Who's the sick one?

Some of my long-time readers remember I had at one point vented my spleen at length about some of the shit my ex-wife pulled on me but I just merely scratched the surface. At one point I said that she spread the word all over the town where we lived at in Arizona that I was some sort of sexual deviate.

It got so bad at one point that I was basically a prisoner in my own home when I was there. Last summer when I was still working on the railroad in the New River Gorge here in West Virginia, I would work six to eight weeks, then have two weeks off. I'd go home to Arizona for two weeks, and because of her shit, I could only go from my apartment where I was living to the post office and back home for the entire two weeks I was home.

I'd get a taxi at the airport, go home, pick up my voicemail and have twenty to thirty messages, all from her new boyfriend giving me a play-by-play to rival John Madden of what the two of them were doing in MY bed in MY home...

Not including emails and other shit. I'd have literally hundreds of them I'd have to sift through.

I was the fucking pervert though...

Because of her fucking shit I didn't have one friend left in Arizona by September of last year. She was sleeping with everyone else in the town, getting knocked up on a "business trip" to Atlanta the summer before...

But I'm the fucking pervert.

Now comes the irony.

A week or so before our wedding back in 96', we got a phone call from her mom. Her mom tells us my bride-to-be's brother is bringing his new bride to our wedding...

No problem, one more plate at the reception.
But there's a hitch.

"What's that?" I ask...

"She's young... Really young..."

"How young?" I ask...

Now, I've really got to tell you a few things now. At that time, nine years ago, her brother was forty-four years old. Back in the late seventies he was tossed out of the US Naval Academy at Annapolis for smoking dope. He was fired later from a major US airline where he was a pilot for having over a $500 a-day coke habit, and because of that can never again have a commercial pilot's license.

Then, after that, he was the president of several "Mail Order Work At Home" schemes, that netted him millions of dollars by bilking a lot of not-so-bright people out of their money, always one step away from the US Postal Inspectors and jail. Always losing the millions in months because of his on-going nose-candy problem.

Not a real pillar of the community, but he was going to be my new brother-in-law, so I was being nice.

I bit my tongue. Hard.

"So, just how young?"

"She's thirteen..."

Ok. I knew her brother was a sleezebag, but believe it or not, thirteen IS legal in Pennsylvania, with parental consent. I'm not saying it's right, just that it's legal.

So, like I said, I took the benefit of the doubt and chalked it up to one more fucked-up thing her brother did. Besides, from what I knew of here brother, this girl was probably one of those "Thirteen going on Thirty" teenagers.

Boy, was I fucking wrong.

So the joyous day arrived... Everyone gathered at the church. All my friends and family are there and then...

Her brother shows up with his new bride...

She looked like she was TEN FUCKING years old!

I shit you not.

Flat-chested, little sun dress on, glasses, and little girl berets in her hair...

She spent the day, not with her husband, but PLAYING with my twelve-year-old niece, playing and running around, hide and seek and tag! I though my sister was going to have a stroke! And my mom was fucking speechless.

What the FUCK!

Do you know how many cops were at my wedding? Do you know WHY I never got drunk at the reception even though I had a $1000 open bar?

Because I spent the entire fucking time going around from table to table trying to break up plots to kill this fuck.

This is how Goddamn stupid he was, not just for showing up with this little girl. I was approched at the reception by a very good friend of mine. Another cop I've known for a lot of years. To look at him you'd never in a million years think he was a cop. Long hair, beard, leather and tatted up. Looks like a card-carrying member of the Warlocks MC. He comes up to me and says:

"Hey Tommy, your new brother-in-law just tried to make a hot gun deal with me in the shitter. Can I take him out and beat the shit out of him?"

I'm the fucking pervert though. I'm the bad guy.

Who's the sick, fucked up family here? She's defended him through everything with this shit, but yet when she got tired of me and left me for some cowboy, she just couldn't leave well enough alone. I told her attorney last year I never wanted anything to do with her again, but yet she keeps trying to destroy my life. She's so pissed I'm actually trying to do something I've always wanted to do with my life, she just can't stand to see me happy.

But I'm the fucking pervert.

Because I wanted sex more than once a month, I'm the pervert? Fuck, I didn't even get a kiss let alone get laid on my fucking honeymoon for Christ's sake!

All this talk about "Same Sex" marriages, I was lucky to have a "Some Sex" marriage.

As soon as I slipped that ring on her finger it was like turning off a light switch.

I let her win last year; I also let her win this past February.

I'm not going to let her win again.

I'm finally happy now for the first time in ten Goddamn years and I'm not going to let her, or any of her other members of her fucked-up family do ANYTHING to destroy that happiness.

I can guaran-FUCKING-tee that.

Copyright 2005 Thomas J Wolfenden