Life sucks. Mine sure did. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Life’s diabolical, too. Sneaks up and kicks you in the nuts just when things are looking up. When your guard is down, sneaky, devious bitch—that’s life. Well, I learned when I was 19 how unfair life was, but I didn’t know how underhanded it could be till now. Sad lesson for me, Matthew, a forty-year-old man to learn.
Things were going pretty well. Two great kids, a decent wife even if she did have some quirks and the bloom was off that particular rose, and a business I was in the process of building into something great—something that was just starting to look like both it and I could be great successes. That was when the bomb went off. Right then when the plummet off cloud nine would be the steepest.
No, not a real bomb, one just as metaphorical as cloud nine, but the devastation was about the same. I guess I should have known better, been more careful, but what I did to bring this on wasn’t much, not much of anything at all. Nothing that in my opinion should have caused the consequences that followed. I guess maybe I should have known what might happen. Should have. Didn’t.
The thing is, my wife, God bless her, was about the fiercest homophobe one could imagine. She got that from her father. He was dead now, thank goodness. They say good men die young; bad ones do, too, and he was only 58 when he passed. But the world was a better place without him. He was a hater, basically hating most everything and not a bit selective in his enmities. Certainly it included things he had no control over; if he couldn’t control something, he did his best to destroy it. He did like to be in control.
His list of violent hatreds included blacks, women, rich people, cripples, schoolteachers, people whose religions differed from his own, and, most of all, gays. Cynthia, my wife, adored her father, and she unfortunately adopted some of his hatreds.
In time, she discovered that she wouldn’t have many friends or standing in the community if she let these attitudes out into the open, let her prejudices loose in a more tolerant world. So, she kept them under wraps, mostly. The one about gays, though, she had no problem broadcasting. We lived in a very small town, a very church-going town with many evangelical congregations. Most of the small population was dedicated to their churches, and many of them were very conservative. The whole town seemed to agree with her bias against gays. The ones who didn’t agree had to remain silent on the subject or be ostracized, so it felt like the whole community was solidly homophobic . Therefore, she saw no reason to hide her hatred and was quite vocal about it.
What complicated that for me was that I was bi. I’d had quite a few experiences with boys from the time I was in middle school through college. With girls, too, and I liked getting it on with people on either side of the fence. I was perhaps oversexed, but, if so, I saw that as a good thing. I liked having frequent sex!
I didn’t have a real favorite between men and women. I’ve read that most bi people have a preference. I didn’t. To me, it was all sex, and the more the better.
I met Cynthia in college. I was there to get a good education so I’d be able to get a professional job when I graduated. Cynthia was there to catch a husband, what I’ve heard is called the Mrs. degree. She succeeded. Me. She was a very pretty girl with a lively personality, and she loved sex. What more could a randy guy like me ask for? A really pretty girl who loved to hop into bed. Perfect!
We were happy enough. I didn’t like the fact she was negative about so many things, but she kept most of those hatreds hidden before we were married; when I learned who she really was and the extent of her loathing, it was far too late. By that time, we were wed. She moved out of her father’s house and became a homemaker, interacting with the townspeople. That was when the world began taming her. She learned to keep her views in a box locked up tight. I knew about them, though. She was incapable of not voicing them when I was the only one in earshot.
Not the hatred of gays, though: those she’d never locked up. Those she broadcast widely. And so, I kept the fact I liked men to myself. I could be happy with just her, and I knew she’d have a cow if she found out. I didn’t think she’d go as far as she did, though.
All I did was look at some gay porn. That was it. As I said, the bloom was off the rose with our marriage after the many years we’d been together. It was seventeen years by now. We were still intimate but rarely, nowhere near like we’d been in college and during the early years of our marriage. I was servicing myself more now and her only occasionally. She didn’t seem to mind. I figured she was doing the same thing or had simply grown to care less about sex. I’d heard some women were that way. But once every two or even three weeks wasn’t nearly enough for me.
So. I’d watched some gay porn. I did that from time to time. Straight porn, too. I was still bi. But the last time I watched gay porn, I forgot to wipe my history, and she found what I’d been watching. She threw a fit the size of China and threw me out of the house, telling me she was divorcing me, she didn’t want me near the kids, and she was keeping the house.
I couldn’t talk to her. She refused to listen. So, I hired an attorney. I thought it might help my case and so hired a woman lawyer. She talked to Cynthia. Told her that yes, I had looked at some gay porn, but that like most men, I looked at porn to help with arousal, but I didn’t do it very often, and as I didn’t cheat with other people, it was only to help me find a release of sexual tension and had nothing to do with anything else. Also, that all men looked at porn, and in fact, it was often said that doing so spiced up marriages.
She also told her that if the divorce were granted, the house would be part of the divorce settlement, that she couldn’t just claim it. And since her reason for the divorce was extremely weak—watching porn without any evidence that this was a frequent or habitual thing that was affecting the marriage—it was very likely that any assets in the marriage would be equally divided or, in fact, go preferentially to me. Furthermore, she said kicking me out before the divorce and separating me from the kids would look punitive and high-handed, and she should consult her own lawyer to see if doing these things might well prejudice the judge against her.
Cynthia did that, hired an attorney, and he, from what I heard from mine, told her she should think long and hard about starting divorce proceedings for such a flimsy reason. Instead, she should ask for marriage counseling as a first step, and until then, she shouldn’t act rashly about my living arrangements or my contact with my kids.
Neither of our lawyers understood the extent of Cynthia’s animosity toward homosexuality or her need to have her way in things. She was a control freak like her dad had been; I was and am very laid back, which was one reason she married me. I never argued with her; I just let her have her way in most things. Her father had been the same, totally controlling his wife and kids. I didn’t know why her sister, growing up in the same environment, wasn’t anything like that, but I had long ago concluded I’d married the wrong sister.
