Put It On My Tab!

I met him when I was twenty.

I dropped out of high school ran and away from home at sixteen.

I got married at seventeen. 

By nineteen, I had two young daughters.

I was a collection of banal statistics.

My husband, Jim, had hair that hung straight down his back, parted in the middle; the color, two drastically different tones. You could catch him walking hurriedly across campus clad in vertically striped bell bottoms, an old t-shirt, and no shoes. He wore square, green-tinted, ironic little glasses. He reeked of patchouli as if he bathed in it. I wore my dark blonde hair the same way. I wore no makeup. I woke up each day and pulled on the same ensemble: broomstick skirt, black combat boots, and a camisole, sans bra.

I spent my days cooking, cleaning, and entertaining two toddlers. I worked part-time at the campus daycare which meant, the girls could attend at a discounted rate. Early each morning, I dressed the girls according to the weather, plopped them in the double stroller, and pushed them a mile to the daycare, only to repeat the process four hours later. I paid the bills. I handled all of the paperwork for our government aid, and filled out Jim’s quarterly student loan forms. 

As we had no vehicle and our nearest relative was over two hundred miles away, getting to the grocery store or to a doctor’s appointment presented its own set of challenges. Luckily, we had friends that were willing to haul me and two babies across town, wait, and then drive us home. 

We lived in the Family Housing area on campus which was set about a mile or two back from the main campus. The house was tidy, the old flower beds made lush and bright, and the yard well-maintained. We did not own a weed eater so I took my kitchen scissors and went to it.

I had obtained my GED and attempted to take some college classes but gave it up as a lost cause. My children and work had to come first. Jim was in school on what seemed to be a four-year plan for a two-year degree in Graphic Design. He avoided all confrontation. He was a staunch pacifist. He preached non-conformity. He was vehemently against The Man… yet he also preached acceptance, tolerance, and peace. He idolized Kurt Cobain and John Denver in equal measure. He was a barefoot, two-toned walking contradiction. 

“I’d rather burn out than fade away, Maaan.” 

Our girls were impish little creatures with blonde hair and big blue eyes, they were both very bright. They were clean and well-dressed. We were some kind of wannabe-hippie couple of the 90’s but underneath all the incense simmered an ever-growing river of resentment.

His classmates were regular fixtures in our home from early morning on. Most lived off-campus and did not have time to run home and be back in between lectures and labs. On average, between one and fifteen people would be in our 1,200 sq-ft. home. Essentially, our home, our children’s home, became Jim's Lounge. I used to joke that we should have a cover-charge. 

Activities included: watching TV that was inappropriate for small children, listening to music as Jim showed off his 15" Cerwin Vega's as they bumped deafeningly throughout the house, as well as taking bong rips from his handmade double-chamber bamboo bong. Throughout the ‘hours of operation,' I sat in the rear of the house with the children; we would play in their bedrooms or we’d lie across our bed in our room, watching Winnie-the-Pooh. 

Jim seemed content to manage The Lounge and be a career student, rather than actually grow-up, graduate, get a haircut, and get a real job. It was during one of those times, tucked away in the back of the small house, that the novelty of it just... faded away…

I loved our family.

I loved our home.

I loved being a mother.

But—

I was a bored.

I was lonely.

I longed for conversation with people that were older than three and a half.

I adored my time with my daughters but I despised the life I once loved. If Jim tried to touch me in any way, my skin crawled. As one of the sticker's on his precious bong read, “Familiarity breeds contempt.”

After several months of forlorn skulking about the house, Jim mentioned that some of our friend's that did live on campus a few blocks over were having a party. He encouraged me to go. The girls were down for the night and I yearned for freedom. I shimmied out of my skirt and pulled on a short, baby doll dress and pulled on my combat boots I even took a moment with my hair and put some light makeup on. I told Jim not to wait up, gave him a perfunctory kiss, and let the night swallow me whole.

I could hear the music and the people before I could see the house. As I drew near, I saw several clusters of people standing on the lawn, drink in hand; smoking cigarettes. I ambled up the walkway and entered the house. There were SO many people there! I was surprised the campus police hadn't made an appearance yet but the night was young and full of possibility! 

As I stepped into the entryway, a small, opaque, cup was handed to me. I peered into it and inquired, “JELLO?”

“I think it’s what’s in the JELLO that you want,” a husky voice quipped. I looked up and fell into eyes of the deepest blue. 

