Chapter Two -- First Year

We had lived together for the first couple of years before getting married. Everyone has their ideas about the pros and cons of whether anyone should live together before a couple gets married -- from the extremeley religious who truly believe it to be sinful to those liberals who probably would prefer cohabitation to marriage because the idea of a marriage is so structured. I don't either consider myself too religious or too liberal in my thoughts; however, from the three years that we did live together, we do have the advantages of (1) knowing each other's quirks already, (2) having already decided how to blend together his and hers stuff to make it their stuff, (3) not having to unpack right after the honey moon.

As prepare from winding down from our honeymoon trip over the weekend, I awake to the smells of bacon, pancakes, and freshly squeezed orange juice being prepared. As I start to roll over, I find myself looking up to this lovely man bringing in a tray with breakfast and a small vase of flowers, "Well, hello, dear! My kitten arises this morning!!" and a nice chuckle following as he bows down to lay the tray next to me and kiss me. I reach up my arms to urge him closer to me and he finds himself suddenly laying next to me and we are making love. What a way to wake up to the day! After our passion rolling through the sheets, we lay next to each other and we share the breakfast that he has brought into me.

Love is certainly grand!

This continues throughout the upcoming months on the weekends. During the week, we have our love making sessions to start off the day; however, skipping the breakfast in bed routine as we both have to hurdle out of the bed, into the shower, and getting dressed for our jobs that we do in the week. He is an accountant for a taxi cab company downtown and rides a bus; I drop him off at the bus depot on my way to my paralegal job at the law office nearby.

One weekend is different though as he lays the tray beside me, he kisses me and resists from laying down near me. He states, "Mark is coming over soon. He and I are going fishing." Mark had been a long-time friend of his from childhood days. I was certainly not going to stand in between two long-time good friends by any means; besides, I had been thinking about going to an Arts and Crafts show in town which really wasn't his thing anyways. After having breakfast, I get up, get dressed, and discovered that Mark was here waiting on Anthony to get his fishing gear all together to load up on the truck. Mark hollered out to me, "Hi! Sorry that we have to run, but we want to get the fishin' while the fishin' is good!" I am laughing to myself wondering how these two are even going to make it to the fishing hole, much less to the truck as they stumbled over one another trying to race to the truck to see who gets there first -- just like any two boys who were as good of friends as these two would do. I went on to the craft show, bought a couple of items to use around our house, and proceeded to make some dinner and clean the house while waiting on their return. When they returned though, Mark walked in the door with his buddy just hanging off of his shoulder.

"What did you do to my husband??"

"Ah. Nothing. We drank about 3 cases of beer."

"Just you two?"

"Yeppers. He'd be alright in the morning. I'll just lay him down on the bed."

I sat on the edge of the bed and watched my husband lay there as Mark left, making sure that breathing sounds were heard and assure myself that he wasn't going to start puking anytime soon. After I had convinced myself that he wasn't near death after that much drinking, I brought a trash can and placed it near the bed just in case and proceeded into the other room to try watch some tv and read a book.

After an hour or so, he came out of the bedroom and sat beside me, apologizing for being so very drunk. I coaxed him into the bedroom to lay down some more. As I did, he slung me on the bed and pulled out a bowie knife from in between the mattresses, brazing it before my eyes.

With slurred speech, he said, "This is my bowie knife."

"Yes, I know, dear. Why don't we put it back up?"

"Nah. Not right now" as he started to pop off buttons off of my shirt with the knife. He slide the knife from my stomach up through the chest area and laid it on my neck as he added, "I could kill you, you know?"

"Yeah, but, Pookey Bear, do you really want to do that?" with a bit of quiver in my own voice.

"Nah..." and he was asleep. Thank, God! I wiggled my way from him, took the Bowie knife away from him and put it in the kitchen for the time being and went back into the living room. Shaking from head to toe, I didn't know what to do. Perhaps, he'll just sleep the rest of it off and he won't remember a thing in the morning.

Another hour or so went by and he started calling my name. He wouldn't quit so I went into the bedroom and he asked me to lay beside him. Had he already forgotten what he did earlier??? I started towards him and he grabbed my arm and slung me on the bed. He, this time, pulled out a gun. Continuing in his slurred speech, "This is my Walter PPK!"

"Yes, I know dear. Shouldn't we put that up? You told me that gun is for emergencies only. You have drank too much with your friend Mark. You need your rest."

"Nahhhh. I have rested enough!" The gun was now pointed at my head and fingers are on the trigger. I close my eyes. What was I doing in this relationship? Is this what is meant for me? Am I to die so young at the hands of this crazed man? This seemed so perfect and so real; now the reality is that I feel the coldness of the barrel on my temple. I open my eyes and his body is limp on mine. I wiggle from underneath him, take the gun out of his fingers, and put it back into the drawer.

Then I go to the living and use the phone, "Aaaaa, hello, Mark? Yes, Mark, what the hell did you guys do? You need to come over and help your best friend out. He has pulled both his bowie knife and his Walter PPK gun on me! I am scared. What? You are too tired? Imagine me sitting up here wondering what he is going to do next. Thanks, a lot, bud!" I called another friend of mine; she came over and stayed up with me throughout the remainder of the night. When he awoke the next day, he didn't remember a thing.

This is a turning point in my life. I thought that the marriage itself would be a turning point in my life -- going from a single womanhood into married womanhood -- but, this has aged me 30 years in one night. I couldn't talk about it to anyone; and, certainly not my family. They would have the attitude of "I told you so" and I was determined to show them that this was a marriage to last for-ever.

Tonight he made me a steak dinner, with a candlit table, complete with music and fresh flowers on the buffet. We danced and held each other as we told each other how very much we loved each other. He didn't seem to remember anything of last night. I wanted to believe in my Cinderella dreams of having found my prince of princes. Tonight, I fell asleep in his arms and my head upon his chest, feeling secure in spite of what happend the night before. He is seven years older than me. He is my protector. He does love me.

The remainder of the year was perfect and dreams were made to move into a house we would purchase together.