Chapter XXI: Three Letters
PART I: DEAR MONSTER
Dear Monster,
I’ve tried to write this letter so many times over the years. As a matter of fact, there are drafts upon drafts that exist in a computer folder as well as in crumpled sheets of paper tossed aside. Pieces of paper with violent red scribbles where I hastily and angrily wrote down words that never quite felt like my own. A patchwork of mean and spiteful things all sewn together with a string of expletives.
You see, my old friend, its been almost exactly two years. And in that time, I’ve gained a sense of clarity and purpose; something I’m sure you long for deep down but painfully lack and certainly will never achieve. I could sit here and tell you that you’re an asshole. I could say “fuck you” a million times over, but that wouldn’t exactly get you listening, now would it?
I remember when my mom and dad showed up outside my apartment, the day after you told me what you had done. I sat and cried into my mother’s arms and I told her something that still rings true today.
“It would be easier if he had died.”
I don’t say this to be cruel or threatening. I say this because losing a loved one would have been so much kinder on my heart than learning of your deceit; easier than learning how this deceit happened over and over again. You could have gone into the grave being my hero. We would never have known about all the other women; the abuse, the lying, the cheating, the stealing. We would have sat around the dinner table and spoke about all the great stories in remembrance of you; our martyr. I would have been so blinded by the loss that I would have easily forgotten about the abuse and the pain you caused me at the end. I would have naively remembered you as a great man.
You see? What I said to my mom still is true. It would have been so much easier if you had just died.
With that said, I’m glad you didn’t die. I’m glad you screwed up so royally that we now get to learn the truth and watch it unfold. Ignorance may be bliss, but I’d rather have my bliss be real than a fallacy to willingly fall into.
I’ve learned a lot about you in the past two years, Monster. Some of it has been really hard to swallow. Like any other level-headed journalist, I worked in facts and anecdotes from reliable sources; cross-referenced, double checked, triple checked, the works. I spoke with lawyers, therapists, police officers and more.
What is the matter with you?
As any responsible journalist would, I have also protected my sources that didn’t want information or their identity to be known. In many ways, I am now the keeper of all your dirty, little secrets. And you know exactly what I mean. I once had someone close to you tell me that they think you might, deep down, be afraid of me. To which, I responded, “good.”
You should be.
You shouldn’t be afraid because I have some vendetta again you. Not because I’m going to blog about you for the rest of eternity or threaten your existence in some way. Frankly, I’m sick of talking about you. You should be afraid of me because I discovered what you truly fear the most; you fear what you truly are. You’re not some scary evil monster locked away in my subconscious mind or closet. What you are is the very thing you are terrified of and hate.
You’re just a loser.
Not a loser because you had a mullet until the age of God knows what. You aren’t a loser because you had no friends in high school and only found fun stealing guitars or CDs from Best Buy. You aren’t a loser for having an emo phase and buying a straightening iron for your hair. Hell, you aren’t even a loser because you lack piano, guitar or singing skills. A good girl could have loved any one of those losers.
You’re a loser because you hate who you are. You’re a loser because you hate who you are and bring down every one else who you think is better, smarter, funnier or more attractive than you. You are dripping in narcissism; yet deep down you know you kinda suck. Deep down, you know you aren’t a good person. And while you hate that about yourself, you’re not willing to make the necessary steps to really, truly change.
You have no sense of self or purpose. You take characters you read about, watch on TV shows or in movies and emulate them because who you are just isn’t good enough and you know it.
I’ve heard recounted stories of you impersonating Chad Michael Murray from One Tree Hill; trying to be the popular guy in school that got all the girls with cheesy pick up lines. You tried that because you wanted to be that. You wanted to be that popular guy but you just weren’t. You weren’t and you knew it.
You lied to your best friends, family and even me about starting a band and writing music. You saw how much people idolized the musically gifted and you thought, “Gee whiz, I want that.” But instead of trying to teach yourself an instrument or join a band to make your dream a reality, what did you do? Instead, you just figured you could steal songs from a lesser known, disbanded group in Wisconsin and play them off as your own. You sold this group’s songs on a CD to half of McHenry County. Songs that you hadn’t even covered; songs you took straight from their album-vocals, guitar and all. Dude, that’s straight up fraud. And for doing so, you’re a straight up loser.
Later in life, you would become obsessed with other TV characters; the financially suave like “Big” in Sex and the City or the lovable conman in “White Collar.” I laugh at all the examples like these that have surfaced in people’s stories about you. You just take on whatever character you’re currently obsessing over instead of forging your own path to self-identity. You take the easy way out by lying, stealing and manipulating your way to the person you want to be; to status you wish you could achieve. And, sure, it works for a while because you seek friends and lovers that are trusting, damaged or otherwise naive; but eventually we all catch on. For some, it will just take more time.
