I can honestly say that from the minute we got into the car, somewhere heading into Virginia, I knew it was a huge mistake. Patricia was flying. Speeding. Driven. I could see it in her face, this focus and determination that disturbed me. We had made plans to stop at one of my Aunt's home to spend the night. I remember we didn't get there until quite late, and I could barely swallow a sandwich before hitting the bed. Between my lingering illness, existing exhaustion, and the tension in the car, I was drained. I remember sitting in my Aunt's kitchen and quietly voicing concern to her over the trip. In retrospect, I find it very disturbing that everyone kept telling me things would be ok, and me having this horrible sense that things were not ok. At the worst, I pictured us arriving in Alabama, staying at Patricia's Aunt and Uncle's who were in Florida, so we were in the house alone, and then her running off with Dan the entire time, and me either being a third wheel, or sitting alone, and neither vision sat well with me. This is what I had warned everyone about from the start, but other than my boyfriend, who did see what could happen, the adults were all trying to put the best face on it.
Early the next morning, we were back on the road and speeding, speeding, speeding. I remember falling asleep at one point and this seemed to piss Patricia off. Somewhere in Alabama (I think Montgomery, I just can't remember), we hadstopped at a carryout store, and I stayed in the car. When Patricia came out, she had a young man in tow, and she announced we were driving him to Tuscaloosa with us. His name was Patrick, I think, and his father was a drama professor at the university. He had been in that part of Alabama participating in some theatre event and was returning home. I yanked her aside and said we couldn't take a stranger in the car with us, but she pushed my concerns aside and off we went. Patrick was pleasant enough. Engaging, locaquious and intelligent. He was also attractive. He sat in the back seat chatting away, and at some point he and I connected on something, but it left Patricia out of the conversation. I could see her becoming angrier. He was paying attention to me, not to her, and I could also see he was an intelligent enough boy to try and keep her involved in the conversation where most would not have that sensitivity. Her answers became terser, and I knew things were not good. I certainly had no interest in him. I hadn't even wanted him along. This was solely her doing, and it was turning on her. When we arrived in Tuscaloosa, we dropped him over by the university, and then she went ripping through town to get to the house. As soon as we entered, before we even unpacked, she was on the phone and calling Dan. My heart sank. "Here we go," I thought. "Now, it begins."
Within minutes, we were back out and into the car, driving to Dan's apartment. Here is where it gets very crazy. Dan opened the door, we entered, and there was a young woman. A redheaded knockout. "Surprise, surprise, surprise," as Gomer Pyle used to say. I could see that Patricia was clueless that he had been living with this woman. Even now, I cringe at remembering how the woman looked. Bewildered. Hurt. Who were these two women, and what did they mean to him? Why were they here? It was all in her face. I can't remember her name. I want to say "Kathy," but I just don't recall. I do remember being entirely in her corner on this, and I worked very hard through unspoken action to let her know I was not a threat to her relationship. Patricia, however...what can I say? She was flirting, she was overt, she was horrible. I was so ashamed to be there. I forget what was said during that time. I know it was established that Kathy was a nursing student, still in classes, and I could see her wondering "Just how safe am I going off and leaving him with this girl?" I sat off to the side feeling incredibly trapped and sunk.
From that point on, I resolved I would stay far, far away from any more trips to Dan's place, and that's exactly what I did. That night, I did not go back with her, nor the next day when Dan, Kathy, Dan's cousin and Patricia all went off to shoot guns somewhere. I declined. I was there to "rest." I remember lounging around, reading magazines, realizing that even my worst fears had somehow been exceeded, and knowing there wasn't going to be a "best face" to put on things. I went outside, and there was a young couple at the house next door with their baby boy, sitting on their steps. Friendly person that I am, I wandered over, introduced myself, made small talk, and spent the afternoon with them, watching the little boy stumble about on the sidewalk, learning to walk, diaper drooping, and realizing I was far better off than going with my other option. Patricia returned home that night, and I could tell things had not gone as hoped. Her fallen dreams and fury came off of her in waves.
Things weren't any better the next day. She had me join her that afternoon at Dan's place. I probably declined at first, but I am sure some reason was proffered as to why I couldn't stay behind--dinner later, some activity, I don't recall. I asked Dan if he would mind me resting on his bed for a while. In truth, I couldn't bear sitting in the room with them. I went and lay down, listening to their voices in the living room. Somewhere during their conversation, Patricia totally turned on me. I don't even remember the transition. She started ripping me to shreds: how I was such a pill in her efforts to be there, how I was being a total drag now (true, but I was trying to protect myself), and then the real attack launched. Venom, venom, venom. I listened for a while until I couldn't stomach another word. I entered the living room, I never made eye contact with her, but I quietly asked Dan if he would drive me back to where we were staying. She started screaming at me then. She may have called me a "bitch," I can't remember it all, but it was nasty. While in the car, Dan and I said very little, but close to the house he asked me, in this very low voice, if I was ok. The whole time in the car, I had turned my face from him and stared out the window. I was afraid I was going to lose it and start sobbing, and I absolutely did not want to put him through such a thing. I told him I was not okay, but that I would be and not to worry.
In truth, I was a wreck. I had just walked away from character assassination and now what was I going to do? I didn't have a credit card. I had very little money on me. I didn't know. I had to take a key or something and lift the latch on the screen door to enter the house (thank God for lax security). I do remember purposefully going to the bedroom and packing my things. In that act, there was never any hesitation. I knew I had to leave. I went next door to the couple's house where I had spent time. What amazing people they were. They had two children, one who was three and one under two. She had just had back surgery and was white with pain. I sat and told them everything. Everything. I used their phone, reversed charges, and I called my boyfriend. I must have been sobbing at that point, just to get rid of everything I had been holding in for days. He was incredible. So calm. So sure of himself. Because of his father's work, he had been travelling the world since he was a small child. When he was ten, he flew alone to Korea. When he was 16, he flew alone, via a European route and stopovers, to Vietnam. He was far more worldly than your average teenager. He asked me if there was an airport or a bus station? Yes. Was there a Western Union? Yes. He took the number where I was staying, and he set about wiring me money and made all of my travel arrangements to get me back home.
The next day, early in the morning, the woman and I walked in her garden while she showed me her vegetables coming up. She was so kind to open her house to a troubled stranger. I remember I slept in her child's bed that night, with the black lab sharing my space, and I tossed all night, just sick with worry about the whole mess. During the night, I heard Patricia arrive back home, and she began screaming at the top of her lungs when she realized I was gone. You could hear her cursing me through the opened windows. I had never told her about my getting to know the neighbors, so she had no idea where I was. That morning, the neighbor drove me to Western Union, and then the airport. I made sure I had their names and address so I could send them a small gift and thank you once I had arrived home (which I did), and my return back to Washington was interesting, to say the least.
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