Stories To Tell A Stranger

Wednesday

If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me.

But I can't stay silent forever.

23 years of silence has been too long.

June 17, 1991

It was a Wednesday. It was only suppose to be a car ride home, but it turned into so much more. I was happy. He was happy. We were happy and together at last. We were planning to run away, Los Angeles of all places. I was content with the idea; the idea that this foreign place didn't scare me because I had him by my side. With him I was brave; it didn't faze me that I'd be leaving my parents. I left a note with the one clue. His name.

Dean.

I was high on adrenaline and love. My heart was beating faster than ever before. The way he looked at me that day was all I ever wanted.

I was the only girl in his eyes.

He was, from that day, the only boy in my heart.

I honestly can't remember our ride to LA, but I bet I was content being only with him.

Everything was bliss, at least from the start, but with us being minors we couldn't offer each other anything beside love and gas money. We lived out of his car for the first five months.

During that time he found a job, made an impression, and the boss let us stay in his hide away from his wife. We were forever grateful. The next six months I had a job of my own and we eventually got our own little shack in southern LA.

We made the best of everything.

Over the course of 5 years, I became pregnant with our daughter, Lola. I stayed at home while Dean continued to work. A couple of promotions, more suits and ties, another child, Louis, a house, the life we always wanted.

The life we dreamed of during that car ride here from lonely Nebraska.

I thought life was getting better, but sadly it wasn't. With two kids and no real education, I couldn't really get far. Dean also started to stay out late forwork purposes.

More work.

More fights.

More slammed doors.

More tears hit the floor.

I couldn't take it. The kids and I left, but like every other foolish girl, I returned with the idea that it'd get better and he'd changed.

He didn't.

Once again I was left alone. I was alone. The kids gravitated towards him more than me.

The boy I once loved turned into a man I was beginning to despise. I questioned whether it was love we had or if it was ignorance. My ignorance to the real world, real life, real love.

As time passed, things returned to the way it was before. Smiles, conversations, family time, work. I kept my eyes peeled and sure enough "work" came back into the picture. I dealt with it for 10 years.

I had nowhere to go, my family was in Nebraska, and I hadn't spoken to them since the birth of Louis. In the foreign place of southern LA, I had no one but Dean. He knew he could play it to his advantage.

I felt trapped by Dean, his words, my life, the kids, the loneliness I felt.

The inferiority I had once had was gone.

The love I once had for him was gone.

He didn't even care, the only thing between us then were the kids.

I've tried to convince myself that our love could be rekindled, but could it really? The pain I kept inside caused my heart to give up. Had he given up as well?

We never talked about our problems, we were still the immature teens at heart, just letting time go pass until one of us exploded.

Our conversations consisted of short fragments, cold words, and confusion in the eyes of our kids, hatred in my heart.

I often stayed up at night thinking of ways to escape. Do I take the kids? Do I leave them; they love him so much more anyway. Would leaving make me a weak and an unfit mother? Could he even support them on his own? Would leaving him solve anything, interactions would still be required for the sake of the kids?

I decided to give it more time, but with more time came more frustration, more frustration produced more temptation, which eventually was just more hatred.

Was it hatred or regret?

Regret that I came to LA with him?

Regret that I came back so many times before?

Regret that we were forever intertwined by our kids, by our history?

Did I hate him or myself for allowing this to continue for this long?

We once didn't speak to one another for at least 3 months. We put on a show for the kids, which Lola could see through. Lola was 12 at the time while Louis was 9.

I remember sitting up with Lola while we waited for Dean to come home. He didn't return until 4 in the morning. I didn't talk to him for a week that year.

He claimed it was really work related, but I smelled the cheap perfume on him as he laid next to me. As I looked at him that night, I knew things had to change; I couldn't keep living this way.

I sent the kids away to a friend of theirs houses. I told him he needed to be home for an event Lola was having. He might have let me down repeatedly, but he never let his kids down.

I was sitting on our bed with my left hand protecting the pistol under my thigh; he came into the room and asked "Where are the kids?"

I looked at the ground and responded "At their friends' houses"

"So it's just us?"

"Yes" I tried to smile. "We need to talk"

He sat next to me on the bed, he stayed silent.

I told him I couldn't live this way anymore. I told him I never loved him. I told him I couldn't pretend anymore. He looked hurt, shocked, confused. He promised to change for good, things would be better than before, we could get married finally, he said even stop sneaking around. Or so he says. I can't trust a liar like him. I can't live with a liar like him.

I shot him.

He fell to the ground; I disposed of his body quite nicely, chained him along with the gun and sunk him in the Pacific. I sent his job a resign letter stating he was in a deep depression and couldn't give them his all anymore. They gladly understood and were sorry about his departure. The kids asked about him, I just said he left but said that he loved them.

Did I feel guilty? No. I bet he didn't feel guilty sleeping with those other women.

What did I do when my kids asked questions about his whereabouts? I simply said he left and was never coming back. He left no traces of himself. The questions eventually stopped.

Why am I telling you this you might ask? Well I had to tell someone, you can keep my secret right?

Besides you don't even know my name.