Divorce
"No one forgets a past hurt; after a wound heals, scar tissue remains
as a subtle reminder and effectively warns the individual against
potential threats of a similar nature."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Divorce
A new year had begun. And on January 15, 1977 we heard that Norm and
Tracy's marriage had culminated in divorce.
It was in the paper, but Mom and Dad rarely read the divorce column;
everyone else knew about the event several days before us, and we only
found out through a Saturday morning call from my aunt who was
naturally surprised to read the startling news. When Mom answered the
phone as if nothing had happened, and continued to act likewise after
Margaret's inquiry, my aunt knew that Mom was ignorant of the entire
episode. "Oh, Muriel, you don't know. . ." she gasped over the
telephone line, and proceeded to explain that which had prompted her
call. "I'll call them," Mom said, and promised to return with an
explanation as she hung up the phone. It had to be a mistake. Mom
flew into the living room to scan through the Tuesday evening paper,
and adjusting her eyes to the fine print, discovered their names were
indeed listed among the many divorces; even the address was correct.
Common decency should have allowed my parents to be alerted before the
rest of the world; their pain was needless, because it could have been
avoided. Mom stood, headed toward the telephone, and dialed
mechanically.
The phone rang several times and Tracy answered with a cheerfulness
that seemed to mock the magnitude of the situation which had just
unfolded. Recovering, Mom asked, "What happened?... the newspaper...
"Oh that!" Tracy returned, "we just did that for income tax purposes."
Her voice echoed through a void across which no bridge would ever span,
hideously jovial and self-satisfied with her own indifference toward
the institution of marriage. Mom held the receiver to her ear in
disbelief, momentarily transfixed by the flood of emotions which
seethed violently within her; this was no time for chatter. "I'm
sorry," her voice broke, "but I just can't talk now," and hung up to
restore her self-control.
Marriage was one of the most significant and meaningful vows in Mom's
life, pledging steadfast love to one's mate until life's end. Love and
marriage were inseparable; apathy toward one would place the other
element in a similar light. Marriage also stood for a wholesome sense
of permanence which based itself on a firm trust in mutual, everlasting
love. Divorce did not coincide with the presence of love, despite the
haughty assertion by Tracy that their's was simply a means of tax
evasion; truth was insensitive to one's emotions just as divorce was
apathetic toward love.
An ocean of speculation washed over our house after the above knowledge
had been gained, and flooded our minds with unanswered questions. It
was not a general practice of the family to mistrust that which another
individual proclaimed to be true; deceit often wound its fingers around
the neck of one given to the preaching of lies, and while strangulation
was never the outcome, the liar rarely escaped the scene unscathed.
Lying had a nasty way of accumulating, and once it appeared its mark
was difficult to scour away. We spoke candidly, and expected similar
treatment; telling the truth seemed logical, if not easier as well,
and deception as a form of entertainment was neither among our habits
nor pleasures. Our family was gullible, yet this susceptibility was
reigned to a certain degree by common sense; if something seemed too
incredible, it was generally shelved in the back of our minds with
overt skepticism, yet outwardly, our heads would bob up and down at the
statement in apparent belief. Thus, a liar might have often perceived
that his tall tale was accepted when, in truth, the whopper's falsity
merely was not confronted. Such occurrences afforded us with hours of
quiet laughter or thoughtful dissent once separated from the story
teller, which spared him the embarrassment of what could have resulted
from uproarious howls of laughter or fiery discord.
Divorce for income tax purposes? Mom translated Tracy's statement as a
distressing, cruel fact; Dad, however, upon hearing the supposed
reason, turned abruptly and stampeded out of the house with a throaty,
"Bull!" as the door slammed in protest. His strong disbelief modified
her belief in a fleeting instant, and Mom's eyes darkened with the
remembrance of shelved glances and curt remarks which now took on an
entirely different perspective. There had been warning signs, but
since they lacked the customary flashing lights, escaped notice.
The thought of Norm and Tracy's divorce stunned me. Although I
disagreed with the idea of procuring a divorce as a method of paying
lesser taxes, I hoped for its validity. I had no grievance against
Tracy or Norm, for personally, they brought only joy into my life, and
if, through the divorce, I could expect to lose the companionship of
one or both, I would feel a great sense of loss. I tried to avoid the
negative images which clouded my eyes, and with naive and hopeful
rationalization, banished divorce from my thoughts through the fact
that I had never witnessed arguments or any other signs of marital
instability in their presence.
