Bad Girl House

I suppose that most of us grew up having sweet dreams of someday being proposed to. I know that I did. I’ve always been a hopeless romantic. Although I had come to understand that all of the princess movies did not actually represent the ideal happy ending, or happy beginning for that matter, they were still a big influence on my views of romance. I imagined I was going to be proposed to by a handsome man, dressed in a tuxedo, as the sun was setting on a beautiful beach. He was going to surprise me as he got down on one knee to presented me with a gorgeous diamond ring. Then we would dance under the stars in a haze of happiness, to music that just started playing out of nowhere, like it was coming from the moon. I may have been a tough tomboy, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t dream about falling in love with my own Prince Charming.

In reality, my experience was nothing like that. One Saturday morning, John and I picked up Jonathan to take him to his Little League baseball game. We had to be at the field early, so it was still kind of chilly sitting there in the bleachers. It was the same game I would sit through many times over. The little boys in the outfield were daydreaming and pulling at the grass. The ones in the infield were paying a little bit closer attention since they were closer to the action, but they were still standing around kicking the dirt. Out of the blue, John said something that snapped me out of my own daydreaming. He told me that I should tell my mom that we were going to move in together. This was a huge surprise that I didn’t see coming at all. I hadn’t yet finished college, and I was scheduled to student teach during the coming fall. I was only a few steps away from starting my career. As John was telling me what I should tell my mom, I sat there in a bit of confusion. If she wouldn’t let me move out over the summer, he wanted me to tell her that we would just get married. I wasn’t sure that the timing was very good to jump into either option, but it did make me feel like a grownup to think about everything that I had going on.

It was put on my shoulders to present my mom with John’s ultimatum. Actually, he was giving both of us an ultimatum. John wasn’t actually asking me if I wanted to move in with him, and neither was he proposing to me. He was telling me what was going to happen. He was telling me what he wanted, and was making it happen whether I was sure about it or not.

Soon after this, I did talk to my mom like John had told me to. Even with her, I had trouble starting serious conversations, so I sat in my room and procrastinated for awhile. I heard her go into her room across the hall, so I figured now was the time to force myself to bring it up. I knocked on her door, and asked if I could come in. Mom was folding laundry and had her back to me. I just stood there a few minutes, wringing my hands. I started out talking about something lighter than the subject that I was dreading bringing up. Finally, I just had to make myself blurt out the possibility of John and me moving in together. She immediately turned around, and told me that she thought I was too young for that big step. This was the first time she gave me a hint of concern when it came to me and John. I just wish it would have stopped me from continuing. I wish that I would have taken a step back to make a decision without John’s voice in my ear. I might have agreed with my mom, and sorted out what was happening.

My heart raced as the next words came out of my mouth.

“Well, if you won’t let me move out, we’ll just get married this summer.” I was so afraid of her reaction. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her to be excited, or to demand that there not be a wedding. An extremely high-pitched, motherly, “What?!” flew out of her mouth, as she took a step towards me. I don’t at all remember how that immediate situation resolved itself, but it wasn’t long before we were quickly planning a small wedding.

I now believe that John knew what he was doing. If he got me to move out of my parents’ house, he would have that much more control over me. If we got married, then I would be legally attached to him. He also may have seen that as not only as control but also as ownership.

One of the first things to be taken care of were the flowers. A popular florist in the area had been a student of my mom’s, so that’s where we were going to go. My mom and I invited Nana to go with us. The two of them didn’t see each other very much and were soon to be related, so it seemed like a good idea. That morning, before we left, I was having terrible menstrual cramps. The kind that give you an upset stomach, and make you want to hide under a mountain of blankets. Hoping they would subside, I thought we should keep our appointment. As we looked through books of bouquets, my stomach was going from bad to worse. The moment came when I knew I needed to get up and go to the restroom. As soon as I got there, I broke into a cold sweat. My stomach had had enough, so it let go. It was such a small shop, and I wondered if everyone in the place heard me. Both my mom and Nana came in to check on me. My mom said that she would make a decision on the flowers, because she knew what I would like. Since I felt like I was about to die, that was perfectly fine with me. All I could do was nod my head yes. It was some time before I felt well enough to stand up and venture out of the bathroom. Mom showed me pictures of arrangements and bouquets containing purple orchids. I thought that they were beautiful, and was definitely happy with what she had chosen. I just wanted to go home and sleep.

