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Call me Hoss. I’ll
hate you for it, but no man has a say in picking his nickname. Mamma named me
Bernard, but fat lot of good that does.
I never thought of
myself as ugly until I entered the first grade. At recess Vernon Stone jerked
away my cap and taunted me to get it back. In full view of all my classmates; I
was embarrassed, angry, and humiliated. I chased him, but he was too quick and
my embarrassment grew unbearable. They were laughing, everyone was laughing.
Becky Patton was laughing. Tony Simmons was laughing.
Vernon’s mocking voice still rings in my ears. “Come get it, Horse Face.”
When I got close, Vernon
tossed my cap to Willy Jackson, and Willy held my cap up and yelled, “Over
here, Horse Face.” Everyone thought
they were smart and I was dumb.
Mrs. West, our teacher,
stopped them and made Willy give my cap back. She told Vernon
and Willy they shouldn’t call me names, and she told everyone else they
shouldn’t laugh, but I barely heard her. She didn’t say Bernard doesn’t
have a Horse Face, only that they
shouldn’t say it. My cap was no longer the problem. Vernon Stone had branded
me as Horse Face, and the blackened
flesh smolders to this day. At first I expected to shake it off, forget about
it; but the taunt was seared into my brain, and I know now the festering wound
will never heal.
Some children are
cruel, while others are not. Is cruelty inherited? What drove
Vernon
to snatch my cap? He obviously reveled in my misery. I’ll bet some of the
children were silently uncomfortable just witnessing
Vernon’s teasing behavior. But they laughed along with their peers—why? Were they
simply glad they weren’t the one being teased? Willy Jackson, who caught my
hat, seemed to enjoy my pain as much as Vernon, or did he? Did he join the bad behavior simply to be on the side of might,
which was clearly better than being made fun of? Was Willy ashamed later for
being a partner with Vernon? I will never know. Sometimes I think adult behavior isn’t so much different
than children’s behavior. Maturity only refines mischievousness into mental
brutality.
Mamma knew something
wasn’t right when I walked in the door. “What’s wrong, Bernard?”
“Nothing Mamma.”
I went straight to the
bathroom. Of all the times I had looked at my image in the mirror, I never
thought I was ugly. Everyone looks different and that’s as it should be. This
time, still smarting from my smoking brand of Horse
Face, I studied my image in heartbreaking detail. My face was long and
narrow with wide-apart dumb eyes and a complexion much too dark. Ears so flat
you had to look twice to be sure I had any. My long flat nose turned up in a way
that exposed ugly nostrils. Whitish goober lips dominated a non-existent chin. A
sprig of hair insisted on falling over my forehead—a horse’s mane. Even my
body refused to deny the awful truth. I had a concave chest pressed into narrow
sloping shoulders that sagged away from my slender neck. It wasn’t a figment
of Vernon’s imagination, I was Horse Face. I
wanted to be like everyone else. Why couldn’t I be like everyone else?
I raised my upper lip
to expose overlarge ivory squares and whinnied like a horse.
“Bernard, son, are
you all right in there?”
“Yes, Mamma.”
I bit my lip to keep
from crying. Did the lord mean for me to be a horse. Did he get confused and
forget to give me four legs? Why couldn’t you make up your mind, Lord?
“Bernard, I’m
making cocoa. Why don’t you come out and have some with me?”
“Not now, Mamma.” I
would have choked if I had tried to drink cocoa then. “I’m all right,
Mamma.” I exposed my teeth and whinnied again, but this time silently so Mamma
wouldn’t hear. I looked at my hideous face in the mirror and tried to reshape
my features with my fingers. I pushed the sprig of hair back out of sight. It
fell back over my forehead when I let it go. I squeezed my nose to make it
normal, but it sprung back flat when I released it. I am a Horse
Face. I’ll always be a Horse Face.
I fell back on the toilet seat and a cold shudder rippled up my back.
As an adult I’ve
often wondered why I was singled out to be ugly. I’m the youngest of four
siblings and in any crowd they look just like everyone else. Mamma was 44 when I
was born and there are seventeen years between me and my next youngest sibling.
Was Mamma too old to have a baby? Was I an accident? Did anyone want me?
All through grade
school I learned to accept Horse Face. What
choice did I have? Children said it fast, making it Horseface.
I even pretended I didn’t notice or care, but it hurt like a needle prick
every time someone called Horseface.
It wouldn’t have hurt so much if it hadn’t been true. Miss Forbes in the
fourth grade even called me Horseface;
and then she’d look at me in a smiley way like I should know she didn’t
really mean it.
On my first day in high
school my Phys Ed teacher, Mr. Shultz, yelled, “Come on
Hoss, run. You can do better than
that.”
Over the next few days,
everyone dropped Horseface and started
calling me, Hoss. Off to myself I
thought about my name change. Was Hoss
better than Horseface? Does it matter?
I didn’t know. Maybe Hoss is more macho, but I feel more humiliated than
macho.
Sunny Hamilton
was my next door neighbor and best friend until his folks moved to Denver
when we were twelve. He came back for a visit after being away for five years.
I liked Sunny. He was the only person besides my family who always called me
Bernard. Just so he wouldn’t hear from someone else I told him all my
classmates called me, Hoss.
He asked, “Does it
bother you?”
“Naw, I’m used to
it,” I lied.
I met Nancy Wall while
studying at Cal
State. She worked part time in the library. Nancy
was friendly, but very shy—and ugly. She and I could talk and forget that she
and I together would stop Big Ben. We would go to McDonald’s for lunch. She
called me Bernard and that felt good. I never had any romantic thoughts about Nancy. She wasn’t near as ugly as me, but the thought of sleeping with her was a
turn off. The trouble was; I could see she began caring for me as more than just
a friend. I kept seeing her mostly because no one else wanted to have anything
to do with me. But she kept twisting everything I said into something romantic.
Finally we slept
together. It was good. We did it often. For brief moments we could forget all
about how we looked. Then one night she said she thought we should get married.
I was addicted to sex, but I didn’t think I could stand waking up every
morning with
Nancy
being the first thing I would see. I should have broken it off, but I needed
sex—even a horse needs sex. Anyway,
there was no one else I could talk to, and sex helped fill the lonely desert in
my life; hers too I’m sure. I kept putting her off.