Of course I saw less of Norm and Tracy with the beginning of ninth
grade. Time was no longer a surplus commodity, for the homework was
more difficult and life seemed to demand more of my energy. Growing up
was hard; I could not hide at home in a bay of isolation, and pray that
the world would pass by without casting its shadow on my life. I could
not cower among shadows; I had to seek the sun... even though it was
often obscured by clouds.
It wasn't always easy to seek the sun, especially in the middle of
winter, and after a week of the flu... and a week of silence following
the divorce. Nevertheless, I prepared myself emotionally for my return
to school. My recuperation was nearly complete.
Jan 19, 1977... Will go to school tomorrow. Hopefully without my wig.
I washed my hair and styled it, and it looks good.
It was true. Everything did always happen at once.
Actually my timing could not have been better, since a new semester had
begun and a new array of faces would meet my eyes in the various
classes upon my entry; furthermore, it was a blessing that I had caught
a nasty virus, for my reappearance would be buffered by time and the
impairment of facial recollection which accompanies one's absence.
I studied myself relentlessly in the mirror. My hair was pixie-short,
yet its feathered, naturally layered style would be a less disagreeable
look for one my age. A gray and lifeless cast, though dominated by
brown, was still visible in the persistent outcrop, attesting to the
cruelties it had known before it was allowed to pursue life.
The next morning I once again surveyed my reflection. It would have
been so easy to allow cowardice to overpower my intention; the wig,
poised on its styrofoam head, could either be part of the present or
part of the past. I looked at myself in the mirror and ran a comb
through my hair; it wasn't much, but it was mine. I lowered the comb
and placed it on top of the vanity. Taking a deep breath to ease my
churning stomach, I turned from my reflection and permitted the wig to
become a remnant of history.
Jan. 20, 1977... Break through!! First day in a year and four months
that I didn't wear a wig to school or anywhere. I was so nervous when
I went to school. I felt like I was bald. But I got a lot of
compliments which gave me confidence. Dad got me a set of four
perfumes to celebrate.
It was quite a day. When I said "hello" to my friends in the hallway,
many did not recognize me; then after a brief delay, sudden recognition
would cause their eyes to open wide, exploding like recoiling window
shades. "Laurie. . . your own hair!" Others who had somehow missed
aligning the fact that I had been the girl-with-the-wig, were
astonished by the improvement and looked at me in a new light. Most
surprising to me, however, were the teachers who remained unaware of my
health problem, for I had assumed all of my instructors had been thus
enlightened. My civics teacher soon proved that my assumption was
incorrect, however, as he looked at me and proclaimed, "Your hair cut
is quite an improvement." I looked at several of the nearby students,
in whose eyes I caught a shared glimmer of humor. "Thank you," I
replied. Still immersed in self-consciousness, an explanation seemed
rather pointless, yet I marveled at his apparent belief that I had
actually chosen to wear my hair in such an unflattering manner. Some
people must have thought I had a putrid sense of style. The past,
however, no longer seemed to matter, for it was kindled in the fires of
the present, and I felt incredibly free... and irrepressibly human.
It was unreal that I had been dubious about the decision to put my wig
to eternal rest, especially after the frightening reception to which I
had been treated on that first agonizing day of school in August. My
wig caused pain, to be certain, but without it I would have suffered
more; part of me shrunk behind its netted structure of synthetic hair,
and even when my own hair was ready to debut in public, the impending
change suddenly seemed drastic and was accompanied by fear. I felt
unprotected and vulnerable without the wig's weight upon my head. It
was as if I had to relinquish my shield and stand alone and unmasked
before the world's judgmental gaze.
My fear, once overcome, was replaced with ecstasy. I had undergone a
transformation--a metamorphosis--which was amazing. My courage had not
failed me, it had buoyed me up; now I possessed the self-confidence to
reflect formerly concealed attributes because I no longer detested my
appearance, nor did I have to deal with the menacing blows which it had
previously evoked. I had initially planned to dispose of my two wigs
in a stately burning ceremony behind the house, but after my hair
returned, I no longer bore any ill will toward the inanimate hair
pieces, and ended their stay at our house by giving them to the Thrift
Shop. In retrospect, I knew that the wigs were great allies and had
served faithfully for many grueling months. Their malignancy had
expired in my eyes, for my eyes had expanded their vision.
Through the years I came to acknowledge that people generally have a
foremost problem over which they grieve remorsefully; if that problem
disappears, their lives do not long remain blissful ere another problem
arises to disturb and provoke their happy state of mind. Often one can
determine an individual's quality of life, or the quality of his
values, through the problem to which he gives priority. Some people, I
believe, have little more than what I label "illegitimate beefs" (or
insignificant and unfounded troubles); other people dabble midway
between problems and trivials, or have a flair for creating headaches
through flaws in the decisive factors of life.
