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....
No comments:
Post a Comment