The blue was like that of an ocean right before a massive storm, they were almost grey. He smiled a charismatic smile full of pearly whites. He had short, disheveled, sandy-blonde hair. His face was all chiseled cheekbones, strong jawline, a somewhat crooked nose, and deep dimples. He was wearing cargo pants and a long-sleeved thermal pullover with three small buttons at the throat; all of which which hung faultlessly from his tall, well-built frame, and he smelled delicious. His presence oozed Sex. So, why in the Hell was he looking at me? 

“I’m Scott, by the way It’s nice to meet you…”

“Kayte,” I stuttered, then recovered the ability to speak without sounding like a bumbling idiot, “the pleasure’s all mine.”

He offered his hand. I reached out to shake it and he smoothly drew it to his mouth instead; never breaking eye contact with me, he kissed it, and with a regretful look, let me go. He smiled and I was helpless to stop my cheeks from turning crimson. I gestured toward the small cup in my hand, anxious to break the eye contact before my heart leapt out of my chest and threw itself at him.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

He chuckled good-naturedly, dimples making deep impressions in his cheeks and in my actual being. Grabbing two more plastic cups from a tray full of them, he motioned for me to follow him to the kitchen. We wove through party-goers, the skunky scent of pot permeating the house. We went out the back door and onto the surprisingly deserted back patio. We sat down on the steps.

“Use your tongue to loosen the JELLO from the sides of the cup and then just let the entire shot slide down your throat.” He locked eyes with me, gently dipped his tongue into the cup and made a circular motion to loosen the gelatinous mixture from the side of the cup. My heart beat erratically. For a moment, I could only stare and let my imagination run completely Wild.

After an embarrassing start, I found him unexpectedly easy to talk to. He went back in to grab more shots time and time again. As the alcohol began to do its job, I found myself talking more openly with him than I had with anyone in a long time. He was empathetic to my plight but not so much that our conversation turned into a depressing monologue. He had grown up in the area with two mothers, an absent father, and was raised by his grandparents. Despite our tales of woe, we laughed. Oh, how he made me laugh! 

He told me how beautiful I was. He told me how strong I was for all I had endured. He encouraged me to follow my deepest ambitions. He told me I was not like most girls he’d ever met. That night, I felt seen. I felt heard. I felt desirable. I felt validated.

Over the next several weeks, we’d plan to meet at Robert and Kim’s but instead, he would pick me up a few blocks over and I'd escape for a few hours. I was hooked. Despite the intense flirting between us, we had not ventured beyond him kissing my hand but I was playing with fire and I knew it. If Jim noticed any difference in my mood, he said nothing. He chalked it up to me having more time for myself. I felt guilty. I felt deep remorse for what this could do to my daughter's comfortably predictable lives but I was completely helpless to stop.

One evening, we parked at a deserted area near the lake. Music came from his car, some kind of R&B. He pulled a brown paper sack from his trunk and slid it off to reveal a bottle of Patron. As we took turns taking pulls off the squat bottle, I climbed atop a picnic table with my feet on the bench. He stood in front of me as we talked and laughed and before long, we lapsed into a comfortable silence. 

Then, he took two steps toward me until we were an inch apart. He gently cupped the left-side of my face; he traced his fingers over my lips and whispered, “I want you so freaking much,” Then moved his mouth toward mine. I hesitated briefly, thinking of home. Then his lips met mine and parted them with his tongue, and I let myself fall.

We spent several hours at the park in various states of undress. I was like a starving animal suddenly thrown a hunk of meat. As he drove me home, cheeks flushed with afterglow, I felt as if life had cataclysmically shifted. I knew Jim would see it the moment I came in the door. He would see it in my flushed cheeks and overly bright eyes. He would sense my buoyancy. However, Jim was stoned out of his gourd. I could have walked in on my hands and I doubt he'd have noticed. 

Jim might not have noticed anything amiss that night but he caught on. He knew something was up. After weeks of pretending and sneaking, he asked me if I was seeing someone else. I saw no point in lying. I told him it was over and called Scott.

Unbeknownst to me, Scott still lived with his elderly grandparents and they barely had the space for him. The job he said he had with a friend’s construction company was a ruse. Brokenhearted, defeated, and scared, I fled back to my parent’s.

While there, I shared the upstairs area with my children and my little brother. I took care of the house, chauffeured my brother here and there, and tried to forget about Scott. I failed that task miserably.

Despite the bullshit between us, we continued our relationship; even though by then, it was long distance. We chatted online, talked on the phone, and became very familiar with the route between our two towns. In time, Jim moved on and met another woman. He still saw the girls; particularly if I was coming into town to stay with Scott. 

