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7:01 p.m. - 2005-06-07
All Over The Map Rant
I'm guessing there's something to Jung's "collective unconscious" because no more than three or four years after David unofficially moved in, we sat huddled together on a small wooden bench at that El Ranchero stand on Olvera Street. He looked deep into my eyes over our favorite greasy taquitos and popped the big question, "How 'bout if we get married and buy a new stereo?". I was, naturally, swept off my feet. "Yes," I breathed. The rest of the day was downright magical. We bought some jamoncilla, that Mexican vanilla fudge, and strolled around looking at turquoise jewelry, Elvis on velvet and pinatas in the shape of Yosemite Sam. Then we hit Chinatown, where we stocked up on some truly exotic groceries. On the ride home, David smiled broadly, exposing four dried squid, tenticles uselessly grabbing his mustache. I exaggerated an "Ew" and we laughed and played the radio really loud all the way home. Why not? We were engaged! Back home, I made my famous grilled cheese sandwiches while David watched reruns of Three's Company. We fell asleep in each other's arms, visions of something close to sugarplums dancing in our heads. The next day, showing absolutely no particular emotion, David awoke and simply said, "I don't want to get married anymore, but we can still get the stereo if you want". David had a way of hurting me that was so precise, so dispassionate, so bloodless that I would reel for weeks in excruciating pain. Like the way he reacted when I finally realized that no baby would be growing in my womb. Ever. It was not, after all, Fred. It was me. For no explicable reason. Just me. One evening, I was typing a short story when David interrupted to show me his new purchase. It was a science doll called The Visible Woman. Clear plastic with all the innards exposed. "Nice," I said, obviously preoccupied. "No, look", he continued. "Now she's pregnant and now she's not. It's a special edition". As he said this, he showed me the detachable fetus and swollen belly that popped on and off at will. A sharp pain surged through me. I have heard it said that anger makes people see red and it is true. The pain was so severe, my impulse control so shot, that I rose from my desk and grabbed the doll. Stomping into the bathroom, I yanked at the helpless fetus and hard plastic casing, flushing them down the toilet. My only abortion and I am not sorry. It is difficult to fathom, really, where he got his ideas. How that perfect cruelty passed for innocense. I was accused, as has been the case since my infancy, of being "too sensitive". He was just trying to educate himself. Then he told me a story about how he had gotten his imaginary girlfriend pregnant and she had aborted the imaginary baby without telling him. I honestly don't know now if he was an undiagnosed functional schizophrenic or just such a convincing liar that he believed his own fabrications. At the time, of course, I was certain that the problem was me. I was infertile. I was jealous. I was an inch taller than he. I was flawed and introverted and scared that no one would want me ever again. I read every self-help book I could find. I bought new make up and highlighted my hair and learned new dance steps and exercised and started my Master's program in Psychology mostly to try to figure myself out and compensate for everything I wasn't. Seeing me emerge slowly as from a cocoon several sizes too small, the balance of power once again shifted and David became the insecure one. This motivated him to find a job. He took advantage of a state program that offered to train him. Not having an area of passion or particular talent, he signed up for upholstery. Oh yeah, and he finally married me. We drove to Carson City, Nevada and were married western style by a Justice of the Peace. I wore a long hippie dress and earth shoes. He wore a pale green leisure suit, quite out of character. Our photographer was some woman walking by that we asked to take our picture on the court steps. My son went with us and looked very sullen throughout the ceremony. Back in the motel room, he promptly fell out of bed, hit his head and barfed. This didn't portend well. Still, when we returned, I quit my job to devote myself to full time studies. I remember my first night in Mark's class. He was really arrogant. He asked everyone in the class why they were intersted in becoming therapists. One pregnant woman said she wanted to help people and he absolutely crucified her publically. She fled the room crying and dropped the entire counseling program. Other students gave answers like, "I find human behavior fascinating", "I've always been interested in how the mind works", etc. These answers he tolerated. Finally, he asked how many were drawn to the field because they wanted to get rich. One guy raised his hand and Mark announced, "That's the only one of you I trust". I watched him strut before the class, pontificating on politics and culture and human nature. It was obvious that he loved to hear his opinions on any subject. After class, the students were all talking about what a jerk he was. Some wanted to drop the class. I wrote him a poem.

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