I believed him (yes, I was twenty-five and yes, I was stupid). Even though everyone told me not to do it (even Uncle Tex), I quit my job, gave up my apartment and moved to St. Louis. I moved my shit there, got a job there and started over.
Six months later, Bil y told me he had an even better opportunity and we moved to Pensacola.
Then to Charleston.
Then to Atlanta.
I should have seen this coming. Before he met me, Bil y had gone from Boston (where he grew up), to Phil y, to Cincinnati, to Louisvil e, to Indianapolis. I should have been pleased he spent a year in Indy with me.
By the time we made it to Chicago, three years into our travels, I was fed up. I had a blast in St. Louis, Pensacola, Charleston and Atlanta. I had good jobs in al those places and made friends. I hated leaving, I hated being on the road, packing, moving. Sometimes I had only a week to do it (and in that week, Bil y was long gone, tel ing me he was
“scouting” our locations for the move). I was spending more and more time writing letters to al the people I left behind and was going to miss and I was done with being a nomad.
Furthermore, I was beginning to figure out why Bil y was so cagey about how he spent his days and where he got his cash. It was always cash. He never brought home a paycheck. Sometimes it was a lot of cash, most of the time it was none.
At first, I believed in him, believed in his dreams and his fast-talk convinced me that the life I “deserved” was just around the corner. Then I wanted to believe, so I didn’t ask too many questions. Then I couldn’t believe how stupid I was for believing in the first place and set myself firmly in denial, which was a good place to be… for a while.
“To hel with him, darlin’,” Uncle Tex wrote with his usual brutal honesty, “He sounds no good. Cut him loose and find yourself a real man.”
*
Chicago would have lasted less time than al the rest if Bil y had had his way. He was ready to rol after three months. I’d started my own web designing business, Annette had moved up from Indianapolis so I had a ready-made friend base and I found a couple of good clients. We’d rented a loft that I loved. I was close to Wrigley Field (what can I say, I’m a Cubs fan) and I was only four hours away from family.
No way was I going anywhere.
So, I told Bil y he could go but I was staying.
We got in a big, old fight that ended in tears; my tears, I was a crier, I cried al the time. I’d cry at a card with a picture of a cute, little kitty on it and I didn’t even have to look at what the card said, and we stayed.
This happened a lot. Bil y would want to go, I’d want to stay, we’d have a rip roarin’ fight, I’d cry, and then we’d stay.
Then Bil y came home late one night and said we had to go. I could tel by the way he was acting that things I didn’t understand, things I’d closed my eyes to al those years, were bad as in real y bad.
I didn’t care. I dug in my heels. It hadn’t been the same between us since the first time I refused to go. We’d been in a slow decline and I hated it. I wanted Bil y to be a good guy and do right by me (and himself) but I was beginning to realize this wasn’t going to happen. It broke my heart because we’d had good times, no, great times, and I’d miss him. But there was only so much a girl could take. I hated it that everyone was right about Bil y but when you fuck up, you have to admit it, deal with it and move on.
I was ready to take Uncle Tex’s advice and cut him loose.
When I told him this, Bil y backed me up against a wal , his forearm against my throat, his pretty-boy face contorted and ugly with a rage I’d never seen before. He hissed at me, “Where I go, you go. You belong to me. We’re never going to be apart, you’re fuckin’ mine… forever.” Needless to say, this scared me. Bil y had never acted like this. I didn’t like to be scared. I never watched horror movies, ever. I didn’t do scared.
I knew at that point it was over. Any residual hope I had for Bil y and me was gone in a blink. Firstly, I didn’t like his arm at my throat, it hurt. Secondly, I didn’t like the look on his face; it freaked me out. Lastly, I wasn’t anyone’s, but my own.
In other words, fuck… that.
Somehow, we stayed in Chicago and whatever it was that had Bil y in a panic calmed down.
I didn’t. I packed his shit, put it in the hal and changed the locks.
This did not go over wel . He broke down the door with a sledgehammer.
This did not go over wel either. I had a conniption fit.
We had another rip roarin’ fight and he talked me into taking him back.
Don’t think I was stupid or weak. I had no intention of real y taking him back. I had long since realized that Bil y was exactly what Bil y was and I didn’t want any part of it. I’d loved him, yes, it was true, but he wasn’t what I thought he was (or what I tried to convince myself he was). I was beginning to fear the stink I sensed on him would start to transfer itself to me.
But a sledgehammer was serious business.
I was going to have to be smart (final y).