Personally, I felt my problems would no longer include "real"
problems, for my health was returning. Nausea after meals was more of
an inconvenience than a problem, and it was the only existing reminder,
aside from operative scars, that attested to my harrowing experiences
of the past year. If boyfriends and clothes and hairstyles were to be
my only future problems, I figured that I could go through life with
few ill-spent tears. I had no idea that a major bomb would drop so
soon on my newly acquired happiness.
Jan 31, 1977... Norm called and said Tracy left. I was (and still am)
hurt. She was a great person to know and it hurts to think I'll never
see her again. I feel sorry for Norm, too. I guess Tracy was seeing a
guy since summer. It's just hard to take it in. Norm came over and
watched T.V.
Feb. 1, 1977... Norm's coming for supper every day this week. I'm
glad. I think it will help him a little.
I was in the kitchen when Norm called, and after hearing his message
from Mom, curled up in one of the chairs and cried. It was inevitable,
perhaps, but I, like Norm, had attempted to impede the unstoppable
through positive thought. Positive thought, however, carries no clout
with respect to the alteration of another's ideas, which consequently,
had already been set as solidly as if in cement.
Gradually I learned the tale behind the divorce as Norm opened up and
shared his emotional burden of the past months. Because he was not a
demonstrative person and enjoyed having time to himself, he was rather
glad when Tracy stopped asking to accompany him on all of his walks and
motorcycle rides, and through constant togetherness, needing to assure
herself of his love. The marriage was more comfortable and appeared to
be evolving toward his ideal; stability which came from the knowledge
and acceptance of each other.
Just as Norm began to think of their union as a terrific success, Tracy
lost interest. The marriage, for her, was no longer exciting, and when
the blood failed to rush to her face upon Norm's appearance in a room,
she felt that her love had expired. Simplicity was not enough to keep
a constant fire burning, nor was a man whose love for her was steadfast
and true. She had a fascination for pursuing slightly shady aspects of
life, and unfortunately, an extra-marital romance filled her
requirements for excitement.
In her own way I believe Tracy really loved Norm at first. Hers was a
semi-possessive, urgent sort of love which stemmed from an undeniable
inferiority complex. Never having felt herself to be good enough for
Norm, the apparent loss of love (romance) on her behalf seemed to echo
that feeling and guilt settled in to further subtract her self image.
If Norm had been abusive, unfaithful, or otherwise intolerable, her
failing love would have been met with sympathy, however, this was not
the case. Because dying love reflected badly on her, it was necessary
to procure a reason for her affair and she sought to find fault with
Norm. As a result, Tracy's guilt was vented toward Norm with an
argumentative guise, for if she could tempt him into a heated
disagreement, perhaps her actions could be better justified.
Norm, however, detested petty grievances and refused to take the bait.
This only served to further infuriate Tracy, whose ammunition had been
dampened substantially. It was evident that her strategic moves had
collapsed. Eventually Tracy informed my brother of her affair and said
she wanted a divorce.
Norm had made a lifetime commitment which, until then, he thought was
shared. The news was more than a slap in the face, it seared the heart
and scorched the emotions, for trust and love were suddenly,
unexplainably returned as if they were mere misfits, insubstantial and
bereft of meaning. He loved her; he wanted no divorce. He wanted only
to forgive and start anew, and refused to file any complaint against
her. If she wanted a divorce, he told her, she would have to complete
the legal paperwork; he wished no part of it.
A final attempt to save the marriage was made in November, which
explained the haphazard flight that had earlier baffled us. It was a
miserable mistake, yet one which was often enacted by desperate mates
who, as they, thought that a honeymoon would revive faltering love.
They returned soon after their departure and Tracy called my mom to ask
if they would be welcome at the family Thanksgiving dinner. Norm,
however, was the one who had made the pumpkin bread.
Norm was not the image of perfection; no one could be flawless in every
sense of the word and remain a human being. It was unjust, however,
that he had to sign his name to a divorce statement which was composed
of falsehoods; at that time, no-fault divorces could not be obtained in
Illinois, and it was simply assumed that the individual who sought the
divorce was the one who had undergone mental or physical injury.
As if the court proceedings alone were not humiliating enough, Tracy
continued to weave a network of deception around their entire
relationship which touched family members, co-workers and friends. A
happy charade was displayed for our benefit, complete with a story that
she had decided to take classes at a local college. There were no
classes, of course, although Dad once shuttled her to one, thereby
using his ignorance and trust to transform himself and others into
fools.