How good can a horse
feel on a spring day? I was as happy as a colt destroying a vegetable garden. I
had no inkling my life was on the edge and about to spiral downward into a black
pit. Nancy was sitting on the Library steps waiting to go to McDonalds with me.
Another girl was sitting with her. Nancy and I were to graduate in two weeks and
Hannah Brooks was hired to be
Nancy’s replacement. This was Hannah’s first day at work and
Nancy
had invited her to join us for Big Macs.
Hannah’s back was to
me as I approached them, but even then I was interested. When she turned and
smiled at me I felt all the air in my frumpy lungs escape. I could feel blood
boiling in my cheeks.
Nancy
introduced us, but the only word I heard was Hannah. Hannah what? It didn’t
matter. It would never matter because she’ll take my last name when we get
married.
Hannah said, “I’m
glad to meet you Bernard.” She had a friendly smile; a perfect smile. She was
perfect. I knew at that instant she was all I would ever want. She didn’t look
startled like most people when they see me for the first time, and she called me
Bernard. I didn’t need to know anything more about Hannah. I must have her;
she must be mine. No one else would ever do.
Can a person fall in
love at first sight? Absolutely, I did. On the way to McDonalds I could only
stammer like an idiot. While trying to eat my Big Mac my eyes locked onto Hannah
like a lovesick puppy. Once I glanced at
Nancy. She looked like she had just lost her best friend—and she had. She knew
already. Good, it would save me having to tell her we’re through.
I decided to take a few
extra courses after I graduated. I was sick of education right then, but this
let me stay close to Hannah. She was friendly and polite. She even went with me
to a movie after my third request. If my horse face bothered her, she never let it show.
Nancy Wall stayed on at
the Library after she graduated. She said she was searching for a job and would
move as soon as she found one she liked, but I have reason to believe she turned
down several jobs. I think she hung around hoping she and I would get thick
again. Hannah and Nancy became close friends, but I found excuses to stay away
when they invited me to go with them to lunch or something.
Nancy would hang on me like glue, and I didn’t want Hannah to think I cared for
Nancy. All the while Hannah was driving me nuts because I couldn’t make any headway
with her.
I tried to avoid Nancy
as much as possible, but sometimes I got so horny I would look her up and
we’d end up in bed. That wasn’t good because then I would have to pretend to
be mad at her to keep her from pestering the hell out of me.
Nancy
finally accepted a job in LA and we didn’t see her much after that, which was
fine with me.
One day I came around
the corner and Hannah was talking to some jerk. They hadn’t seen me so I
slipped behind a shrub. I could tell Hannah was enjoying the conversation by her
animated hand gestures. She never talked to me that way. Obviously, Jerk was
staking out territory, and I decided if I walked up maybe he’d get the message
he wasn’t wanted.
Hannah said, “Hello,
Bernard. Meet Jock, he’s studying law.”
Jock, Jerk, whatever? I
didn’t actually catch his name. I tried to be nice, but inside I was seething.
Jerk gave me that startled look like everyone does when they see me for the
first time.
Jerk asked Hannah if
she worked in the Library. It was clear what he was after; lust radiated from
him like a flashing neon sign.
As Jerk walked away,
Hannah said, “He was nice, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, sure.” I
pretended it didn’t bother me, but I was furious. If she goes on a date with
him, I’ll kill him. Not really of course, but I’ll find some way to break
them up.
PC
Tech in
Ventura
offered me a job as a computer programmer. The pay was above average and this
impressed Hannah. Ventura
was Hannah’s home town and she had often mentioned that she didn’t want to
live in any other place. I never told her I had only applied for jobs in
Ventura.
For weeks I planned how
I would give my name of Bernard at PC Tech
and hope to never hear “Hoss” again.
How stupid of me. On the first damn day at work I was in the hall when Orin
Homestead, a guy I knew from school, yelled, “Hey Hoss, are you working here now?”
Before the day was over everyone called me Hoss, and most of them would never
know my name was Bernard. A fart in a windstorm hangs around longer than my real
name did.
Sure enough, when
Hannah graduated she moved in with her folks in
Ventura. Her mother’s nagging kept Hannah up tight all the time, but her job at the
city library didn’t pay enough for her to move out on her own.
The first chance I got,
I said, “Hannah, your job doesn’t pay much and you are miserable living with
your parents. On the other hand, I’m making plenty now. We could buy a house,
keep good cars, and live in the suburbs. Money will never be a problem.”
“I’m not ready to
live with anyone yet.”
“I don’t mean just
live with you. We’ll get married. I love you so; I’ll do whatever it takes
to make you happy. We could be so happy.”
“Your sweet, Bernard,
but I’m not ready to get married either.”
“I’m 24 and you are
22. That isn’t too young to get married. We could be so happy; I’m sure
we’d be happy.”
“I’m sorry,
Bernard. I’m just not ready.”
“Tell me honestly, is
something wrong?
What a fool I was to
ask that. She looked at me so soulful. She would never tell me, but I knew.
I’m just too damn ugly. Finally, she took my hand.
“Bernard, you are a
dear friend…”
Oooh, here it comes, I
thought. I don’t want to be a dear damn friend. I want to be your husband,
your lover.
“…it’s just,
well, to be perfectly honest, Bernard, I don’t love you.”
Of course I was hurt,
but not surprised. Rejection has been my middle name all my life. I decided to
not bring up the subject again for a while.
Her folks were nice
enough, but her mother nagged all the time. Hannah’s father had learned to
ignore it, but it was driving Hannah mad. She knew I loved her so I decided to
cool it for a while and give her a chance to think about how much better off she
would be with me. One day Hannah was fuming about her mother, and that gave me a
good opening. I asked her again about getting married. She refused again, and
the only thing I accomplished was that she was careful to not complain about her
mother anymore.
Day and night, Hannah
was the only thing I could think of. Damn it, I’m sure if I looked normal she
would marry me. Maybe I’m too concerned about looks. I’ve observed some
people have faces like dried apples and it doesn’t seem to bother them. I
racked my brain to think of some ways I could disguise my ugliness. It occurred
to me if I grew a mustache I would appear wiser and more mature. This might
offset my horse face.
