I often forget the fact that I’m still married to an illegal immigrant, or maybe I block it out. The events of the summer of 2018 seem so far away in time and space; it all seems like a fever dream to me now. The only thing that proves this was all real is my legal status: a married woman. I let myself get so detached from this episode in my life, I only remembered when I had to check that box on my taxes. Only then, I thought to myself, “wow, I should really do something about this”.
It was one of those dreary days where a grey filter covers the land. I remember it clearly because the old Allen Inn looked incredibly musty when I first saw it peering through the fog on that brisk November afternoon. It was a historical building from the 1800’s made of brick and covered with rich, green verdure like laced stockings crawling up its sides. The Inn was located not far from my childhood home and I can remember riding my bike past it as a child. My pigtails matched the pom-poms that dangled from my handlebars as I glided down Fowler Street. At the time, I didn’t know what the place was, I only ever heard my mom say, “You better settle down or you’re going to the Inn!” I figured she meant she was going to book me a room all by myself so she could have some peace and quiet at home. Peace and quiet, that’s why I had returned to the place, to soothe my mind.
It was around Halloween when the 2017 version of It hit the theaters. Dude was a wannabe musician with skinny legs, a large butterfly tattoo, and a secret obsession with Stephen King’s Pennywise the Clown. I had overlooked his initial creepiness attributing it to the spooky holiday approaching (mistake #1). I actually enjoyed Halloween and horror films, until my date with Dude became one. We planned on attending a costume party that night; unfortunately that would never happen.