My seven year-old sister and I rode the bus ten miles to visit our dad every other weekend. We had a long walk from the bus stop to his house. We picked flowers from people's yards to give to Ida because we thought it might soften her up a little. We really just wanted her to like us and not be so mean. She'd smile and thank us and tell us how sweet it was, and later, she'd yell at us to stop climbing trees and to "go do the goddamn dishes, you little brats."
Ida had a lazy left eye that looked off to the side and hair that was a wild, frizzy nest of rust. She was lean and tall, her skin a tan shade of leather. She stomped around the house barefoot and seemed to hate every one and every thing. "Get me my goddamn cigarettes, you ugly asshole!" She threw a plate at Dad's nose and cut it. He bandaged it up and the three of us piled into the Ford Econoline 350 to go downtown.
We always tried to look into his wallet to see how much money he had. He said he didn't even have any, even when we saw some. He "only had enough to buy Ida's cigarettes"...and some dark chocolate, her favorite treat. Later, Dawn and I would rummage around the house for change and find some and walk down to the 7-11 for candy or to McDonald's for twenty-nine-cent hamburgers.
Almost every Saturday morning, Ida went dumpster diving and came home with a giant bag of donuts. I usually said, "No thanks," but sometimes I'd actually take one and just go throw it outside somewhere. She had lost her baby daughter in a fire, and I knew that's why she was the way she was. The donuts thing was nice. I felt sorry for her. Hated her, but felt sorry for her, for sure.
When Ida kicked Dad out, he shacked up in a burned-down house's garage on an avocado grove for a couple months. My brother, my brother's friend Rick, and I spent the night in sleeping bags. My brother and I were used to sleeping bags; we had "camped" for three months with Mom and Harry when we all left Dad a couple years prior. I used to fantasize about Ida and Harry meeting and falling in love and killing each other. It's ugly, I know.
I developed a huge crush on Rick. We held hands one night and said we'd be boyfriend and girlfriend. He told me in the morning, though, that he didn't want to be my boyfriend any more. I was heartbroken. My crush on him lasted all the way through 12th grade. I even included the words, "I love you, Rick Haskell," in the 50 words they allotted every one for our "Senior Memories" in the back of the yearbook.
When he asked me out to lunch, five months after I'd left my husband, I was super excited. I hadn't seen or heard from him much in ten years. I saw on facebook that he was married with children, so I thought we'd just hang out as friends and catch up. That was just as well, because I had just broken up with my boyfriend, too (the one I'd left my husband to be with, #1), for the umpteenth time that morning. I had cheated on him again (when I didn't want to, again) (#15). So, I was done with relationships for awhile. I was relieved when I saw that Rick was taken. It meant I was safe.
But when we were at lunch, he told me that his wife had left him and taken the kids, and that he had seen that I was "Separated" on facebook.
Fuck.
It was all too familiar (see #9). For some reason I found myself opening up to him, and I told him that yeah, I'd left my husband, I was an alcoholic, and I was probably a sex addict, because I left my husband for another man (#1) but then couldn't stop cheating on that man with other men (#2 - #15). Then, I even described my sexploits up to that point.
Oops.
I knew I had fucked up. After lunch I asked him to take me home, but he wanted to take me to a friend's house to "watch a movie". (Yeah right.) I didn't want to go, but he was persistent. I knew I shouldn't have told him that I thought I was a sex addict. After all, I was "trying to change". But I'm powerless when it comes to men, I now know -- I can't, and therefore don't, say, "No."
So, Rick and I went to his friend's, and we cuddled on the couch, and I pretended to fall asleep.
Finally, it was 6:30, so I had him take me to a meeting. Thank God I have an out, I thought. He wanted to come in with me, but it was a closed meeting, for alcoholics only. "Hey, I'll just say I'm an alcoholic. Actually, I do drink quite a bit," he tried. But this time, I did tell him, "No...you just can't do that...it's only for people who have a desire to stop drinking." It worked. Phew. I needed to get away from him, and this was my only chance.
After the meeting was over, I turned on my phone and there were a few texts from him. He wanted to say goodbye before he drove back to the city of San Diego. He'd take me to dinner, he said. I wanted either not to respond, or to say no.
Well, I am hungry, so...we'll go to dinner, and I'll just have him drop me off, end of story.
He picked me up and took me through a drive-thru.
We went to my house, and I said, "Well, okay, goodnight, thanks!" and got out and closed the door and was almost to my front door when...
I can't make him eat his food on the freeway, poor guy. I'll let him in...just to eat...and then he has to go.
Rick was grateful and promised he'd leave right after he ate.
But...I can't make him drive 60 miles on the freeway at this time of night...
As long as we don't have sex...it'll be okay...
I offered to let him spend the night. I told him, explicitly, that I didn't want to have sex with him, and he agreed we wouldn't.
So, I turned off the lights, except the TV, and got into bed. I was still wearing my jeans and T-shirt and bra -- I didn't want to take anything off. But, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him take off all his clothes, except his boxer briefs, before getting into the bed right next to me. I could feel heat emanating from his muscular body. He was an army vet, he worked out, I knew that - but - oh, fuck, was he hot!
Not only did I have a hot, almost-naked man in my bed, I had Rick Haskell in my bed, the guy on whom I'd had a crush for eleven years of girlhood. I had longed for this moment to repeat itself ever since that night at the burned-down house-garage...
So, okay...
I was screwed.
I had a really hard time getting rid of him the next day. He wanted me to go with him to his place, but I told him I had to go to another (closed) meeting. He wanted me to come down to see him when I was done; I told him I'd text him when I got out. I blocked his number. I removed him on facebook. I didn't look back.
But I saw him at a meeting nine months later, the same one at which he'd dropped me off before. I suspected he went there to find me. I apologized for "losing" his number when I "changed phones," and he gave me his number again and asked me to text him. When I hugged him I felt his hard chest, and I remembered him holding me in the air with his strong arms...
So I threw his number away as soon as I got home.
I haven't seen him since.
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