At work, Orin Homestead
asked, “What’s that fuzz on your lip, Hoss? Are you trying to grow a
mustache?”
“It’s none of your
damn business, Orin.”
“Ha, ha. Hey gang,
come look at this. Hoss is growing a mustache.”
Everyone gathered
around and started laughing and teasing me. I could feel my face glowing beet
red. A blushing horse must be awful funny. I hate Orin Homestead. I hate all of
them.
That night I looked in
a mirror and had to admit my fuzzy lip looked hideous. Who ever saw a horse with
a mustache? I shaved it off. Do you think that rotten gang would let it go? I
got even more laughter and teasing for shaving it off. Sue Something-or-other (I
can’t remember her last name) really cut me by claiming she thought it looked
cute. Then she wet her panties laughing. They all laughed. When she changed her
taunt from cute to sexy, I could have choked her to death, with pleasure.
Sometimes I wanted to find another job, and then I realize a horse is a horse no
matter where he goes. Nothing would change.
It had to happen, I
guess. For two weeks Hannah made excuses for not seeing me. I worried about her
dating someone, so one evening after she had refused to see me, I sat in my car
some distance from her home. Sure enough, some jerk picked her up. She was so
fickle! Blinded by hurt and rage, I followed them to a restaurant. I even
thought about ramming his car. But of course that would have damaged my car too,
so I didn’t do it.
Hannah is so pretty.
Scumbags hang around her all the time like dogs sniffing a bitch, but I saw her
first and should have an inside track. Anyway, she never took any of those
scumbags serious, but this time was different. When I called her for the
umpteenth time, she finally asked me to quit calling her. She said she was
dating a teacher. The asshole’s name was Charles Kelly. She said she was
afraid “Charleees,” as she called him, might not understand my calling so
much. What about me, I’m the one who doesn’t understand? Can’t she see I
have much more to offer than Charles? I make three times as much as a stupid
teacher, and I would love her so she would never be sorry. I’ve got to figure
out some way to break them up. I’m so miserable I can’t think.
My heart skipped a beat
when Hannah called me. Maybe she had come to her senses and her fly-by-night
romance was over. You can understand how crushed I was when she said she called
to tell me Charles had asked her to marry him.
Each word she uttered
felt like a merciless rock pounding me down into a black pit of despair.
“But, but…”
“Oh Bernard, be happy
for us. Charleees has accepted a job as a middle school principal in
San Diego. We’ll get married on Christmas Eve and move in January.”
“Please Hannah,
don’t rush into this. You’ve only known Charles for three months. You’ve
known me for two years.”
She said, “Sparks
flew the first time Charleees and I met. We are so in love. I’ve never been
surer of anything. Please don’t be sad, Bernard. We’ll always be the best of
friends.”
The word “friends”
created a steel-to-grindstone spark that caused my brain to explode. I barely
contained myself long enough to give a civil goodbye and hang up.
I hammered the cabinet
top with my phone. Friends? Friends? Hell! Goddamit to hell. I don’t want to
be a goddamn friend. I want to be your lover. That Charleees shit makes me want
to puke. Hannah was foolish to throw me over for that fucking shit head. I hate
him. I could kill him.
San Diego? I can’t quit my job here. I moved here for you. You said
Ventura
was the only place you ever wanted to live. It’s not right for you to go away
and leave me. God, I wish I was dead.
Hannah had friends over
to meet Shit Head. I was miserable, but I had to go because I needed to learn as
much as I could about this intruder. I had a plan in mind and I figured talking
to him would help me decide if my plan had a chance of working. Also, it would
be important for him to think I was a good friend. I turned on the charisma like
you wouldn’t believe. For as much time as I could get with Shit Head I forced
myself to talk and joke with him like a long lost buddy.
So okay. Shit Head had
the face of a Greek God, but that didn’t make him right for Hannah. I’ll bet
both of them were just overwhelmed with each other’s good looks. After talking
with him I still couldn’t decide if my plan would work, but I was desperate
and I couldn’t come up with a better one.
I called Shit Head
Kelly, Charleees that is, and asked him to meet me at the Ventura
Pit Stop for drinks. I told him it would be better to not tell Hannah he was
meeting me. He tried to weasel out of meeting me but he finally agreed.
“Thanks for coming
Charles,” I said. “I’ve ordered you a scotch and water. That’s your
drink isn’t it?”
Shit Head sighed like
he’d rather be in
Istanbul. “Yeah, thanks, Hoss. I agreed to meet you because you are a friend of
Hannah’s. It’s obvious you don’t like me. You’re even jealous of me, I
think. So let’s make this short. What do you have to tell me?”
What gave this pissant
the idea I don’t like him or was jealous of him? Hadn’t I done my best to
act like a good friend.
I said, “You’ve
misunderstood me, Charles. I don’t dislike you.”
I loathe you, I
thought.
I continued,
“Jealousy is a laugh, Charles. It is true in the beginning I had romantic
thoughts about Hannah, but that was before I really understood her. I forgave
her for what she did to me, but I doubt if any other man would…”
“Stop, you’re
crazy. I know Hannah as well as you. She’s never done anything but be friend
to you.”
“She would never tell
you. That’s why I wanted to meet you here. There is something you should
understand about Hannah before you marry her. Then if you still want her I’ll
never say another word.”
“All right, tell me
your lies and let me get out of here.”
“I met Hannah in
college and I admit I fell for her like a lovesick freshman. Someone told me she
was promiscuous, but I was like you, I didn’t want to hear it. We had sex
every night for a while, but then I found I had gonorrhea…”
“You’re a goddamn
liar. I ought to smash that stupid face of yours.”
“Hear me out,
Charles. I know this hurts. We both got a cure, or at least I’m cured. The way
she sleeps around she may have something else by now. I was really angry at
first, but she has a sweet personality, and I soon came to understand it was an
obsession she couldn’t help. All things considered, I decided to still be her
friend. I just won’t ever sleep with her again.”
“You’re making
every word of this up. It’s a goddamn lie. I’m going to tell Hannah what
you’ve told me.”
“Well sure, I
expected you would, but she won’t tell you, I’m sure of that. I could name
some other guys she’s slept with, if you want to get to the truth of it. She
can’t help the way she is. That’s why I forgave her. I sometimes think she
is a nymphomaniac. Every time she’s close to some hulk, down go her
panties.”
