Dave, the End.

There were several factors that contributed to the end of my marriage.  The biggest one was that college had shown me that I had an identity beyond that of Dave’s wife.  I learned that I was smart and creative.  I learned that I was passionate.

College was also where I had gained the ability to reject Christianity as I’d come to know it.  I rejected the whole idea of God for a while, but that didn’t last long and that tale will come later.  By rejecting my religion, I was able to consider the possibility of leaving Dave without worrying about rapture or damnation.

A friendship I’d developed with the wife of the current drummer of Dave’s band, helped a lot.  She was experiencing many of the same things I was experiencing.  She’d been a teen mother.  She felt the same sort of oppression and stifling that I was feeling.  Having someone to discuss these things with was so freeing.  I could even tell her about my feelings for Humanities Professor.

The last thing, and I’m not proud to share this, was the Internet.  We’d gotten a computer and Internet access while I was still in college.  My little sister taught me how to get online with a program called PowWow.  It was the precursor to Yahoo.  I learned how to create a web page through people I’d chat with on PowWow.   I began posting some of my poetry.  I began playing with a pirated copy of Photoshop and learned how to do some graphic designs.

Having a webpage with pictures, information, and poetry, attracted a lot of attention on the relatively new Internet.  I began to have a social life, which I didn’t have before.  A lot of guys wanted to meet me.  I never hid the fact that I was married, and I was not actively pursuing an affair.  But that eventually happened.  It didn’t last long, and I really don’t want to spend this time on him.

I began a credential program and started working as a substitute teacher, making a lot more money than I’d ever made.  One of the places I’d subbed was my old high school.  They had a teacher going out on maternity leave and asked me if I’d be interested in taking her place for the remainder of the school year.  It was a dream come true.

I quit my job at Target and told Dave that I was going to open my own checking account.  He was unhappy with that but by now, he was realizing that I was pulling away, and he was willing to go back to splitting the bills, as long as we did it proportionally.

That Summer, I finally gathered the courage to tell Dave that I wanted to separate.  I still struggled with the idea of divorce, but I thought if we could separate, maybe I could get my head clear.  Dave told me that if we separated, he’d file for divorce.  I told him that I needed to do this.  He vacillated between crying and raging.

He got an apartment in Yuba City and moved almost everything worth anything.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted out.

One weekend, I’d gone to Chico to visit a friend.  I had a pager by then, and I kept getting paged to call my home phone.  I thought it might have been the guy I’d been seeing.  I had a mobile phone, so I called my house.  Dave picked up.  “Where are you?”

I hung up.  I called the police and explained the situation and that my estranged husband was in my house and that I was afraid to go home.  They told me that since the house was in both our names, there was nothing they could do about it unless he got violent.  I sobbed, “So you won’t help me unless he hurts me?”

By the time I got home, he was gone.  I had changed the locks, but I left the door to the garage unlocked, and he’d gone in through the garage.  I went into where my computer was and found paper everywhere.  He’d found and printed emails I’d exchanged with the other man.  He broke my keyboard and wrote Whore on a sheet of paper he left on the monitor.

He came back once that night, with a box of stuff to give back to me.  He pounded on the door, but I was locked in by now and wasn’t about to open the door.

The next day my mother called me.  She told me that Dave had gone over there the night before with all the emails he’d printed out.  He had wanted her to take his side and encourage me to get back together with him.

I didn’t, and our divorce proceeded.  He called a few times after that and left an apology on my answering machine.  I met up with him one time and we ended up spending the night together.  It was horrible.  He fucked me like I was life-giving water and he’d been lost int he desert for months.  It was mortifying and it made me physically ill.  Still does, in fact.

By the time our divorce was final, I was teaching math at the same high school.  I had started doing Renaissance Faires with a group that liked my poetry.  I had also auditioned for a part in A Christmas Carol at the local theater company.  I was doing all the things that I loved, and people were starting to notice the difference in me.

Eventually, I heard through the grapevine that Dave had taken a bunch of cold medicine to try to kill himself and that he was being held in a mental health facility.  I called his dad, and asked him for the number to speak to Dave.  He told me I’d already done enough, and hung up on me.

I talked to my mom about it.  She told me it wasn’t about me and said that she’d go and see him.  He called me later that night.  He apologized for causing so much trouble.  He told me he knew that it was stupid.  He promised he’d never do it again.  He also told me that he was beginning to see how he’d done me wrong and that he understood, now.  He told me he’d always love me.  I told him I knew.

Two weeks later, I attended a Renaissance Faire and met up with a guy who was a total player.  I didn’t know that.  I was still naive in the whole dating scene, so we spent a disappointing night together,  but otherwise, I had a great time.

On Sunday night, I fell, exhausted into bed.  At 1:40 AM, I woke up from a dead sleep and sat straight up in bed.  I thought, “Something bad has just happened.”  I laid down, my heart pounding, and tried to go back to sleep.

Monday morning, I was in front of one of my classes taking attendance and joking with my students.  Our campus security monitor came to the door and told me that he’d watch my class, but I was needed in the front office.  My parents were there.

I knew that if my parents had come to my work, something horrible had happened.  I ran as fast as I could in my heels and dashed into the office.  I saw my parents on the other side of the counter, and they were both crying.

I said, “Is it Dave?”

My Dad said, “How’d you know?”

I fell to the floor and cried, “Oh, my God, I’ve killed him!”  My mom and one of the counselors held me up and walked me into an empty office.  I asked my mom what he’d done, and she told me he’d laid down in front of a train.