Speaking of those individuals; shame on you for continuing to deceive the small group of friends that have stayed by your side. I used to be so angry with you for all the lies you told them about me. They were my friends too and I loved them. And though I used to be so hurt and angry with them for believing all the terrible things you have said, I can’t even fault them for not seeing through you because I, too, fell victim to your deception. I too wanted so desperately to believe you were a good person. And, to be frank, believing in you, even when deep-down it felt so nauseating and wrong, was so much easier than facing the truth about the terrible person you are and what that meant about myself for caring about someone like that.
I know your friends will one day see you for what you are; I just pray it is soon. Being a friend of yours is like sleeping with one eye open. They must pay attention for nobody is safe for long.
One day, these people will have families. One day they will have sons and daughters and their perspective will change. They will be mothers and fathers and will start to think about how my parents must have felt; what my parents still, to this day, go through because of your actions. I hope when they realize their lives are so much better without you, they call me up. I hope they know I will forgive them.
I’ve thought long and hard about forgiveness. For so long, I was adamant that you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve it for all the abuse you subjected so many women to. You didn’t deserve it for all the lies you told about me; the lies you told to hurt me, to dishonor me. But at this point, I suspect you actually believe your lies. You’ve probably rehearsed them in a mirror over and over to the point where you actually believe them. So you know what? Go ahead. Have them. Your lies are really the only true, loyal friend you have in what’s left of your sad, lonely life.
You told everyone you know that I cheated on you; that this was my fault. You blamed me for the wedding that was called off, for the money lost. You blamed me for your CHILD, saying I was the catalyst that drove you to cheat and ultimately get a girl pregnant. You can try to deny it, but I’ve seen the messages of you saying this to people. I didn’t even know Ben when you started talking to these girls; when you started talking to your son’s mother again. You just thought that, by creating this false narrative, you would be off the hook for the money you owed us and that people would feel sorry for you. I would have happily given you the ring back had you repaid my family and I for what you, yourself had promised us first.
I don’t know why I’m so shocked that you weren’t a man of your word when it came to my parent’s repayment. Perhaps my ill-placed faith in you was a remnant of a crazy Stockholm Syndrome stuck in my subconscious.
Either way, isn’t is a little crazy that if you had just done the honorable thing of paying us back, whether through cash or deed of the property, that this blog wouldn’t exist? If you had done the right thing, my family and I would have walked away. If you had done the right thing, I wouldn’t have felt the need to probe into your past and discover all that I have. If you had done the right thing, you wouldn’t have bled money paying for the full mortgage when I had to leave. If you had done the right thing, you wouldn’t have been sued by the condo association because you couldn’t afford the association dues. If you had done the right thing, you wouldn’t be CURRENTLY getting sued by our former realtor for supposed breach of contract. If you had done the right thing, what’s about to happen next wouldn’t ever have been possible.
Fuck that.
If you had done the right thing, if you never had cheated, none of this would have happened.
Period.
This, my friend, is why you are such a fucking loser. You project this false image like you’ve made it big and figured it all out, but you have never in your life done the right thing. So here is how you gain my forgiveness; and trust me, you want my forgiveness.
You earn it by doing the right thing; starting right now. The right thing is an apology to each person you have hurt. I’m not just talking about my parents and I. I’m talking about the many girls you’ve abused mentally, verbally, physically and perhaps worse over the years. I’m talking about your friends and my brother, who spent hundreds if not THOUSANDS of dollars going to your bachelor party, all while you knew that you had gotten another girl pregnant. Apologize to your friends for lying to them about your fake music career and come clean about everything. And you know exactly what I mean by “everything.”
Furthermore, find a way to repay my parents. Those nonrefundable wedding expenses were a gift, but they were a gift to me and to my future husband. That right to my gift was immediately and unequivocally revoked the minute you stepped out on our relationship. You had countless opportunities to call the wedding off before money was spent. You knew precisely when the largest deposit was about to be paid and you let it happen all while having a pregnant mistress at the time. Why? Because you thought you could convince her to have a second abortion? Shame on you. You, in no way, are owed money that my hardworking parents earned, nor is it ethical to strip them of their right to one day host their only daughter’s wedding. You sat there, holding my hand, as my father endured daily radiation and chemotherapy for months. He endured all this while continuing to go into the office every day and work; work for his family, and work so we could have the wedding he thought we deserved. A wedding I, alone, now deserve. To take that away from him; how could you possibly live with yourself?
If having a child has truly changed you, then this should be an easy task.
