My sixteenth birthday arrived. Sweet sixteen. Or in my case Surly Sixteen. "We can go get your driver's license", mother offered. This was a big step for her since driving a car before you are 30 was on the list. "No", I said, "don't see the point. I don't have a car, I'm not getting a car, you won't let me drive the good car, I can drive dad's car when he gets home from work which is after dark and I'm not allowed to drive after dark so it seems STUPID TO GET A LICENSE, MOM!".

Wasn't I fun?

In truth, I didn't want to find out that driving would be added to the list of things I could not master. That and the slut thing would just be too much. The Beast mocked my insecurity.

Soon I was in the doctor's office. I was in the exam room, mother and the doctor were in his office with the door closed. I don't think I actually talked to the doctor but I left his office with a prescription for tranquilizers.

Things got fuzzy.