Later on, Nana made it a point to talk to John about this. She wanted him to make sure I was actually happy with the flowers, and that I wasn’t just accepting what my mom wanted. When Nana’s wedding was being planned, she had felt bullied into choosing things that she didn’t want. Even though both she and John wanted me to go back to the flower shop and look at the books again, I assured them that I was perfectly happy with my final decision. That being said, I grumble every single time I see an orchid. Not because of my mom’s decision, but because of the fateful day they remind me of.

Both mothers also went dress shopping with me. I didn’t have any close friends to do this with me, so they were all I had. A day of unsuccessful searching at some of the larger stores brought us to a small boutique. It was a much more intimate setting, and I felt more comfortable there than at the stores with rows and rows of white dresses. I wasn’t even sure exactly what I was looking for. This would probably be one of the fanciest dresses I would ever wear. But it didn’t turn out to be. The dress that I felt the most comfortable in was quite simple, even young-looking. It didn’t have sleeves, but flowery lace covered my chest, shoulders, and back. The same lace covered the rest of the dress that would be hemmed to almost touch the floor. Even though it wasn’t an overly mature-looking dress, I did like it. I wasn’t going to have to stuff myself into an uncomfortable contraption that I would be yanking at all day long. Both my mom and Nana also thought it was the best dress that they had seen on me. Reflecting back on that choice makes me wonder if my mom was leaning me towards the dress’s conservative style to keeping me looking younger. I have a feeling that I was doing that to myself, too.

The rings were the one thing that John and I went shopping for together. For a few years I had been wearing a cheesy looking band made up of hearts that John had gotten me. It was the kind of rich a high school boy would buy as a promise ring. It was definitely never called an engagement right, since it had never been talked about, yet here we were, all of the sudden rushing to throw together this wedding. My mother grew up next to a jeweler, so there was no question where we were going to start. John wanted wedding bands that looked like braided ropes, but wasn’t sure he would find exactly what he was looking for anywhere. There was nothing at all on display like John wanted, but there were gold rope bands in a catalog. He was happy enough with them, so they were ordered. There had been no engagement ring, and now there were no traditional diamonds. My wedding band may not have been what I wanted, but it was definitely an improvement over the cheap heart ting I had been wearing.

John actually researched and found an adorable place to have the ceremony. It was a small house that had been made into a church for the very purpose of having weddings. Even its location was a bit secluded, so it felt like going back in time to get married out in the country. It was a tiny white church, surrounded by trees, with a small gravel parking lot. Walking in to meet with the pastor for the first time, the interior wasn’t what I was expecting after seeing the plain white siding on the outside. There was beautiful, dark wood covering the walls, as well as framing everything. There were several rows of long pews made of the same dark wood. The floor was raised in front of the pews, with a large stained glass window in the center of the wall. That day the sun was shining through it just right, making all of its colors dance right out of the window and into the room. The pastor described the service that he normally performed, including the music he would use, and gave us the legal paper work that we needed to take care of. He walked us around the rest of the house, and showed me the loft that was meant for the bride to get ready. After seeing everything, I could definitely imagine my wedding taking place there. I was starting to feel excited about what was about to happen.

The days leading up to the wedding weren’t very eventful. There were no bachelor or bachelorette parties. We didn’t have any friends to speak of throw us one. We did have a quick rehearsal at the church, but there wasn’t any big rehearsal dinner afterwards. There was really no build-up to one of the biggest days of my life.

August 14, 1999 finally arrived. That morning, I got my hair done by Dennis, the owner of the beauty shop I had been going to for years. I didn’t have any specific ideas, so I told him to be as creative as he wanted to be. He put all of my hair up in curls and twists that I thought turned out very well. My parents and I got to the church early so I could continue getting ready in the loft. I wanted to get up there before too many other people started arriving.

The weather on that day was much different from the first time I had visited the church. It was cloudy and raining, making the wood inside of the church look even darker than it did before. When we walked through the sanctuary, there was no magical light shining through the stained glass window. Its colors still stood out, but were much more muted.

My mom helped me carry my things upstairs. Even though my dress was far from complicated, she made sure I had no problem getting into it and zipping it up. When I finished putting on my makeup, I started peeking over the railing of the loft to see who else was there. Our guests were our families and the friends of our parents. I should also say that most of those were friends of my mom. I hadn’t had friends who I would have invited since my freshman year of college. John didn’t have any friends to speak of, either. We had traveled to Columbus to attend the wedding of a close friend of his when we started dating, but they had a falling-out soon after. The only friends that John’s parents invited were their next-door neighbors. I was careful not to be seen while I was peeking. I could tell who was there by listening to everyone talking. There were definitely voices that were missing. It was almost time for the ceremony to start and John and his family still hadn’t come through the doors. I couldn’t help but pace back and forth, wondering if he was going to show up. With about fifteen minutes to spare, I heard that they had just pulled up. He told me later that he had been very close to not showing up at all, but his parents talked him into going.