I’ve never seen a
darker face. No angry outburst now. He’s thinking.
This’ll gut him for
sure; the coup de grâce. “Look here, Charles. Look at my face. Hell, I know
I’m ugly as a hippopotamus. Picture me in bed with Hannah. If she’ll sleep
with a damn horse, she’ll sleep with anyone.”
He, he. He’s turning
green. It’s the first time in my whole life my horse face has worked to my
advantage. She probably hasn’t let him have sex and he thinks it’s because
she wants to be a virgin bride. Actually, she is a virgin I’m sure. At least
she never would let me have any, and believe me I tried. On the other hand
she’s so stupidly crazy about Shit Head maybe she’s screwing him blind, so
he knows she puts out, and now he’s wondering if he’s caught something
that’ll make his ding-a-ling shrivel up and fall off. No, more’n likely
he’s not getting any and he’s wondering if it’s because she can’t tell
him she has some kind of STD. I don’t care what works, just so long as it gets
rid of this vermin. I’m sure he won’t ask me for the names of other guys. If
he does I’ll give him some fake names of guys in college and he’ll never
find anybody.
For good measure I
decided to rub more salt in Shit Head’s wound. “Charles,” I said, “I
really like you and I hate like hell to unload all this on you, but when I heard
you were engaged my conscience wouldn’t let me go on without saying something.
I just don’t believe Hannah will ever turn down sex, married or not. She
thinks by marrying you it will cure her obsession, but it won’t. I encourage
you to just be her friend like me—but keep a lock on your zipper.”
Shit Head bolted like a
Jack-in-the-box, “Go to hell, Hoss.” I ducked. I thought he was going to hit
me. Then he stomped out of the Pit Stop like
Hitler’s army.
Ha, I had to bite my
lip to keep from laughing out loud. After the favor I’ve done him, the least
he could have done is paid for our drinks.
I didn’t want to do
this at first, but once I got into it I found it exciting.
Boy oh boy, I took one
hell of a risk here today. If Shit Head repeats all my lies to Hannah, she
won’t ever speak to me again.
Late that night Hannah
called me. She was crying so I could hardly understand her. “Oh Bernard, what
am I going to do? Charles won’t speak to me. Something’s happened and I
don’t know what. His whole personality changed suddenly. I’m broken hearted,
will you talk to him and find out what’s bothering him?”
“I’m sorry to hear
that, Hannah. I’m sure it doesn’t amount to anything, but I don’t know if
there’s much I can do. Charles seems to resent me for some reason. But for you
I’ll try to talk to him.”
Of course I’d have to
have my head examined if I called him now. It was painful to hear Hannah crying
so, but I was also thrilled that my plan was working. Maybe I’ll call her
tomorrow and tell her Shit Head would only say he never wanted to hear her name
again and he wouldn’t tell me why. I should feel guilty about lying to Shit
Head like I did, but it’s kind of funny in a way.
Several days passed and
finally I couldn’t stand it any longer. I called her, “Hannah, I haven’t
heard from you lately; I suppose you got everything patched up between you and
Charles.”
“Oh Bernard, it’s
good to hear your voice. I’ve done nothing but cry for days. Charles won’t
even answer my calls. We’re through I guess, but I’m broken hearted.”
I wanted to shout Halleluiah,
but I managed to be calm and say, “Hannah,
I’m awful sorry, but if he would dump you like that and not even explain why,
well, I have to say it’s good you found out what kind of guy he is before you
married him.”
There was a long pause
and she said in a whisper, “I guess you’re right. Oh, I know you’re right,
Bernard, but I was so sure we were perfect for each other.”
“Say, Hannah.
You’ve been through so much you need to get out of the house and try to get
Charles off you’re mind for a little while. Why don’t I pick you up and
I’ll treat you to a nice meal at Sullivan’s Steakhouse?”
“I guess I do need to
get out. You are so thoughtful, Bernard.”
“I promise I won’t
mention Charles name once.”
“All right, Bernard,
I’ll be ready at seven.”
Well you can’t
imagine how happy I was. Of course I got her out every night she would go for
the next two weeks. Her gloomy disposition never improved, but I did get her to
laugh occasionally, and that served as an admission that in time she would
forget Shit Head.
One night I told her,
“Hannah, I know I’m not handsome, but I’m steady and I make plenty of
money. You would never have to worry about me being faithful and I love you so I
know we could be desperately happy. Will you marry me?”
She turned me down, but
I felt her refusal wasn’t convincing, so I resolved to keep the pressure on.
After that she turned me down over and over, then one night, almost suddenly,
she sighed and said, “Oh, all right, Bernard.”
“Uh, all right you
will marry me?”
She sighed again,
“Yes, Bernard.”
This sudden turn-around
after so many refusals stunned me. I couldn’t believe her at first. I was
speechless. She really said she’ll marry me. I didn’t care if it was on the
rebound from Shit Head. My lie had got rid of him forever. If he’d loved
Hannah like I do he wouldn’t have given up so easy.
I couldn’t believe
it. I was so happy. I’ll do whatever it takes. We’ll be happy. She will love
me in time. I figured after we married, I’d get her pregnant as soon as
possible. If the baby looks a lot like me, she’d love it. Women always love
their babies, even if they’re ugly. My Mamma did. And if the baby looked like
me, it’ll be easier for her to fall in love with me too. We’ll be so happy.
Hannah’s dad was an
easygoing guy who only wanted what was best for Hannah. The truth of the matter
is he was too easy going. Hannah’s mom ordered him around like a slave.
Thankfully, Hannah was more independent and not easily cowed by her mother. She
told me her mother was against our marriage. I already knew that by the way she
acted when I was around. Hannah didn’t say so, but I bet her mom was telling
her she was too pretty to be marrying a horse. What a bitchy woman, but I
figured the old lady would come around in time when she saw how much I loved
Hannah. Anyway, Hannah was going ahead against her mom’s wishes and if I never
made friends with her mom then to hell with her.
I was happy and excited
on our wedding night. The expectations and anxiety of waiting had built to an
unbearable climax. The possibility Hannah might not be a virgin never occurred
to me. She would never sleep with me and I foolishly assumed she had never slept
with anyone.