I didn’t really feel comfortable with him being around the children just yet. We tended to drink a lot when we were together. Our emotional relationship was… complicated. Our physical relationship was flaming hot. I was giddy with anticipation at the very thought of him.

We made plans to go out my twenty-first birthday. I spent a lot of time getting ready. My parents were keeping the children overnight and Scott and I planned on staying at a hotel near the bar. I couldn’t wait to see him. I felt like this might be the night we said those three little words. I was nervous

After a long soak in the tub and shaved my legs so they were silky smooth, I sprayed off and took time to lotion my body in Scott’s favorite scent. I spent a ludicrous amount of time getting dressed but I knew I looked damn good. I wore  his favorite dress. I took time with my hair and makeup. I wore the Armani perfume he couldn’t resist.

At the bar, I ordered a double shot of Patron for both of us while I waited for him. I gave the bartender grief for not carding me. A gentleman sitting to my right heard me and slurred, “Hey! Put it on my tab!” He slung a friendly arm over my shoulder. I was politely trying to untangle myself from him when Scott showed up. Scott didn’t seem agitated. He sat down on my other side and pulled his drink to him with one hand while the other rode up high on my thigh. Whispering in my ear, he encouraged me to flirt and make the guy think he had a shot so we could keep drinking on the cheap. 

Fueled by tequila and a desire to please, I brazenly flirted with this middle aged man and he happily bought me shot after shot. He mentioned he had a hotel room a few blocks over and hinted that I was welcome to accompany him to his room for a nightcap and if we were amenable, my gentleman friend could also come. Then he offered to pick up Scott’s tab as well. I started to politely decline but Scott leaned over, shook the man’s hand, and said, “Sir, you won’t regret it.” He swatted me on the behind.

I stayed silent during the exchange of information about which hotel and what room. Scott told him we had to grab a pack of smokes but that we’d see him immediately after. We walked out to Scott’s car and got in. He laughed and laughed. He talked about how smooth we were in getting over a hundred dollars worth of free booze out of him.

I felt badly for what we had done. I casually mentioned that I kinda felt bad for the guy, sitting there in his room, waiting for us. Suddenly, all I could see was a bright flash. Accompanying it was white hot pain to the left side of my face. Had we just been in an accident? 

I looked over at him in the driver’s seat to see if he was okay and watched his hand, quick as a snake, strike me, hitting me square in the nose.

A terrorizing voice of rage filled the car, “WHAT ARE YOU, SOME KIND OF WHORE? YOU FUCKING SLUT! YOU ACTUALLY SAT THERE AND FLIRTED WITH THAT OLD MAN RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME, YOU SKANK, AND NOW... YOU FEEL SORRY FOR HIM??"

At first I was too stunned to do anything except clutch my copiously bleeding nose. Then, I started to cry quietly. I was petrified. There was nowhere for me to go. I could not jump from a car now doing Interstate speed. 

“I was doing what you told me to do…” I mumbled.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME, DIRTY WHORE? ARE YOU ARGUING WITH ME RIGHT NOW? MAYBE I’LL JUST DROP YOU OFF OVER THERE SINCE YOU SEEM TO HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT HIM?!”

“NO! Please, Scott, please, please! I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Baby, please. “I’m begging you… Let’s just go to our hotel room. ” I was sobbing, my voice unrecognizable to myself. The car was silent except for my sobs.

He said nothing else but a moment later, turned his blinker on to exit onto the road that would take us to our room. 

Okay, now what… how do I get away? Do I run for the lobby and ask them to call the police? Is that too dramatic? Do I even try? Was I being disrespectful to him? Am I a whore? Agreeing to put out for monetary gain… it fits, right? Wouldn’t I be pissed if he was coming on to some woman?

He pulled the car into our spot, leaned over, and gently caressed my cheek. Tears ran down my face, blood and snot mixing with them, I stared into his stormy-blue eyes.

In a low voice he whispered, “I love you, Kayte. I’m sorry, I have no idea what came over me. Maybe it was the alcohol? I haven’t eaten. And the thought of another man touching you-- You’re mine. No one loves you like I do. Hit me! If that will help, hit me! ” he said proffering his left chin.

His declaration of love twisted my stomach into knots. How could he speak of love after all the torment he had put me through? The gentle touch on my cheek felt like a violation, a cruel reminder of the power he held over me.

I wanted to scream, to shove him away, to throw open the door and run, anywhere, but I was paralyzed by fear, sheer disbelief, and still, love. I thought of my predictably uneventful existence before meeting him... It filled me with longing and terrified me. After a moment, I followed him inside and tried to convince him with my body that I loved only him.