I hope you realize, this is about as nice of a letter you will ever get from me. I hope you realize it will also be the last. No final sticky note. No false niceties. Frankly, I don’t think you’ve changed nor ever will. I’ve considered that, perhaps, you are tormented deep down by some unresolved trauma. Perhaps you were raped, molested or abused in some way. I’ve considered this often, but then realize that a lot of us have unresolved traumas; myself included. We all have our own inner demons, yet we don’t use them as an excuse to lie and hurt others. That’s not how normal, good-intentioned human beings operate. Human beings, I believe, are inherently good.
You, I fear, were perhaps just born bad; evil to your core.
You’ve spewed lies to me once before about redemption; about working to become a better man. Well, here’s your chance to prove it. Apologies are easy for you; easy to fake. Giving money back will be hard for you, I’m sure. But it sure as hell will prove that you’ve done some work on yourself. And it sure as shit would speak wonders to your redemption in the eyes of the others who are watching you very, very closely right now.
I know you. I know you live in a fantasy world where you think everyone is on your side and believes your fake narrative. I’m sorry to break it to you, Monster, but there are tens of thousands of eyes on you right now, at this very moment. They are watching and waiting for you to do the right thing. You may think that my lack of mentioning your name has protected you and your reputation but, if anything, it has only made people more curious. Despite your best efforts to erase your identity’s searchability in Google, they know your name. They know her name. They know where you work, what you do and the 1-800 line to whistleblow your dishonest ass to FINRA and the SEC. These people reading and watching are your friends, your clients, your former clients, and even women who you think have an interest in you. So, perhaps its time to do the right thing. We’re rooting for you and I mean that wholeheartedly.
So, you know, try not to fuck it up this time.
And as far as your son’s mother is concerned, I have a letter for her, too.
***
PART II: DEAR OTHER WOMAN
Dear Other Woman,
I don’t know you and, if I’m being honest, sometimes I’m not sure I’d ever really want to. There are a lot of things that I don’t know; about you, your life, your son. I’d like to think that, in another life, we might have been friendly; having a mutual respect for one another. I’m sorry the Monster has robbed us so violently of that solidarity. I’m sure he has spoken false words about me to you just as he did about you to me.
I can’t imagine what you have been through and I know what I have written here has certainly not made this any easier for you. For that, I am wholeheartedly sorry. I am sorry to have caused you pain, though I must admit that, given the choice, I’d have to do it all over again.
The truth is, the Monster should have been better. He should have been better to you, to Sarah, to me and to the many other women silently involved in this tragic tale. If he had made better choices, this all would have ended differently. It would have ended better.
While I suspect you will never apologize, I want you to know that I forgive you. I forgive you because I know the Monster. I know he makes people think and believe things that seem absolutely crazy to us outsiders. I know how he spits venomous, manipulative words that make you feel hopeful for your future; hopeful for the white picket fence, the happy family and the loving, successful husband. You think he’s your safe haven, because that’s what he calls you, too. And sometimes, perhaps, you even think he has changed. But I know, deep down in your bones, that you realize this is all so, very wrong. Your safe haven shouldn’t have encouraged two abortions. A true safe haven wouldn’t have asked you to abort the beautiful son you both now hold in your arms. A true safe haven wouldn’t have openly told others he wished you’d lose the baby. You must know, deep down, that smiling pictures together on social media will never, ever change that.
The truth, my friend, is that you deserve better. You deserve the happy family, the loyal husband and that white picket fence. You deserve it just as I do, just as Sarah does and just as all the other girls who have been hurt by his years of abuse do. There’s a lot I don’t know and a lot I don’t understand. But I know, deeply and wholeheartedly, that those dreams of yours will never be achieved; not so long as you are involved with him. You are in complete control of your life and, while I pray desperately for your son, you do not have to be doomed to a life in his ominous shadow. You deserve happiness; peace. You deserve someone that is capable of loving you for exactly who you are, the good, the bad and the ugly. Someone who loves you not because he has to, not because of a child or because of social pressure to maintain his image. Not because he is in far too deep with his own lies. You deserve real, uncon-fucking-ditional love from a man. The Monster is not that. He is not a man.
A child has not changed his ways with you, just as an engagement ring did not change his ways with me. And each day you spend giving him another chance, allowing him to control your thoughts and emotions, is one day longer before you will find the love you truly deserve.
I know you see the signs. And I know, like I once did, you choose to ignore them. People will begin to worry about you. Perhaps, they already do. Friends and contacts will quickly fade away because of the inappropriate things he will say or do and, the longer you wait, the more isolated you will become; and the harder it will be to escape.