My whole world exploded
in the first instant when I realized Hannah wasn’t a virgin. Monstrous waves
of shock engulfed me. I couldn’t go on. I screamed, “Ooohaarw, my god,
Hannah, how could you?” Then misery crushed my whole existence when it dawned
on me—Shit Head beat me to her!
She wouldn’t say it
was him, but I knew it was. If he had lived in
Ventura, I would have run out that night and whipped his ass. Hannah was frightened and
crying hysterically, but even at that she wasn’t as upset as she should have
been. She sputtered something about being sorry I was disappointed, but she felt
it was really none of my business. Can you beat that? All along she had
portrayed perfection. But right on our wedding night, out comes this callus
streak.
Sure, I’d had sex
with Nancy Wall, my ugly girlfriend in college, but that was different, I
didn’t really love her; I just needed sex. A pox would forever haunt my sex
with Hannah. It was a raw wound that wouldn’t heal. A girl can give her
virginity to only one guy, and it galled me that Hannah gave hers to Shit Head
and not me. What’s worse; when I thought about it, I couldn’t do Shit Head
harm now. If I did so, the lies I told him might come out and get back to
Hannah. One positive thing from all this; I wouldn’t ever again feel bad about
the lies I told Shit Head. Any misery he suffered over losing Hannah, he
deserved.
********
Well, we sure got of to
a bad start. For a year after we married, Hannah was in a perpetual blue funk.
She didn’t get pregnant like I’d hoped, but that didn’t surprise me
because she would hardly ever sleep with me. She didn’t say so, but I
suspected she didn’t want to get pregnant.
She’s so pretty a lot
of guys flirted with her, and damn it, she didn’t tell them to go to hell like
she should. The only time she showed any life was when some hunk was selling her
shoes or something. It got so I tried to be with her every time she went out or
some guy would try to put the make on her. She was so naive and gullible she was
ripe for picking. It kept me on edge all the time to make sure she didn’t go
anywhere without me.
She said she was tired
of staying home and she wanted to get a job. That’s out; all sorts of monkey
business goes on where men and women are thrown together, even in libraries.
One morning I said,
“Hannah, give me your grocery list and I’ll buy the groceries on the way
home from work.” I didn’t enjoy buying groceries, but it removed the need
for her to get out.
“But I want to get
them myself. I never get out anymore,” she said.
Little furies bolted
through my mind, I thought, you don’t fool me, you just want to get out where
men can gawk at you.
You can understand how
infuriated I was when I found birth control pills in Hannah’s dresser. I
thought she hadn’t got pregnant because she wouldn’t let us have sex very
often, but now I understand the real reason. It also explained why she was
always so quiet when I talked about wanting a baby. Oh, what a lying, deceitful
woman she turned out to be. When I confronted her about the pills, her only
flimsy excuse was she thought it would be better to wait for a while before
starting a family. I made her watch me dump all her pills down the toilet. After
that she wouldn’t have sex with me at all. I never dreamed Hannah could be so
selfish. I was so angry; I began thinking of forcing her.
I didn’t know which
way to turn. Our marriage was crumbling like a piece of stale cake, and I was
helpless to keep all the pieces together.
One night Hannah moped
around with her customary long face and she seemed more nervous than usual. I
said, “Something is eating you, Hannah, spit it out.”
“I know this will
upset you, but…”
“Go on.”
“Neither one of us
has been happy with our marriage. I think we should have a trial separation.”
“What the hell do you
mean? We don’t have any problems we can’t work out.”
“I’m sorry,
Bernard. I think it would be best if I stayed at Mother’s for a while.”
“You can’t just
walk out like that. You’re committed. You’re not going anywhere. Just can
that separation crap.”
“Please don’t make
this hard, Bernard. I’ve made up my mind. Can I have my car keys so I can take
my things with me?”
She had already decided
and wasn’t brave enough to say so. I felt like locking her in our bedroom, but
I knew that wouldn’t be a permanent solution. To give me time to think, I
said, “Go read a book and cool off. You’re not going anywhere.”
Hannah looked at me for
a long minute as if she wanted to say more. Finally, she slunk out of the room
like scolded puppy. She’s a big coward. She doesn’t have the nerve to leave
me, but just the thought of her leaving shook me plenty. If she ever really left
me I might never get her back. She stayed out of sight for the rest of the
evening.
I was nervous about
going to work the next morning, but I couldn’t stay home just to watch her.
When I got home from
work that evening, I found her waiting in the bedroom with two packed bags
sitting on the floor. If I wasn’t such an even tempered person I would have
knocked her flat of her back. I said, “What the hell do you think you’re
doing?”
“Please, Bernard.
Give me my car keys to carry these things.”
“I grabbed her bags
and threw them clear across the room. One bag burst open and spilled everything
in it. I screamed, “Get this into your head, you’re not going anywhere. You
don’t have any money (I’d made sure of that for some time) and I’ll never
give you a penny. You won’t take one thing out of this house. You’ll miss
our big house and all those clothes you’ve blown a fortune on. How would you
get by?”
“I’ll get a job. I
want to work anyway,” Hannah stammered between sobs.
How do you deal with a
stupid crybaby? I stomped out to the kitchen and poured myself a double scotch.
After I thought about it for a few minutes, I decided it would be better if I
calm down and try to reason with her.
She was sitting on the
bed looking miserable. Her eyes were red but at least she wasn’t crying. I
pulled up a chair and sat facing her. For thirty minutes I calmly explained how
she was committed to our marriage and how she would never enjoy luxury like I
could give her, and how we could have wonderful life together. I told her I
needed her and loved her with all my heart. She stiffened like a stone statue
and never said a word. At last I said, “We can work out any problem, Hannah.
Promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said, will you?”
She didn’t say yes or
no; she simply got up and went into the bathroom and shut the door. I went to
the den and tried to read, but I couldn’t keep my mind on it. She was asleep
when I opened the bedroom door to go to bed. I undressed and slipped into bed as
quietly as I could. Maybe the storm is over. She’ll probably sulk for a few
days and then things can get back to normal. I hope so. Whew, what I have to put
up with. Hannah was pretty as Snow White, but sometimes I wondered if she
wasn’t a little on the dull side. You know what I mean—mentally?