After the divorce had been finalized, she remained living in the same
house with Norm for several weeks. The magnanimous proportions of
marital collapse had reached our ears, but the full story was as yet
untold; we never knew of the unpleasant facets which must have pervaded
their last days in residence. The one shred which bears repeating was
that on the final day, Tracy said she had a sore throat and would stay
home from work, only to thread another deceptive claim into a tapestry
of lies when she, with her lover's aid, moved out during Norm's
absence. Upon his return he found the house stripped of all her
possessions, including those stipulated in the divorce document, and
the best of the two cars. It was easier to deceive than to confront;
Tracy was never seen again, although a lone belonging mistaken for her
own would occasionally find its way into Norm's mailbox. Things would
similarly disappear without a word; the dog, whose purchase was Tracy's
request, had not been taken in her exodus from the house. One evening,
Norm drove home to find the dog missing. After a rigorous search, he
returned home empty handed and without a clue as to its state or
location, only to receive an explanation from a neighbor that Tracy had
fetched the dog earlier in the day, leaving no note of her action.
Norm had never spoken to anyone during the trying months because, in
his words, "it was such a mess" and he didn't wish to involve the
family. However, the amount of information that had been gained
afterward served to thoroughly enrage my parents and soon all of
Tracy's good traits seemed to vanish from her character slate. Through
her lies, many people had been wronged; moreover, the institution of
marriage had been mocked and defiled before my parents, which further
demeaned her image in their eyes. To have said that Mom and Dad were
angry would have been a drastic understatement.
I, too, was deeply hurt, and watched the various pangs within Norm as
the realities of the matter seeped into the crevasses of his mind. I
ached for Norm and for myself; I hurt even for my parents. I hurt, but
was not angry; at first it was difficult for me to understand my
parents rage, because I had never seen in Tracy the venomous,
fork-tongued creature to which she had changed in my parents' minds.
I disagreed with her actions, to be certain, yet I knew she still
possessed redeeming and benevolent qualities which had made her so
likeable from the beginning. It was to her goodness that I clung,
defending her before my parents with a vengeance.
Tracy was a sister and a best friend to me; I could not simply stop
loving her. My attachment to her was deeply rooted, not merely because
of who she was to me; she was the first person with whom I shared my
feelings, thereby creating for me a closeness which I had never before
encountered. For several months I fantasized about her, hoping she
would call or write; I wondered if we could secretly meet and be able
to talk, or go places together. Gifts which she had given to me became
treasures, breathing life into her memory. My parents began to think
that I had embellished her memory with an aura of idolatry.
While I did not feel I had placed Tracy on a pedestal, I did believe
that I had an obligation to uphold her good traits and hope something
would happen which could reverse the damage already done. I scoured my
daily mail with cautious hope, thinking "Maybe today I'll hear from
her"; yet nothing came of that hope. My brother, Todd, was the only
person to whom Tracy corresponded after the divorce, which perhaps
reflected her inability to face those of us who had known her quite
well. She had seen comparatively little of Todd throughout her years
of married life, and it was therefore rather curious that she should
choose him as the recipient of a note of explanation and regret. At
any rate, she stated in her letter that she could no longer live with
Norm, though he had been nothing but a good, kind, and loving man;
further, she hoped that "Norm's parents" would be open-minded and
welcome him back into the family.
Norm was welcomed into the family; indeed, his welcome had never worn
thin, despite our dearth of information and surplus of astonishment to
hear of the divorce. Time and conversation opened our lidded eyes.
Finally, I accepted the fact that she was never going to write, that
she would never see my real hair, that she was as gone for me as if
blown from the surface of the earth. I accepted, also, that simplicity
and love did not fulfill her needs and that supposedly shared goals,
including frugality right down to the cheap brand of syrup, were a
farce. I perceived Norm to be the ideal man, or the closest man
thereto, and felt that Tracy would later regret her hateful actions as
she had regretted other misguided words in her youth; she knew that
Norm was a loner and possessed agoraphobic tendencies.... she knew he
was willing to work hard for comparatively small rewards; he had no
hidden vices or abusive characteristics... and though he was well built
and strong, the similarity to his ancestral Vikings ended where their
violence began. I realized that while the kettle on the home hearth
boiled feverishly, her love was secure and untouchable, but when the
fire was reduced to coals and the kettle could be taken from the hearth
without scorching her hands, love was polluted by commonality. The
need to search for her lost flame seized her mind, yet, because she
knew not what she truly sought, her search would continue forever,
leaving behind her an insubstantial and endless heap of charred ashes.