In a strange and, albeit, twisted way, I also want to thank you. Thank you for getting pregnant. I have no idea if it was intentional or not, but Jesus I am so glad he had to face his deception square in the face.
Your pregnancy is the reason I found out who he was before we got married; the reason I didn’t have to get divorced. It is the reason I fell in love with a man that truly deserves me. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.
I know you’re most likely reading this right now and hating me. To be honest, that’s okay. I get it. They say the things you need to hear the most are likely the ones you want to hear the least. My hope for you is that you read this now and let it sit. Let it sink in and really think about what you want in this short time we have here on Earth.
I hope this is the wake up call you need, the wake up call I wish I had been given sooner. I hope you re-read this in a week, a month, a year or whatever time you need and I hope it resonates differently then.
Regardless how long it takes, I will be here. I will be here for you. So will Sarah. So will the Jane Does. We are with you. Take all the time you need.
Take care of yourself, my friend.
***
PART III: DEAR LINDSAY
Dear Lindsay,
I’ve often imagined the plots of a fiction novels I could write. I’m sure you know by now that I usually have trouble sleeping; finding myself engrossed in more often bizarre, yet sometimes fantastically creative ideas. Ideas that come to me when I should be in a state of deep relaxation. In one particular story, I imagine a young girl, about seven years old, who befriends an middle-aged women; her imaginary friend. The friend would give her advice all throughout her younger years, encouraging her in her darkest and saddest moments. She would ultimately be the girl’s mentor; her hero. She always told the girl that things work out and that, in the end, it would all be for a purpose. In the end of the story, it would be revealed that the imaginary friend was in fact not imaginary at all. It would be revealed that the older women was that same little girl back from the future, ultimately proving that she, herself was her own hero.
With that in mind, I have a letter for you, Lindsay. I have a letter at seven years old, at 20 years old and at 30 years old. I hope you pay close attention.
***
Dear Lindsay (age 7),
I constantly marvel and laugh at your sense of adventure; always inventing and always imagining. I know sometimes you feel like you don’t fit in and some of the older, bigger kids think you are weird. For the record, they’re not wrong. You’re really odd. What you don’t yet know, is that being weird is one of your greatest gifts. You don’t think exactly like everyone else, and you don’t do what others expect of you. While you sometimes wish you were into Barbies and My Little Pony, you aren’t. You like pulling feathers out of pillows and naming them. You like watching the Chicago Bulls kick serious ass while putting different coins in different jars each time they score a two-pointer, a three-pointer or a free throw. You like writing down stories and making bizarre musical theater. While your classmates are dressing up as princesses and fairies for Halloween, you are hoping to be a skunk. You feel like you have to hide your quirks, but trust me; you will enjoy recounting these stories later in life.
I know right now the outside world seems really scary. You feel a nagging sense of uneasiness at all times. Perhaps its from moving homes and schools constantly or from other outside stressors in your life. I know you feel nauseous every day and have this constant fear of dying; perhaps fear of a Monster in your closet that your subconscious knows you will one day meet.
I promise you that, one day very soon, your Mom and Dad will take you to a man name Dr. Green. He will teach you about letting go, about healing and about learning to talk through and face your problems; problems that make you so devastatingly anxious at such a young age. You will soon prove to your family and friends that you’re not a shy, quiet girl after all. In fact, you are bounding with love, energy and joy. And one day, at about age 11, you will magically wake up and not give a fuck about what others think. (Don’t tell Mom I swore). You will learn to stand up to bullies, even when they are your friends. You will place your small 70 pound frame in between the meanest bullies on the playground and the kids they pick on. You will make friends with the cool kids, the losers, the nerds and everyone in between. You will learn the value of resilience and come to understand that your biggest challenges in life have also prepared you for all that will come next. Remember who you are, little one. Trust in yourself and that nagging intuition. When those stomach aches start again, it’s telling you something. Find the Monster and fight it.
***
Dear Lindsay (Age 20),
Well, you’re still weird, but I am nevertheless proud of the person you have become. You know yourself. You know precisely what you stand for and what you want. People constantly ask you want you want to do after college; what you will do with your degree.
“I just want to be happy,” is your favorite answer. It’s your favorite because it’s true.
I need you to sit down for what’s next. It’s going to be really hard.
Sometime after college, you are going to find someone you think you want to spend your life with. He will be your everything. You will become so blindly loyal that you will change who you are to fit who you think he wants you to be. Everything that once made you Lindsay will slowly dissipate into a thin air of nothingness. You will be subjected to things that the once powerful, resilient 11 year old would never have allowed; disrespect that you will never quite understand. Please wake up before its too late.