Damn if she didn’t do
it. I came home from work and Hannah wasn’t there. A note on the kitchen table
simply said she was sorry things hadn’t worked out and she had decided to
leave and start divorce proceedings. I was so furious I hurt my toe when I
kicked the kitchen cabinet. Her clothes closet was empty. Some son-of-a-bitch
had helped her because I had started carrying her car keys with me when I went
to work, and her car was still there. A secret boyfriend, I’ll bet. Maybe her
jellyfish dad helped her. It was just like him and Hannah to not have the nerve
to do it when I was home. If she wasn’t shacked up with some boyfriend, she
would be at her mother’s, because I’d never let her have credit cards or
enough money to stay in a motel.
Sure enough, she picked
up the phone at her mother’s. Just waiting on me to call and beg, I suppose.
Goddamnit, I’ll never beg. “Please Hannah,” I said, “you can’t leave
me. You’ve got to come home. I need you.”
“It just hasn’t
worked out, Bernard. I’m sorry.”
“Marriage is for
better or for worse; you can’t just walk out of a marriage. You’re
committed, you have to stay.”
“I’m not just walking out, Bernard. I’ve really tried.”
“If I’ve done
anything wrong just tell me and I will promise to not do it anymore.”
“Nothing will change
now, it’s too late. I’m sorry, Bernard.”
“I’m coming over,
we’ll talk about it.”
“No, don’t come
over. I won’t talk about it anymore. Bye, Bernard.”
“Don’t hang—” Damn that woman.
If she thought I’d
give her support money or pay her lawyer she’d be surprised. She listens to
Nancy, our mutual friend. You remember Nancy, my ugly girlfriend at
Cal
State. I called her.
“Nancy, Hannah has
left me. I can’t stand it. I have to get her back. Please talk to her.
She’ll listen to you.”
“I’m sorry,
Bernard. I know you’re hurting, but there’s nothing I can do.”
“Please, please,
Nancy. Do it for us. Do it for old time’s sake.”
“Bernard, I have to
go now. Please don’t call me again.”
“Think it over,
Nancy, if you change your mind, call me.”
I slammed the phone
down. Damn that bitch. I thought she was our friend. Well, you can go to hell,
Nancy Wall.
Ten days passed and
Hannah got more and more stubborn. They just let their answering machine come on
with some silly-ass stuff about they can’t come to the phone. Of course she
won’t return any of my messages, either. What a coward Hannah has turned out
to be. How will we ever patch things up if she won’t even talk to me? Old man
Brooks, Hannah’s mealy mouthed dad, came on the phone once and tried to get
nasty. He’s a bigger coward than Hannah, and didn’t know how to get nasty. I
just laughed at him. He has the backbone of a soggy noodle. I expected they’d
sic Hannah’s mom on me next, she was born nasty. Her bullhorn goes full blast
day and night.
Something had to give.
I couldn’t work and I couldn’t sleep. Hannah churned in my brain like an
active volcano. My nerves strummed like cheap banjo strings and something was
shaking all the time; my hands, my feet; or else I found myself making tight
fists and clenching my teeth. I’m ashamed to admit it, but several times I
burst into spontaneous crying tantrums. I would sweat, stink, and shower, but I
could never get clean. At other times I found myself reacting with anger. I’m
normally an easy going man, but when I thought of all Hannah had done, I wanted
to smash everything around me.
One night I lay in my
easy chair exhausted from loss of sleep. A splitting headache tormented me so it
hurt to breath. To suck in air felt like more effort than living to my next
breath. I remember wishing I could somehow fall asleep and later awake and find
all my problems with Hannah were only a nightmare. That none of this had really
happened.
Sleep finally pressed
down like a bag of cement on my chest. I dreamed I had just entered the front
door and Hannah rushed into my arms and kissed me passionately. The scene was in
slow motion and it seemed more real than if I had been awake. She took my hand
and led me to a candlelit dinner. In the dim light on the other end of the table
she ate and talked excitedly. God, but she was beautiful. There was no sound and
I couldn’t hear her voice, but the important thing was that she was thrilled
to be alone with me. Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight. Her lips were moving,
but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I said, “What?” and she said Sweetheart… This one word stung like a slap in the face and I
jerked awake. The awful truth came avalanching down on me. Never since our
wedding had Hannah called me Sweetheart, or kissed me passionately, or put her
arms around me. Not once had I ever kindled a spark in her eyes, or had her talk
to me with excitement. My whole body went into spasms and I cried, “Please
God, strike me dead!”
It came to a head when
I was served with divorce papers. I panicked and jumped in the car and tore over
to Hannah’s house.
She wouldn’t even
open the door. I tried to smash the door in, but it was heavy and all I did was
bruise my shoulder. Yelling through the door got me so frustrated I lost my cool
and yelled, “Hannah, if you go through with this divorce, I swear, I’ll kill
you, I’ll kill us both. You’ll never sleep with another man, and that’s a
promise.” That was an idle threat—I guess. Boy, how that woman could get
under my skin. I wasn’t sure I loved her anymore. I almost hated her even. No,
I did love her. I loved her. Oooh, Hannah, Hannah.
Would you believe it?
Hannah and her kooky parents got a restraining order. I wasn’t even allowed
near their place. I was at my wits end. I couldn’t go on like that. I thought
more and more about killing us both. Hannah could have stopped all of this by
coming back to me. It would have been so easy. We’d get back to normal. I’d
do my part. I’d even let her have her car keys and let her go shopping
alone—maybe. If she refused to come home, I believed I really could shoot her
and then shoot myself. There wouldn’t be any other way, I couldn’t go on
living. I was desperate, we could have been so happy. She’d forced this on us.
Hannah didn’t have the brains of a gnat, but I was crazy about her and
couldn’t help it. After all she’d done; I still loved her more than life
itself.
I took my gun in and
out the drawer a hundred times. I know it was stupid.
No, it wasn’t stupid
of me; it was stupid of Hannah to let it drag on. All she would have had to do
was say she was sorry and come home. I’d forgive her. If she wouldn’t come
home I didn’t want to live.