I had vastly overemphasized my importance in Tracy's eyes. It was
incredibly humbling to be rejected so completely; I thought of Norm and
how much worse it must have been for him. Death and divorce were
indeed similar, yet in some ways, the latter was more painful.
Divorce, while lacking the ultimate permanence of death, is based on
the heart-rending fact that one's love is no longer enough, and that he
has been left by his mate's choice rather than nature's will and
circumstances. Though her love for Norm had vanished with the
disappearance of heart palpitations and romantic excitement, I thought
I deserved at least a letter of farewell for all of the good times we
had shared. I wondered if she had merely upheld a charade of good
humor and enjoyment through our excursions; yet, I thought, she would
not have invited me to share her free time if she resented my presence.
It takes many hours to develop a friendship, and even so, one's
knowledge of the other can never be complete. While compatibility
opens friendship's door, love and it's by-products, understanding and
honesty, must co-exist as its sustaining force; lacking love, growth
stagnates and generally heralds a hurtful parting of the two
individuals. If love truly exists in one's mind, however, the love
itself cannot cease abruptly even though the other's actions or beliefs
are radically contrary to his own; the beloved part of the individual
still remains, residing side by side with his formerly concealed,
unsavory propensities.
My acceptance of Tracy's entire personality paralleled extreme
disappointment. With no prompting from my parents, I looked upon her
new lifestyle and final interaction with the family and Norm as
disagreeable and despaired that the circumstances would not have been
different. Her image, though tainted, never shattered in my mind, and
for a time, I kept loving... and mourning... the person who I had
believed her to be. Disappointment alone could not eradicate the
lovely memories spanning three years.
After suffering a substantial loss, it sometimes seems impossible that
a replacement of equal or greater value could ever be found, and
attempts to compare the incomparable often end in frustration. If
emotional pain is not allowed to stagnate within the inner being and
clog the mind, a person can be open to others without radiating
vulnerability. No one forgets a past hurt; after a wound heals, scar
tissue remains as a subtle reminder and effectively warns the
individual against potential threats of similar nature. Only a person
lacking the will to overcome and grow beyond past anguish is truly
mortally wounded, for his wound is not only self-inflicted, but also
infested with litter long decayed.
I had to direct my thoughts and energy toward positive elements in
life, accepting the past and adapting to the present. The future was
no longer the shining star it had been in my childhood, for it was
uncertain and impenetrable. Short-term goals were more easily
realized. The future had a nasty habit of rearranging one's plans;
life changed so fast that it left one groping for stability as if spun
furiously on the head of a top. Disliking such emotional turbulence, I
tried to buffer life's hurtful potential by dealing with each day as
the unique parcel of hours and events it proved to be. Adaptability
was definitely one of my more useful characteristics.
With Tracy's departure, I had not consciously determined to find a
replacement for my severed emotional attachment. I knew such behavior
on my behalf would not only have been uncharacteristic of me but futile
as well; people were not like spark plugs. However, as the months
progressed, the hole wherein Tracy's memory resided slowly filled and
was replenished, just as a mined crater will be reclaimed by nature and
gradually become a thing of beauty rather than an eternally gaping hole
of waste. I was filled with strength and confidence from budding
health and vitality; I was filled with the undying love of my family,
but more than all else, I discovered that, with Norm, I had in reality,
lost virtually nothing.
Mar. 15, 1977... I went to Norm's house and we made blueberry pancakes
for supper. We talked about a lot of things.
It was a joy to be invited to Norm's house. We did not chafe each
other's nerves; conversation came effortlessly, yet silence was no
menace. I took pleasure in his neatly arranged house and applauded his
various purchases which adorned the walls or were placed about the
rooms. With his mind bent on improvement, the house mirrored a flare
for design and decoration as well as Norm's character. The living room
was a retreat of perpetual autumn, of golden, rust and wood, of
tranquility and restiveness. To be at my brother's house was to be at
ease, and I readily welcomed his invitations to visit as they became
more frequent.
As my life took on the complications which seemed interwoven with the
stage of adolescence, I became increasingly aware of the necessity for
peace in existence, and felt myself to be extremely fortunate to have
Norm as a valued companion. My frustrations needed verbal release and
an understanding listener who was sufficiently detached from my daily
routine (home, school, etc.) to reply in an entirely objective
fashion. It became evident that Norm and I shared a bond which reached
deeper than an ordinary brother/sister relationship, for understanding
and compatibility was the foundation from which our relationship grew.
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