Weeks before the wedding, I had made the decision to walk down the aisle by myself. Between discovering that I wasn’t who I thought I was, and the normally strained relationship with my dad, I didn’t feel comfortable with the traditional giving-away of the bride. My mom had mentioned that he would still escort me down the aisle if I changed my mind, but it just didn’t feel right. She even suggested that I have my grandpa step in. As close as I was to him, I still felt that walking alone was what felt right to me.

The pastor came up to the loft to tell me that he was ready to get started. I took a deep breath and picked up my bouquet of orchids. I looked down at it, trying to calm myself. I slowly came down the stairs, and walked around the back of the pews. Everyone stood up as I was about to turn down the center aisle. John was standing at the end of the aisle, not quite smiling. I don’t recall the ceremony itself, and I have no idea what was said by us or the pastor. After the ceremony, we didn’t stand in the back of the room and wait for people to come to us, like is often the case. Since the room was rather small, the pastor suggested that we work our way back up the center aisle, and greet people as they emptied each pew. After greeting our guests, we stayed a little while longer to take pictures with the photographer. . Weeks later, when I saw the pictures, I noticed that they came out looking very old-fashioned because of the atmosphere and decor of the church. They reminded me of the somber pictures where couples didn’t stand near each other or even smile. It seemed to be what the photographer was artistically trying to create, and it wasn’t far from illustrating the truth. I remember one picture in which John sat in a large, high-backed chair. I stood to the side of the chair, but still behind him. My hands rested on the back of the chair, instead of on John’s shoulder.

Right after the photographer was finished with us, we left the church and headed for the reception. John complained to me that I hadn’t introduced him to the people who he didn’t know. I told him that would have been difficult. If I had had a conversation with each person and introduced and introduced them to John, it would have taken some time for everyone to file out of the church. I tried to explain this to him, and added that he would be able to meet them when we got to the reception. He still felt insulted, and it influenced the rest of our night.

We were hosting the reception at a local restaurant. When we got there, everyone was visiting and having a good time. I didn’t know whether to talk to people or to follow John around like a puppy. I was worried that he would become even more upset if I wasn’t by his side all the time. We did have the traditional wedding cake. My brother, who was a professional baker, had made a beautiful cake, covered in strawberries and flowers. When it was time for the cutting of the cake, John grabbed my elbow and whispered intensely in my ear.

“Make sure that you don’t get any cake on my suit.” I thought that I was the one that was supposed to be worried about getting icing on my dress. John apparently did not want the traditional smashing of the cake into his face. I didn’t want him to do that to me, either, but I wasn’t going to say anything. We each picked up a small piece of cake. John’s eyes were still telling my to be as careful. After John took his bite, part of the cake that had been in my hand did tumble onto John’s suitcoat. His eyes looked at me with such anger. He frantically grabbed for a napkin and stuck it in a glass of cold water. He then began dabbing at the spot on his coat where the cake had hit. I just kept upsetting him on our wedding day.

As the night went on, I heard that a band was going to be playing , and that people could dance in the area nearby. John always talked about what I good dancer he was, and we still had never danced together. This would have been the perfect opportunity. I wanted to wait around until the music started playing, and was hoping John would agree. This was supposed to be a romantic day of celebration, and I thought that this would be a great ending. It would make up for any problems I had caused earlier in the day. But John wanted nothing to do with waiting and told me that he was too tired to stay any longer.

The thing that still stands out to me the most about that evening was something that one of my mom’s best friends said to me. She was a school guidance counsellor, and a good reader of people. She pulled me aside and didn’t hesitate at all with what she needed to say.

“If he ever hurts you in any way, you be sure to let me know.” What had she observed about him that day? Was it his stinging glares, the sharp tone of his voice? Had everyone seen all of that? Had my mom expressed worries to her close friend? I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as she said that to me. I promised her that I would get ahold of her if I needed to. I walked to the bathroom to be alone for a moment. I was trying not to break down and cry. Getting married wasn’t going to change him. He was more angry than he had been in some time. Whatever it was that she had seen, I can still hear her warning. I ended up breaking my promise to contact her if he ever hurt me. I never told anyone about the abuse while it was happening.