One day you will be at a party with him. You will have one drink and the rest of the night will go dark. You’re going to wake up on the wooden floor the next morning with bruises and blood. And the person you thought you loved will be standing over you. He will shame you, throw your clothes at you and tell you it’s over. You will never quite know the events of that night. You will never know what happened and you will never know why.
You will become numb for a very, very long time.
This will be one of life’s stories you never talk openly about. You won’t talk about it because you don’t remember it, understand it, or accept it. In many ways, you think that if you can’t recall anything, then it must not have happened. Yet, deep down, you know something was in that drink. Deep down, you know whatever happened was very, very wrong.
There are some things in life, Lindsay, that you are meant to forget and there are some you are meant to remember. This is somehow both.
I promise you, at the end of your days, this journey will all be worth it. You are merely seeing the ugliness of the world to open your eyes; to prepare yourself for a later, more difficult battle. It will take a very long time, but you will find what your soul desperately searches for. Learn to accept your demons. Face them. Look them dead in the eye. They will soon whimper; backing into the corner where they will lay dormant and eventually die.
You will later date those who are kind, considerate and compassionate. They will teach you a lot about what it means to be a man. It will prove to you, once again, that men and people are inherently good. Despite your hoping to make it work with these wonderful individuals, you will soon awaken from your slumber of numbness and your heart will start to long for a true soulmate. Dating someone to feel safe is not what you should seek. I’m proud of you for being able to see the difference.
Stand up tall, little girl. This is only the beginning.
***
Dear Lindsay (Age 30),
God you’re old. Why do I keep having to explain shit to you?
Alright, brace yourself. We have a lot to get through.
You’ve started dating your so-called soul mate, but are you sure? Are there nagging little details about him that you are trying to ignore? Ignore because, for the first time in what seems like forever, you are no longer numb?
Trust your instincts; trust that intuition that makes you so amazingly sensitive and emotionally insightful where others are not. Where are the pictures, friends or stories of his past? Why does nobody stay around for long?
Why do you stare at his phone and hate it; your subconscious always telling you to check it?
I know you tell yourself that you have a good relationship. You have a good relationship because you both “can communicate.” Just so we’re clear, just because you both like to talk, doesn’t mean you’re good at communicating. The only true issues in a relationship are not the issues themselves but not being able to talk though them. Have you two ever gotten though a conversation where he didn’t get up and leave? Have you ever gotten through an argument where he apologized? You cannot marry a person who thinks they are never wrong; a man who can never self reflect is not a man at all.
I know you feel like time is flying by, but please stop him now before it’s too late. I realize I’ve told you time and time again not to let your trust issues ruin a good thing, but please don’t overcompensate and allow yourself to distrust your intuition. I know you feel it deep down. The truth isn’t what it seems.
Why does he always accuse you of cheating? Why is it that you cannot have male friends? Lindsay, you know and understand people better than most. You’ve studied this and seen it. You know people project their own guilt, so why in the actual fuck are you not paying attention?
You are loyal, but don’t be blindly loyal.
You let him in, you allowed yourself to trust this man. But why? Think about what he did. Like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, he pulled out of you the dark pain and secrets of your past. He used your pain to gain your trust and then turned around to use it all against you; cruelly exploiting your trust issues. He lured you to show him your weaknesses by making up lies about his own life to relate. He is not new to this. He is a professional and has done it before.
*
He just proposed and you said yes. You’re really, really happy.
I fucking hate it.
I hate it because I know what happens. I know what happens and I’ve seen it through to the end. And while I wish wholeheartedly I could stop you from experiencing more pain in a lifetime than is fair, I know it’s all going to be alright. I know you know that it’s all going to be alright. I know this, because you’re thinking of advice that Dr. Green gave to you years ago.
Speak up.
And, out of nowhere, that bad ass little 11 year old emerged; ready and willing to fight the big, bad Monsters of the world. The once playground bullies were now rapists, abusers, and sociopaths. After years of standing quiet on the sidelines, tormented by her own suffering and grief, she’s back. You’re back and willing to speak loudly and unapologetically; for yourself and for the others.
What you’re about to embark upon is going to be difficult; emotionally, physically, spiritually. Know that you’re going to turn that pain into something bigger and better than anything we both could have ever imagined. You’re going to be judged, ridiculed even. Friends and family won’t understand completely your need to make things right; they won’t understand your need to speak louder than the rest this time. The fight will be worth it and, in the end, you’ll find your happiness.
This Chapter will be a long one, my friend, but it will be the one you are proudest of.
Little girl, you really are my hero.
