Bad Girl House 12

Before the school year was over, John’s father needed him in Ohio to work with him full time. This was going to make it even more difficult for him to travel back and forth between Virginia and Ohio. John convinced me that it would be much more convenient for us to move back to Ohio. Him working full time would pay more than I made teaching, and I was going to be on maternity leave as the next school year began. John told me that I was to resign from my teaching job as soon as possible. Besides simply stating the real reason, he wanted me to say that teaching while pregnant was becoming too difficult. It must have never crossed his mind the inconvenience my leaving meant for the other teachers or the loss for the students. I set up separate meetings with the principals of each building. Three times, I had to explain why I needed to immediately leave my position. I felt more ridiculous each time I said it, especially since I was only five months pregnant. From behind their desks, they stared at me dumbfounded. I would have much rather finished the school year, but I had no choice but to continue with my fabricated excuses until each principal gave in.

It wasn’t long before the apartment was full of packed boxes. The same boxes that had just recently been unpacked. They were again ready to put into a moving van. John’s brother Tom came down to help move the heavy appliances and furniture. While he and John were maneuvering the washing machine through the front door, John whispered something to me. I don’t remember what he said, but I do remember starting to cry. I tried to hide my face from Tom, but he could see that I was holding back tears. All he said was, “Geez, it’s just a washing machine.” I went back in the house to find another box I could carry to the van.

I pulled out in my truck with Jessica in the backseat. Tom slept in the seat beside me for most of the trip. John followed behind us driving the rental van. The winding, mountainous roads made it difficult not to get quite far ahead of John. The van was not equipped to keep us with me while holding its load. At a planned stop, John was visibly upset as he got out of the van. In front of everyone at the rest stop, he yelled at me because he kept loosing sight of us. I was already anxious about driving all the way back to Ohio, and now had to be very aware of how fast I was going, and if I could see John in my rear view mirror.

Our trip would end in the parking lot of the apartment complex we were moving into. The day of our move, as well as the time we left Virginia, was specifically scheduled for the moment we were allowed to get into our apartment. I had talked to the leasing agent far in advance, and everything was in order. When we arrived, we were greeted in the parking lot by John’s parents. John told me to walk over to the office to get the keys for our apartment. The woman in the office checked for our paperwork. After leafing through her files several times she informed me that there was not an apartment ready for us that day. Somehow something didn’t get finalized, and it would be weeks before another apartment would be ready. It didn’t even cross my mind to get upset at her or to figure out who had made the mistake. She told me to give her a call during the coming week to make sure we were on the list for an apartment. I didn’t want to believe what she had said. I had leave the office to tell John something had gone wrong. All of the blame would be placed on me, because I was supposed to have taken care of this. I took a deep breath before pulling the door open. As I walked back towards the van, John was starting to sit boxes on the ground. I called out for him to wait.

“How could you possibly have screwed up something this important? I can’t trust you to do anything.” John’s parents stood staring at us.

“Now where in the hell are we supposed to live for the next three weeks?” His mother stepped between us, and offered to let us stay with them while we waited.

“I guess we have no other choice.”

While staying with John’s parent, his abusive behavior didn’t stop, but it did curb him from hurting me physically. For three full weeks of dirty looks firing across rooms, while keeping up the front that everything was fine. There was also the added stress waiting for an inevitable screaming match between John’s parents. I felt like I had to walk on eggshells around each and everyone that I was staying with.

Fortunately, John and his father were working almost everyday of the week. That meant that not only were the two of them out of the house, but so was his mother because she always went with them. I was left in a house where I didn’t fee comfortable or welcome, but being alone with my daughter helped me relax.

When we were finally able to move into our apartment, I prayed that John’s abusive outbursts would continue to be less frequent. I did know that they could potentially get worse, because he would no longer have an audience. There was a sense of freedom in not being under his parents’ roof, but they were completely aware that they had been my protectors.