Welcome to Hell: Rediscovering First Love

Tide dyed sheets and a comforter completed the loud décor in Keegan’s room. She is happy in her room because it is her space except for the Saturday inspections. This room, Keegan’s sanctuary is where she spends most of her time hiding from James or hiding from James and me fighting. I need my own place to hide from the bastard.

James the minimalist denied me so many things. Beautiful works of art that Adin, my younger sister had painted for me and had hung in the apartment in Hell are stored in the basement of my current home. I miss the vibrant landscapes painted with acrylics that my sister had proudly given to me. He likes the bare walls, the open airy feeling he calls it. I looked around my home and the feeling of being imprisoned by the starkness suffocates me. It was a feeling like a weight sitting on my chest pressing me into the floor. My own bedroom felt not like my own but a guest room where I sleep.

I ran my hand across the wooden night table. Dark walnut, heavy wood. The night table is bare. In my apartment I would have had a book or two on the nightstand that I could grab and read at night when I couldn’t sleep. I’m not allowed to do that in James’s house. The tabletops must be clear. A bedroom is a personal space that should be comfortable and secure a place to hide and relax. A room to meditate and find peace. My bedroom is not that space. It is a space I share with James filled with tension and at times fear that he will want to touch me with an intimacy that now makes my skin crawl. We had not been intimate in months six, eight, ten months? Too many. I had lost count.

The barn is where I go when I want space from everyone else in my home. I brush or ride Spider or ride Spider then brush him to relieve the tension that cramps my neck. Spider takes me away from the life that I’ve created in Eden, Kentucky with James so far away from Hell, from my familiars, from my family…too far from everything I care about.

I lost any pretense of loving James years ago. He knows I don’t love him. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t love me. I’m not sure James is capable of love. Then why don’t I leave? Because I am a coward who hates confrontation so instead I dream about the day that I will be free of him while my life passes me by. That is why. My heart screams in painful acknowledgment of the truth of the mess that I have made of my life.

Then there is the fear of failure. I’m a big fat fucking failure. Especially when it comes to relationships. Once again, I have failed at something and at thirty-four acknowledging that most of my adult life has been one big screw up is a difficult pill to swallow.

Pregnant at seventeen with a child when I was scarcely more than a child myself; not marrying Kerry McCoy and then living with Yancy and Pop until I was twenty-five years old; now married to a man I can barely tolerate. When in hell was I going to get it right?

At times, my Keegan, she is out of control. I acknowledge that. She is a good kid but energetic. She is hyper but Keegan is good. She is talkative and intelligent but she is good. She needs stimulation, as she grows bored easily with mundane tasks but she is good. Yancy, hints at my shortcomings as a mother or my child would be better behaved. This came from Yancy the last time we were in Hell but dammit Keegan is the best thing I’ve done in my life. The very best thing I have done in my adult life of that I am convinced.

My child has always been at her best when she is using the creativity she was born with. There are times when she frustrates me to no end with her inability to stay focused. There are times that I know that I have failed my daughter, like now staying married to James, fighting frequently with him while Keegan hides away in the sanctity of her room.

I know in my heart when I let the walls down that I have failed Keegan by not fighting harder for Kerry. You can’t make somebody be a dad though my pesky brain keeps telling my heart. That wasn’t really my fault that he left or was it? Did I actually give him the full support that he needed to stay? Or did I allow my crazy ass mother to run roughshod over him until he had no other alternative but to leave? My brain screams at me frequently. Kerry is not entirely to blame for our relationship not working.

I married the first man that put a ring on it after years of hiding away and now I’m not happy with him either. James is a handsome man not Brad Pitt gorgeous but handsome. He is taller than me. He has broad shoulders and a torso that narrows into a slim waist. He has the V. The V on a man turns me to a trembling pile of mush in a man’s hands but his V now turns my stomach. Oh and that cute ass, which doesn’t look so cute to me anymore either. Rock hard ass that you could bounce a quarter off. Then, his soft, icy blue eyes were what attracted me too. His gentle smile with perfect white teeth.