***
Chapter XXII: The Beginning
February 22nd, 2020
Waking up in the morning felt different; lighter. As the sun beamed down on my face through the South window facing downtown, I welcomed the new day. I recall reflecting how, before, getting up had been difficult; a chore even. The unknown of what the day could bring brought more fear back then than joy.
Now, the mornings were full of hope; hope for what could be and what the future could hold for me now.
I rolled over to my right and saw Ben still asleep next to me with Paisley curled up in between us. I smiled, feeling the grin on each side of my face and I let out a large sigh of relief.
Home, I thought.
This is home.
***
The day started off as most Saturdays did with Ben and I.
He came in the front door, my iced coffee from Philz in hand; an unspoken ritual we had while I made him his favorite breakfast sandwich on the stove top.
It was his birthday not a few days before and the guilt had set in from not being able to be with him that Tuesday due to work travel. Today, I thought to myself, would be all for him.
We laughed and teased each other over the coffee table, spending the majority of our breakfast laughing and playing our favorite game, Monopoly Deal; slapping our cards down on the wooden table with our dramatically fictitious sense of competition.
“Suck it!” I said out loud, taking one of his properties; ultimately winning the hand.
Ben laughed and threw his head back in defeat.
“So where do you want to go for dinner tonight for your birthday?” I asked while shuffling the cards in preparation for the next hand.
Ben smiled mischievously, “Oh, I already booked it,” He said. “It’s a surprise.”
I looked at him quizzically. “But this is your birthday celebration. I thought you agreed I could take you to an early dinner anywhere of your choosing and then we’d meet all our friends out at Halligan’s?”
“That’s still the plan. I just wanted to surprise you with the spot,” he replied.
Ben loved surprises. Whether it was a new date night spot, homemade dinner or flowers, he loved to treat me to the simple treasure of anticipation; often dangling that there was a surprise waiting for me. He knew that, during the past two years, I desperately needed the anticipation of something good; a noble effort to distance me from the impending feeling of doom of which I had become so accustomed.
***
To explain Ben and my relationship would be highly complex, yet oddly simple. There were no secrets, no pretending. He saw me for exactly who I was. He knew the good, the bad, the ugly and even the pathetic. Where I’d usually be embarrassed being so exposed, I felt oddly at peace. There was an irrational sense of comfort having him see my true colors; both the vibrant and the painfully subdued.
The comfort and innate trust I felt was something that I was never quite prepared for and something I will never quite know how to explain. For years, getting out of bed to face the day felt like being a wounded soldier putting on their armor for battle; reluctantly entering the the front line for yet another day fighting a war I felt that I could never win. With him, I was now an army of two. With him, I had already won.
I looked at him as we played our card game; analyzing our friendship and our love. He was one of the few that knew all my secrets. He was the one who had seen me at my worst; toppled over in bed in heaving breaths and panic attacks. He saw my rage, my anger. He saw my hate and detest for those who had caused pain to myself and others. He saw all my darkness while gently holding my hand and nodding his head in empathetic understanding. For almost two years, he quietly, loyally fought the same battle next to me.
I sat there next to him and flinched at the thought of how I would sometimes look at him with frustration; frustration in thinking he would never get it. He would never understand my pain.
But he did.
He did because he was there. For all of it.
Ben was fully immersed in the same pain and torture. The same frustration and the same merry-go-round of suffering and then joy and then suffering again. He endured it all, yet he had the option to leave. A willing participant in a haunted fun-house that he had every opportunity to exit.
But he stayed. He stayed and navigated each corridor with the false mirrors, the trap doors and suffocating rooms.
He stayed with the girl in her, now, mid 30s, with an unknown future. He stayed with the damaged and sometimes pathetic girl. He stayed because he saw what she was struggling to see, herelf. He stayed because every now and then he saw the glimpse of that same little 11 year old girl she tried, every day, to summon from the depths of her being.
He stayed because he loved me; demons, scars and all.
***
It was a brisk yet sunny day in February. I took a walk outside alone enjoying each breath of my newfound freedom as I ran a few simple errands before making my way back home.
When I got back in, I laughed at Ben yelling in the apartment; running the vacuum all over our shared unit while he caught up with our friend, Jack, who was visiting Chicago for the weekend from Milwaukee.
I got ready in the bathroom for our dinner as Ben and Jack continued chatting in the living room; popping out from time to time to add my, self-proclaimed, color commentary to each of their anecdotes.
“Alright, it’s about that time,” Jack said as he got up to take his leave for the door. “I’ll see you both later at Halligan’s for the birthday shenanigans.”
We both waved as he walked down the hallway and Ben turned afterwards to offer a gentle embrace and kiss on my head.
