It Takes Two

Chapter 4

Save One Bullet

'Torture him', the mirror had told me. I could follow the mirror’s good advice and shred Tom piece by piece for the next thirty or so years instead of divorcing him. Then, again, as I ruminated over the last twenty years, and the imbalance of our relationship, perhaps things were never as rosy as they had seemed. Had mom’s progressing dementia become such a focus in my life that I missed the signs of a failing marriage?

Just for fun I whipped out a pen from my purse and grabbed a napkin to make a list of all the things that annoyed me, hurt me, or generally pissed me off about our marriage.

1. Tom’s ridiculous money philosophies

2. His peacockery- fancy clothes, haircuts, etc.

3. His ridicule and disrespect

4. Having to wait on his useless work pals and their sluts

5. God damned golf. I hated it. Always have and always will.

6. He never asked me how my day went while he bored me to death with tales from the dullest job on earth- insurance broker...zzzzz

7. His snipes about my weight, hair, lack of phony eyelashes, crazy painted-on eyebrows, and Dolly Partonish makeup.

8. Nothing I ever did was quite good enough for him.

9. He hasn’t visited Mom since she went into the nursing home over a year ago. He couldn’t even pretend to care.

10. How he bitched at me about literally everything.

11. Lastly, why am I just noticing these things now? WTF is wrong with me?

Oh, God. I’m a crazy woman, I almost said out loud as I reviewed my scribbled observations on the wrinkled napkin. I’ve been living like a hunk of dog shit being dragged around on someone’s shoe for the past twenty years and didn’t know it. It’s not like Tom all of a sudden turned into a selfish, foolish slob. How could I have played dumb all these years?

Maybe I was too caught up in caring for my mother, working as many hours as I could get at the school, all my volunteer work, and keeping up with my book club to notice who I was married to. That probably happens to many women my age. Feeling comfortable, not wanting to look too deeply into our marriages. Settling for what we had so we wouldn’t rock the boat. As I was now finding out, rocking the boat had to be done carefully because there was always a chance you were going to end up in the drink with your spouse.

After several more reviews of my list of ‘cons’, and a trip to the ladies’ room to empty my bladder of leftover wine and a carafe and a half of coffee, I drove across the parking lot to the hotel. Hardly any cars in the parking lot assured me there would be a room at the Inn for me tonight. Leaving Tom’s ripped-up, oversized hoodie in the car, I quickly ran through the dark, spooky parking lot and into the well-lit lobby.

Handing over my license and credit card I asked for a suite with a kitchenette for a week. The clerk took down the information and ran the card, never mentioning that the address on my license said I lived about ten miles away. A sale is a sale is a sale, I suppose.

The first thing I did, after inspecting the room for hidden strangers, was to take a long, hot shower, using up almost all of the little soapette scrap hotels give you and scrubbing the sweat out of my dark, brown locks with the minuscule bottle of shampoo. Speaking of my dark brown locks, it looked like that damned skunk had appeared on top of my head again. Time for a touch-up, I thought. Then, I realized I didn’t have to ask Tom’s permission to visit my favorite hair salon and get the works. While I was at it, I was going to shop and pick up a few fancy new outfits instead of stealing outdated clothing from my mother’s closet, I was going to treat myself. It was time.

Oh, it was time.

I shut my phone off and climbed into the queen size bed, luxuriating in having the entire thing to myself. The coffee should have kept me buzzing. But after the excitement and adrenaline dump had passed from my almost double murder I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

In the morning I flipped through all the credit cards in my wallet, noticing that the only ones I carried were the lower limit ones. Mr. Fancypants had all the big ones. That could easily be fixed as soon as I got back to the house. I wonder what his girlfriend would say after he’d fished through his wallet for card after card as they were all denied.

In The morning I threw my clothes on and hustled downstairs for the free breakfast, eating enough to take me through until dinner. I texted my book club to let them know my mom was under the weather again and they should go on without me for a while. In return I got a flurry of encouraging and loving texts from my friends, making me think that I should have married my book club instead of Tom. They all seemed to care about me.

Well, next time, I thought. I texted the school office to double-check my subbing for Thursday and asked what I had to do to get my check deposited into my savings account. Darla, the secretary messaged me back right away, asking if I could also cover Friday for Mrs. Reader as well. She told me we could change the deposit method on Thursday before classes.

Cha-ching! More money for my very own personal bank account. Bit by bit I had to begin reclaiming my life. I called the insurance company Tom worked at and gritted my teeth when Miss Boobie, Tom's favorite slut, answered the phone. “Good morning, you have reached the office of Nelson and Wesson Insurance Company. This is Marcia, how may I help you?”

In my head, I thought, ‘Marcia, dear, could you please choke on the next cock you swallow?’ But out loud I said, “Hi, Marcia, this is Tanya Nelson, Tom’s wife.”

“Oh, uh, hi, hello. What can I do for you?” She burbled uncomfortably.

“Well, Tom seems to think that I will burn through his million-dollar insurance policy before his body gets cold, so he wanted me to change it to Three million. I think he’s crazy. But, what do I know? I’m just a teacher,” I chuckled. “Could you please send the paperwork to me? We’ll fill it out at home?’

“Sure, no problem. I’ll just give him the paperwork before he leaves tonight,” she offered.

“No, he said he’s busy with a big client and I need to learn how to do these things for myself. Good grief, it sounds like he’s getting ready to leave me or something,” I teased, hoping to get her all excited over nothing...like she did when she worked overtime, getting pounded on top of Tom's messy desk with his little pipe cleaner.

I almost laughed as I pictured her naked, frozen body tied to the top of my Prius in February in Syracuse. I would be picturing dozens of such scenarios in my head over the years. As long as she was going to be living rent-free in my brain she may as well amuse me.

“Okeedokee, what the boss wants, the boss gets,” she replied, clueless to the fact that I was well aware of the truth of her statement.