Instead of going to
work one morning, I parked down the street and watched Hannah’s mother drive
off. I was sure Hannah would be in the house alone. I knew she wouldn’t let me
in if I knocked, so I sneaked around to the back door. Fortunately, she hadn’t
locked the door, and I was in the kitchen before she realized it.
“Bernard! You can’t
come in here.”
“We’ve got to talk,
Hannah.”
“We don’t have
anything to talk about. I want you to leave.”
“Please Hannah, be
reasonable.”
She reached for the
phone and I slapped her hand away real hard. She rubbed her hand and her eyes
grew big and scared. “All I want to do is talk,” I pleaded.
“I can’t talk. I
don’t want to talk. Just leave, Bernard.”
“I’ll leave when
you come with me.”
“Never!”
“Damn it, Hannah.
We’re husband and wife. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
“Not anymore,
Bernard. Our marriage didn’t work. Accept that and get on with your life.”
I reached in my hip
pocket for my gun but it hung up. I finally fumbled it out. “Now, let’s go
to your bedroom and get your things. You’re going home with me now.” I
hadn’t planned to pull my gun, and if I’d thought it through, I would have
known if I forced her, she would leave me as soon as I turned my back. But I was
so angry and upset I was incapable of thinking clearly.
“Put that away,
Bernard. I’m not going with you and I don’t believe you’d dare use that
gun.” She didn’t look as scared now as she did when I slapped her hand.
“Without you, I
d-don’t want to live. Go with me now or I’ll kill us both.” My trembling
voice crackled like radio static, and didn’t sound forceful at all. It was
more like a whining two-year old pleading for candy.
“You’re a monster,
Bernard, but I don’t think you have the nerve to kill us both.”
I tried to speak
normally but my voice was childish in spite of my efforts, “I will, I-I swear
I will.” Suddenly, I burst into babyish sobbing. I couldn’t help it and no
matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop.
“You won’t; you
can’t. Look at yourself; look at your hands. You’re shaking like a leaf.”
I was blinded by tears,
but I could see my blurry hand waving all around with the gun. She was right; I
would have probably missed a barn door even at close range. I don’t think I
had the strength to pull the trigger anyway. I screamed and ran out the door.
When I got back in my
car, miserable stinking sweat oozed out of every pore of my body. My clothes
were drenched. Not since Vernon Stone in the first grade had I been so
thoroughly humiliated. That little twit of a girl had hammered every ounce of
manhood out of me, and she did it as easy as swatting a fly. Nothing could have
gone worse. I couldn’t shoot Hannah; or me either. I wasn’t a killer. I had
lost my nerve. How stupid I must have looked. A grown horse blubbering like a
baby. I’d blazed up and melted down in seconds, just like the Hindenburg. How
could I possibly live after that?
At home I cowered under
covers and misery seemed eternal as I relived those humiliating minutes. The
black plague could not have made me sicker. I couldn’t eat and my clothes
sagged like becalmed sails. I could be fired from my job because I didn’t call
in sick. Slowly I realized I wasn’t going to die from humiliation. There was
only one way to recover; I had to install steel rods in my backbone. I swore to
God almighty, I would be a man. I’m not a coward. I am
not a coward.
As my will to live
improved, I felt as though I had risen from the dead. Rational thought slowly
took command again. I knew now I would never have the nerve to kill Hannah. This
thought came to me: I’d compel her in some way to kill me, self-defense maybe.
That would end my misery because I can’t live without her. I wasn’t sure I
would ever have the nerve to kill myself either, just like I couldn’t kill
her. I doubt if I could pull the trigger on myself. If she killed me, she would
be miserable for the rest of her life. I knew she would, and with her prissy
fragile conscience she’d never have a minute’s peace, I knew she wouldn’t.
Ha, she’d never marry again, I’m sure of that.
How could I get her to
kill me? I would think of some way. Oh Hannah, Hannah, why did you do this to
me? To us?
I didn’t sleep a wink
for two days, but I finally decided putting it off wouldn’t help. Just making
the decision had a calming effect. I sat in my easy chair and managed to hold my
hands still. It will all be over today—this morning, I thought. I was steady
and convinced I could stay steady. I’d thought of every contingency. I
wouldn’t turn into a Jello baby this time. I’ll die like a man—er
horse—whatever.
It was easier this
time. I drove calmly to Hannah’s home. I felt like I was floating in a fog and
only the view directly in front of me was in focus. I knew the back door would
be locked after the way I got in the other day. This time I had a hammer to
smash the glass in the door.
Glass flew all over the
kitchen when I smashed it way to hard. I reached in and unlocked the door. In a
second I was inside. Hannah burst in from the front of the house. I maneuvered
around so she was trapped in the corner.
She said, “How dare
you come here, Bernard? You’re a monster. Don’t pull that gun again. You
know you don’t have the nerve to shoot me.”
“I know that.” My
voice was calm as if someone else was talking for me, “This time, Miss Hannah,
we’re going to find out how much nerve you’ve got.”
Hannah said, “I’ve
got enough nerve to put you out of my life forever.”
“We’ll see.” I
was amazed; I was as calm as Humphrey Bogart. “I’m going to lay this gun on
the table in front of you. Then I will walk toward you. You can stop me anytime
by picking up the gun and shooting me. If you haven’t shot me by the time I
get to you, I’m going to smash your face into a pulp with this hammer.”
“That’s ridiculous.
I’m not going to shoot you and you’re not going to hit me.”
“The gun is fully
loaded. All I ask is that you unload it on me; don’t let me suffer.”
“Stop where you are,
Bernard. Don’t come any closer.”
“Ha! See-see, picking
up the gun wasn’t hard-hard, was it? It is your only way out, Hannah. Now,
pull-pull the trigger.”
“Stop Hoss! You come
one step closer and I’ll shoot. I really will.”
“Do it then! Do-do it!”
********
I just heard someone say today was August 14th. That means in two
days it will be thirty two years since I had my showdown with Hannah. My stupid
plan of forcing her to kill me in self-defense could not have gone worse. I’m
blind now, but I can see it all so plain, just like it was yesterday.
