BEYOND LOW EBB

Winning this election started a cascade of events just four years after we had settled into retirement living on-island. It increased his hyper state of activity and escalated his drinking habit. Winning the election consumed his time, to the exclusion of time with me. In a very short time, he was flying off to Long Island alone. He stayed away from home for more than the expected one night a month; it was often three nights a week. Sadly, winning the election also altered his long-term relationship with Cousin Bill. I understand that with Bill's longtime experience as an educated lawyer, and now as an appointed judge himself, he had willingly offered much of his experience to Ray. Apparently, Ray never took it. Ray appeared non-receptive to Bill's input. I was told their relationship was never the same. I remember when Bill visited us at our island beach house, his comment to me was to “stop being such a martyr.” The money Ray earned in this position was not something we talked about or shared, although the bank account was in both our names. The unspoken message was “Don’t touch it!” Ray returning home with lots of goodies for others and for us was commonplace. I see this Santa. A benevolent icon, Ray moved over the island, talking and smiling to all. His jolly hellos were like ho-ho-hos flowing over the air. The sack of his chosen goodies appeared like magic. Now the bumps thrusted at me from his enlarging belly, once taken as a joke, meant stay out of my face. I was pushed aside up against a corner counter. No visible bruises were there for others to see. I felt the pain of those bruises. Bruises faded. More and more often, I stayed at home alone. In public we appeared unchanged. Behind our closed Great Harbor doors, there was a drastic change. Ray began to utter this hurtful phrase over and over and over again: “Fat, ugly, lazy, stupid, useless woman.” His lifestyle had always demanded many resources. When spending exceeded our resources, he often brought this up. Agreeing to the necessary cutbacks was easy for me. I was willing and able to carry out our goal. In no time at all, he would be spending on another trip, taking another hunting excursion, buying another electronic device, or needing something for our boat. I finally refused to attend an annual fundraising dinner when his outbidding of others escalated. These auctioned items were mostly artwork for our already filled walls. I remember mentioning to one artist my admiration regarding his work. The artist’s quick reply told our story. "Your comment has no meaning. You are not the person who opens a wallet.” My husband’s fiscal irresponsibility increased. Without asking me or his supervisor, he simply chose to submit money vouchers for the office work I did. Mayhem erupted. I resigned a position that I had never applied for. Ray's advice to me was, “You can always go wash toilets! How about being the school crossing guard!” His preference for the best restaurants remained. Envision his rotund, gutsy presence spending and tipping big, and his requests for yet another bottle of expensive wine being met in haste. Envision me waiting for a water refill. His appetite for overspending continued. Spending large sums of money for jewelry for me brought Ray pleasure. As time passed, I grew to regret such lavish gifts. Our life together was splintering, our intimacy weakening. I continued to go along with his Santa role. We had a house full of holiday guests. I welcomed a red-bowed puppy delivered to me. Who could resist? We always had dogs for pets. We had put down our last sick dog. Knowing my husband’s frequent absences, I had pleaded with him not to have a dog now. At home one evening, after being at the bar drinking, he put his T-shirt on our dog. He ordered our obedient loyal dog to go upstairs. Silent and horrified, I watched an extra-large T-shirt twist and tangle among our dog’s legs. Those stairs were unmanageable for our large dog. Titillating, unstoppable, loud laughter came from my husband. I reached out to rescue our dog. Ray's drinking habit became more predictable. Whenever Ray was on-island, he rushed to the local bar promptly at four thirty each and every day. A special large glass waited on the readied bar. His favorite bar stool stood unmarked and reserved for him. At home, I waited with my well-rehearsed waiting style. I watched sunsets alone. One evening he finally arrived home for a warmed-up dinner. We argued over something I do not recall. I left our dinner table and went upstairs to bed to avoid any further escalation. I was awakened from sleep. His demanding, shrill voice exploded with anger up our stairway, “Put the floodlights out by the count of five or I will shoot them out. One, two, three, four, five.” One loud gunshot swelled in amplification across the still night water. I could not believe what I heard. Out went the floodlight. Outside, a light fixture was left dangling. Inside, I was left dangling in frozen moments of mystery. There were no visible bruises on my body to record and leave in my safe deposit box. Later, I heard his brazen voice describe his pleasure. He explained away any guilt. "Not bad for a one-eyed person!" A new suggestion came from Ray for us to buy another island business. I went along for what I thought was an information-gathering trip. I heard and felt the power of his certainty when he made his announcement to everyone on our return ferry trip. Indeed, we were buying this business. There was no further shared discussion about buying or not buying this business. Another persuasive deal was done. He used his trick of authority. I followed my script of mandated unawareness. Not only was there no further discussion about buying the business, there was never any discussion or agreement about the financial management of this endeavor. What happened to any possible collaboration in our fragile relationship? My voice was no longer audible. Obtaining this new business was a weighty burden on our already fragile bond. Today, going back to that moment in time connects my consciousness to humiliation. I did not move away from the fear that stifled me once again. We all have a human right to be treated in a decent, reasonable way, yet this cannot happen in such a terrifying place. Where was I? Where was I going? I felt lost. I. My distress, which I had long held within, finally erupted. I needed to welcome the ghost of change that I had refused to see. I finally stood up for myself. My first step away from my bewildering anger was to take some time away to evaluate the negativity in our relationship. What I recall in this moment of writing was what I saw and heard when I sat across from Ray to tell him: no bulling body language, no gloating come-backs and no-put downs. That August afternoon in 1984, he remained silent. I had serious work to do. I was in a place I did not want to be. This place was outside of my relationship to our island and the home I loved. I felt my unease. It hurt. I felt the poverty in my spirit.