***
An hour later, we gathered our things to get ready to leave the apartment. I debated between outfits, knowing all-to-well the Chicago weather wouldn’t hold its warmth for very long; opting for a long sleeve, white dress with mini black polka dots.
As I started primping in the hallway mirror, Ben emerged from our bedroom in his nicest slacks and a blazer. I looked and him and smiled the same ear-to ear grin that I had felt earlier that same morning lying next to him in bed.
“ I really love you,” I said softly.
***
As we hopped into the Uber, I still had no idea where we were going; Ben making sure the driver didn’t give the secret away.
We made our way Northwest on Lincoln Avenue, eventually turning right on Southport. Ben made small talk about sports and yucked it up with our driver. I looked over at him, to my left, admiring his ability to connect with complete strangers; his charisma genuine and sincere.
As we pulled up to our destination, I chuckled and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.
For our date, his birthday dinner, he had chosen our first date spot; Tango Sur.
***
We walked quickly into the busy and cozy restaurant; a swift escape out of the plunging temperature that had surrounded us as we exited the Uber.
The restaurant’s dimly lit ambiance coupled with the scent of wine filled my lungs and warmed my heart. We had come back here many times throughout our year together; times as friends and times as a couple. Birthdays, Valentines, anniversaries; each and every memory special and meaningful. We came here for fun; escape from the darkness. Now, there was no darkness, only a future with endless possibilities. For once, I could have a dinner of celebration without the devil on my shoulder warning me of what destruction could be waiting just around the corner. Those days were over.
As we sat down at our small and crooked, wooden table, the bus boy came to light our candle and bring us water. I watched Ben as he smirked and reached into his front jacket pocket; knowing all too well he had another surprise in store.
Like a magician, he pulled out a full bottle of wine that he had been hiding; a Cabernet that he knew I would enjoy and he would reluctantly partake in for the evening.
I laughed at his meticulous placement of the large bottle in his jacket, poking fun that he only dressed in a blazer to hide his simple, yet thoughtful surprise.
***
We ordered our usual, the filet for me and the ribeye for him; my eyes widening as the waiter put the beautiful slab of meat in front of my ravenous face. As I dug in and sipped my wine, Ben looked down at his food at the other side of the table, slowly moving it around his plate.
“Is it too rare for you?” I asked quietly across the table.
“No, I’m just not super hungry today; stomach is just bothering me a bit,” he replied through a smile. Seeing the subtle concern flash across my face, he continued, “How about we play a game?”
“What kind of game?” I chucked skeptically. Ben was always inventing and creating new games for us to play together.
“Let’s go through each year of our lives that we remember, or grades even, and tell a story from that year,” Ben said.
I laughed at the absurdity of the game, knowing it wasn’t a game at all; yet I obliged. I loved hearing his stories and I know he loved listening to mine.
We made it through most of our grade school years; recounting the funny, the traumatic and even the embarrassing years of our youth, Ben joking that I had many more years under my belt than he did at his youthful 27 years of age.
As we finished up our meals and wine, I noticed Ben had barely taken a bite.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“Don’t worry. My stomach is just a little upset,” he said still smiling. “It will pass.”
As I nursed the last few sips of wine, Ben excused himself to the bathroom, returning a bit later with the check paid. He pulled out my chair and we made our way to the Uber waiting curbside to head back home before meeting the rest of our friends at the bar across the street from our home.
***
Walking back into our apartment, I felt the tingles of the wine begin to set in as I jumped backwards onto our large sectional.
“So what’s next?” I asked Ben energetically. “Should we have people come here first, should we make a beer run; what sounds good to you?”
Ben sat down next to me and sighed deeply.
“Can we just relax a bit?” he said looking tired. “Maybe just play a game of Monopoly and listen to some tunes?”
“Of course,” I replied, getting back out the bright green cards in anticipation of kicking his ass.
***
As we picked up the cards for our first hand, Ben suggested another idea.
“Okay, the winner of the game gets to pick the next activity,” Ben said smiling.
“Ha! Deal,” I said with unwavering confidence.
As we made our way through the game, drawing and discarding cards, it came to an abrupt stop when he slapped down his winning card; blowing me out of the water.
“BOOM!” he said, putting both hands up over his head in an exuberant display of victory.
“Ugh,” I sighed. “Fine, what’s next then,” I asked through an air of false defeat.
Ben stood up and walked over to me and held out his hand.
“Actually, do you want to just dance with me for a bit?” he asked.
I smiled. “I do.”
***
I rested my head on his shoulder as we slowly danced in a tight circle in the living room. As he held me close, I smiled, quickly realizing the song he had chosen.
Rewrite the Stars.
It was a song I had once told him reminded me of him; of us.