Hannah picked up the
gun when I threatened her, then all of a sudden she threw the gun behind the
refrigerator and ran for the stairs. That infuriated me and I forgot all about
my plan. I dropped the hammer and caught her ankle at the top of the stairs. I
was determined to choke her to death. I wanted her looking at me as she took her
last breath. She kicked me in the face but I held on tight. We both went
crashing down the stairs. My right leg went between the rungs of the stair
railing. I didn’t feel pain so much as I heard a horrible splintering of
bones. But that was nothing compared to when both my eyes smashed into the stair
pilaster. In total blackness I screamed and withered in excruciating pain. My
hands were slimy from warm greasy blood spurting on my face. I heard frantic
talking in a distant room, it was Hannah; she was calling emergency.
Doctors claimed both
eyes were smashed beyond repair and had to be removed. My leg was amputated just
below the knee. Hannah destroyed me worse than death. If a horse breaks a leg,
someone shoots him. That is so merciful. A blind human horse is restored just
enough to sit inside his head for the rest of his life. I can’t read, watch
TV, or walk. My mind replays all that Bitch Hannah did to me. It’s like
watching a horror movie over and over, and sometimes I scream. As soon as I
finish the stair scene it starts over again from the beginning.
I’m in the county
poor folks stable on Pleasant Lane, of all places. At times I feel air moving from one eye socket through my skull
to the other socket. A horse with empty sockets for eyes must be a delightful
sight, especially for people who see me for the first time. Folks here at Happy
Farm beg me to wear eye patches, but I refuse. Why should I? They won’t help
me see, and anyway, I want everyone to see what Hannah did to me. Occasionally I
hear some stranger gagging and I laugh as hard and loud as I can. I hope I give
them nightmares for the rest of their lives. I refused a prosthesis for my
stump. Where’s a blind crippled horse going to walk anyway?
Medical bills wiped out
my savings. Our sucker government has to pay all my bills now. The only bright
thought I have these days is I don’t have to look at my horse face in the
mirror to shave every morning. George, the male nurse, has that happy job. The
stupid jerk never gives up trying to cheer me up. I neigh at him when he
finishes shaving me.
I said to George one
morning, “If you’re serious about cheering me up, feed me poison so I’ll
die. That’ll make me happy.”
George said, “Man,
you don’t want to die. You’re having too good a time being miserable.”
“Yeh, and what do you
know about misery, George?”
“I’m black. My papa
could’ve been half of
Baton Rouge. My momma abandoned me, my grandmamma hated me, and my teachers said I was
stupid. On my eighteenth birthday my belt broke trying to hang myself. Choking
in a heap on the floor, I thought, ‘Maaan, you couldn’t get your color
right, or your momma, or your grandmamma, or your brains. You can’t even kill
yourself. Ain’t it about time you tried something different?”
“You are stupid,
George. So what did you do?”
“I erased my past
completely. It was easy as turning off the TV in the middle of Fox News. I
hitched to Detroit, got a job on the assembly line, and I sez to myself, ‘Ain’t life grand?’
And I kept saying that until I realized, life is
grand. Be grateful for whatever crumbs are left, man. It’s your head you’ve
got to set right. That’s the secret to happiness.”
What a pathetic
ignorant loser. What can George know about misery? He’s not a blind crippled
horse.
Am I bitter? Sure I am.
Who wouldn’t be? Bitch Hannah got off Scot free. Not a scratch on that prissy
face of hers. It should have been her eyes that got smashed and her leg that got
ripped off, not mine. She came to visit me once here at happy farm and as soon
as I heard her voice I screamed and kicked with my leg and stump. I rocked my
wheelchair from side to side until it overturned and sprawled me all over the
floor. Hannah ran off in hysterics. They had to put me in a straight jacket and
shoot me with needles to calm me down. I would like to think Hannah grieves
about what she did to me every day of her life, but she’s such a cold fish, I
doubt if she does. A corrupt judge granted her divorce in a heartbeat. The
stupid ass said I brought all my troubles on myself.
Once in the middle of
the night I woke up and thought I had been dumped outside in the rain. Some
bastard had sneaked into my room and was spitting on me. I screamed loud enough
to wake Genghis Khan, but the Phantom Spitter got away. The third night he
sneaked in I was ready. I jerked up and caught a handful of Spitter’s hospital
gown. It ripped off and Spitter got away stark naked. That is when I learned his
name because I could hear the nurses chasing around and yelling after Seth
Keller, the mean bastard in the room next to mine.
Afterwards, I heard the
night director in the hall tell the nurses, “We’ll have to move him.
There’s no way we can have two crazy sons-of-bitches so close together.”
I expected they would
move me, but they moved Keller instead. I kind of missed the old fart. My hands
and arms were very strong from using a wheelchair, and sooner or later I would
have caught him. I would have broken his fucking neck bare handed. No jury would
convict me for killing someone who spits on a blind man. I guaran-damn-tee you,
I would disrupt a courtroom like history has never seen. Greta Van Sustren and
her asshole experts would scream apeshit for months on FOX News. TV hounds would
drag Hannah out in her front yard for background interviews. Can’t you see her
waving her hands around and telling the world what a monster I am? Ha, I’m
already in the Looney Wing; what more could a jury do to a crippled, blind,
screaming horse? Ha.—HA! HA!—hee, hee, hee, hee,
hee…
Someone told me years
ago that Hannah married some bastard and they had two sons and a daughter. I
suppose her children are college graduates and popping grandbabies by now. I
hope she’s made that bastard she married as miserable as she made me.
Many, many times I’ve
had a nightmare of Hannah meeting me at the door with open arms and passionate
kisses. When she says Sweetheart, my
screams wake up everyone in the East Wing. That’s neat. I wish I had the lungs
to wake up the West Wing too.
For a few years I tried
to think of some kind of revenge, but I could never come up with anything
hurtful that I could do from a wheelchair, and totally blind.
Each hour I live is as long as a day and most of the time I float away in
empty pitch-black space and pray to die. I’d kill myself, but you’ve got to
see to commit suicide. Well, I suppose I could figure out a way if I was really
determined. Maybe I’m too miserable to live and too big a coward to die. Naw,
I’m not a coward. I’ll die, I suppose, when all the misery in me is used up.
Shit, without misery, what else is there to live for?
Of course Hannah is
responsible for everything, but occasionally I wonder if I’m blaming the wrong
person. Maybe I should blame Momma. She brought me into this stinking world. But
then, no good to blame her, she’s dead and gone now.
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