The teeth are as phony as he is created by a dentist and veneers. His arrogance and cutting sarcasm he saved for about a month before the wedding when I thought that it was too late to back out. I had hoped that he would change back to the man that I had fallen in love with or at least thought I was in love with once the stress of the wedding was behind us. That had not happened. He was worse, more controlling, more arrogant and more demeaning.

James’s company travels take him to Hell and other cities on sales calls which is now my only saving grace. He is gone from home a great deal on business trips. Seeing his car drive down the lane leaving our home for a business trip, I cannot stop myself from doing my happy dance of joy knowing he will be gone for days. I am left with a sense of freedom I know cannot last but until he comes home I am free. The weight of him is lifted from my shoulders and I am free.

So long ago, James walked through that door to my office. I had glanced up and was hooked. The attraction so intense at first was gone within the first six months of marriage. Gradually the love I thought I felt for him bordered on hatred with the daily confrontations over Keegan or my own inabilities as a wife. No one could compare to James’s mother who turned him into the obsessive-compulsive, neat freak that I had foolishly married.

I could scream when he compares me to Belle Ellerton, his mother. The mantra in my head that plays on a daily basis, you have the guts now get the glory. Get your ass out of here. Sometimes the words stop being a pussy are thrown in for good measure.

“Hi Mom,” Keegan called bringing my thoughts back to the present. “Something smells good.”

“Keegan,” I said using her given name and a tone of voice that was to indicate disapproval, “you’re going to be late. Here,” I handed her a plate with eggs, bacon and toast.

“Thanks. I’ll make the bus. You’ll see.”

She seemed happy this morning, light hearted. Reminding me why I loved this kid so damned much. She was a great kid even with the body piercing, purple hair and way too much make-up. Yes my kid was a punk! Yes, she was a sight to behold at times.

It broke my heart to see people stare at Keegan like she was carnival freak. It shattered my heart that they judged her by her outward appearance and couldn’t see the valedictorian of her class. The volunteer at the nursing home. The older generation didn’t care what she looked like she was visiting them otherwise they would be alone. The tutor to children in lower classes struggling in algebra. They cared little either. I loved her besides her appearance. You always love your children unconditionally.

“This show should be interesting,” James said his voice dripping with disdain as he entered the kitchen while checking his watch for the time. His gray suit was neat and tailored to his muscular frame. “Go ahead Keegan let’s see you go at it,” he said rudely but with a hint of what he thought was wit to take the edge off the nasty comment. “Are you going to use a fork or do you need a shovel?”

Just his voice, the words from his mouth grated on my last nerve. “Good morning to you too,” I said hoping to defuse the situation before my daughter smarted off with a bitchy comment to the man I was married to…for better or worse for now.

“Mom, I’m suddenly sick to my stomach I think I’ll just catch the bus. Here, James, enjoy,” Keegan replied without touching anything on her plate.

She shoved the plate across the table in James’s direction. She didn’t look at him. If K

eegan had looked at James I would have seen the hatred in her eyes I knew. I had seen that look there. He was oblivious to her, to me to everything but his own emotions and needs.

“I hope it wasn’t something I said,” James replied with sarcasm drenched in every word as he picked up a fork from the table and dug into Keegan’s plate of food.

Keegan continued to ignore him. She crossed the room to the stove where I was still standing watching their interaction or lack of. Why do I do this to us? Keegan unclenched her fists. She kissed my cheek so softly that I almost missed her lips against my skin and gave my shoulders a quick squeeze.

“Bye Mom. I love you. Goodbye,” she said to James and under her breath I heard the word, “douche bag.”

“Bye Kat.” My voice sounded defeated so I tried for a happier tone using the nickname Jack Dawson had given his beloved granddaughter. My Pop loved his little Kitty Kat. “I love you too. I’ll see you after school.”

Closing the door behind Keegan I turned and glared at James. “Why must you always alienate her?”