As the beat picked up and the pace of the melody quickened, he pushed me out and spun me under his arm. I smiled, letting the wine high and feeling of freedom rush through my body and veins; taking in all the feelings of love and liberation that our relationship allowed me.
Taking my hand, he motioned and spun me yet again as I let go and spun a few more times on my own.
As the dizziness subsided and my laughter ceased, I turned back around to look at Ben.
There he was.
Down on one knee.
I walked over to him slowly as the song played on; dropping down to my knees, in front of him, bringing our faces back to eye level with one another.
You know I want you
It's not a secret I try to hide
I know you want me
So don't keep saying our hands are tied
You claim it's not in the cards
Fate is pulling you miles away
And out of reach from me
But you're here in my heart
So who can stop me if I decide
That you're my destiny?
“Lindsay,” he said choking up; holding back the tears. “I love you.”
I gasped for air, covering my mouth and letting the tears freely flow down my cheeks.
“I’ve always loved you,” he continued. “I want to grow old with you. I want to have a family with you.”
“Will you marry me?”
He opened the little red box and before I could even look, I wrapped my arms around his neck and sobbed my tears of surprise and joy into him.
I pushed my body back gently but firmly to look him in the eyes and smiled.
“Are you sure?” I asked sincerely while still knowing his answer.
“I’ve never been more sure,” he said.
I nodded my head yes and smiled through the tears.
“I love you so much, Ben.”
***
After the song finished, and the initial shock began to wear off, I stared at my finger and smiled as the tears came pouring out of me once more. Tears that were once the effect of destruction were now tears of pure joy.
“C’mon,” Ben said, motioning to have me put back on my jacket. “Let’s head up to the roof deck to take some pictures. I want to remember this night with you.”
I smiled and took his hand and we headed down the hallway.
***
As we got to the roof deck, we shuddered at the numbing cold wind atop our 20th floor. We walked over to the edge, my hand in his, and together faced the unobstructed view of the sprawling city of Chicago; the lights sparkling like stars amid the deep blue background of the sunset fading away in the distance.
He turned back to me, his nerves now gone and continued his proposal.
“Lindsay. I want you to hear this,” Ben began. “I want you to always remember this exact moment; right here, right now. I want you to remember that no matter what life throws at us, what disagreements we may have, what problems may arise, I want you to know that I love you. I love you and I will never hurt you. I will never cheat on you. I will never give up on you; on us. I am always going to love you and be here for you.”
For the first time in my life, I was speechless. I knew my silence was taken wholeheartedly as amazement; awe that I had found someone and something so pure, so real, so honest. My silence continued as I discovered the purpose of it all. I realized that I had gone through each and every grueling step in this journey we call ‘life,’ for the purpose of finding happiness. Happiness in my writing, happiness in my work and happiness in love. It wasn’t random, it wasn’t all for nothing. The universe had finally granted my wish.
“When I grow up, I just want to be happy.”
***
Ben took my hand on the roof and we walked back into the top floor. We waited for the elevator and walked in. As we rode all the way down, I began to ask all my questions.
“So, wait, are we still going to Halligan’s?” I asked.
“Yup!”
“Did you ask my Dad? Oh god, what did he say? Does everyone know?”
Ben chuckled, holding the elevator door as I walked out and started down the hallway to our 12th floor apartment. “Yes, they definitely know.”
As we walked inside, I turned around the corner of the long entryway hallway. As we both entered the kitchen, I looked up and again felt my hands quickly come up to cover my mouth.
“SURPRISE!” the large group yelled as my mind worked to process this new, subsequent shock. In front of us, were twenty of our closest family members; many of which had traveled from other states to be here for us in this moment. Across the once clear island, was an amazing spread of appetizers, cocktails, wine, cookies and even the stereotypical champagne flutes with Mr. and Mrs. etched neatly onto them.
After the shock passed, I looked at Ben and he wrapped his arms around me. In all my life, I had never felt so loved.
I made the rounds to each family member starting with his parents and then mine. My dad put both hands tightly around me as I began to aggressively sob into his arms. Sobs from knowing that, months earlier, I was unsure if he’d ever get the honor of walking me down the aisle.
As I composed myself, I looked over to my left and met eyes with my cousin and Matron of Honor, Kristy. She came over and we embraced for what seemed like minutes and the sobs began yet again.
And as I stood there, wrapped in the arms of a fellow woman, she whispered in my ear.
“This is what it should have always felt like.”
I cried harder, knowing and feeling how deep that truth was felt throughout the entire room. As we gently let go of each other, still holding on to the other’s arms she looked me in the eyes and smiled.
“It’s over now.”
***