As I’d had an interest in looking at gay porn, she determined in her mind that I was gay, and, as such, she didn’t want me in the house, contaminating the kids or interacting with her. She refused the advice of her lawyer, fired him and got a different one. They filed for divorce: Cynthia Hemley vs. Matthew Hemley. They asked for the house, the car, custody of both kids, alimony and half of all money that we’d saved in our joint account.
Money was a problem for me now. Before all this happened, I’d been in the process of starting my own business. I quit my job almost a year ago to start my tax-and-investment business in town. That was risky, but I’d always wanted to work for myself and didn’t get along well with my boss. I had a degree in finance and so had knowledge of tax law and investment practices. I had friends who brought their business to me, but this was still early for a start-up business and my income wasn’t enough to keep my head above water. I’d had to cut into my savings to keep Cynthia in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.
Staying in a motel was expensive, and my lawyer said I shouldn’t just accept Cynthia’s demand. It looked like guilt, and I wasn’t guilty of anything. So, I moved back in. Then the tension in the house became unbearable for a non-confrontational guy like me. So, I stayed in the house much of the time but now and then went back to the motel for a day or two, and to hell with the cost. My sanity was worth more than the cost of the occasional motel room.
Her new lawyer wasn’t speaking to my lawyer. My lawyer said she knew the guy, and he was in it only for the money he’d make and couldn’t care less about the people or the hurt involved.
I’d thought being in the house would at least give me access to my kids. I missed the kids. Jordan was the love of my life; Gail was still a little kid, and I loved her, too. I hated not being around for Jordan. He was so shy and needed support, and I wasn’t there for him. That might have been the worst thing of all about this mess.
But moving back in didn’t help much in that regard. Cynthia didn’t want them around me, thinking, I guess, that associating with a gay man would be harmful to their developing psyches. So, she sent Jordan off to stay with my nephew Mike in the city where he lived, and Gail seemed to be staying overnight at friends’ houses most of the time now. I didn’t know what Cynthia told them about the divorce or about what I’d done to cause it. She’d been doing a great job of keeping them separated from me, though.
The divorce coming when it did and caused by what caused it was the real kick in the balls. Just recently, I was starting to do okay. Getting more individual clients, and even a couple of companies as major clients. But this was a very small town, and when Cynthia began spreading the word that I was gay and so not to be trusted, it almost immediately cost me two existing clients and precluded getting any more new ones. I could see the handwriting on the wall: I’d have a hard time surviving this. The business had shown signs of beginning to thrive. Now, it wouldn’t do that and probably couldn’t even stay afloat; I’d be leaking present customers faster than gaining new ones, if I even managed to do the latter. It seemed very likely I’d have to close up shop here and, not having any other options in a town where I’d be anathema, leave town to find new employment.
Doing that would, in the short run, mean I’d need money. The only source of that either Cynthia or I had was what was left in the bank and the equity in our house. What I needed was joint or sole ownership of that. With that, I could force a sale and take what money I’d get and then move to a larger town with my reputation clean and more potential customers. That’s why this divorce settlement was going to be so important to me. If I lost the house because the judge awarded it solely to her, if I lost custody of my kids, plus my business, I’d be at rock bottom. My lawyer was optimistic none of that would happen. But the threat was there, and I felt it every day.
My lawyer seemed to think Cynthia was the one who’d be hurt by the divorce, but even if I got everything I wanted, my life wouldn’t ever be the same. Not in this town with its narrow-minded population. I didn’t see my business ever recovering, and certainly not quick enough that it would generate enough money for me to live on and to support my kids.
It seemed I had to pull up stakes. I had to move, divorce or no divorce, good settlement or bad. Mostly, I needed a new job, and I needed it now rather than later.
My lawyer rang and said she’d received notice the final judgment hearing could be in a few days, or maybe a few weeks. Weeks! That was way too long. I needed to get this all settled now so I’d know where I was and be able to start planning my future. Three weeks. I didn’t think my money would last that long.
I decided I simply wasn’t going to put off living for another few days or weeks. I simply was going to start moving forward now. Without telling Cynthia—screw her!—I packed a bag and left.
The obvious place to go was to the city where Jordan was. It was the closest large city, and I wanted to see Jordan. I needed to make sure he was all right. Besides, the city was large enough that it would be a good place to look for employment. My thinking was that I needed a job at least short term until I knew where I was. At that point, I could decide just what would be best for me and for whatever custody I had—or didn’t have. I thought it possible the judge would let Jordan decide which parent he wanted to live with. At fifteen, he was old enough to make that choice, I thought. The judge might not allow him to do that if I didn’t have a job, so getting one seemed crucial.
Cynthia was a stay-at-home mom. I enjoyed thinking about her having to go to work, something she’d never done. If I had to pay alimony, it wouldn’t be very much because I didn’t have much. Hell, I didn’t even have a job or an income now. So she’d have to work, and she had no qualifications. She’d left college with me when I graduated. She never finished. I smiled, thinking of her bagging groceries at the market in town. If she spilled out her hatreds while doing that, she wouldn’t last very long.
We only had one car; we’d never needed more than one. I walked to work every day and left the car for her. I had title to it, though. She couldn’t say I stole it when she saw it was gone, along with me. I got some pleasure, leaving without a word.
She’d inherited some money from her dad, and she’d put it in a separate savings account. I’d told her several times that not investing it was crazy; her response was, “Dad never invested his money. He said banks were safer. So, I’m going to do the same thing. He was a lot smarter than you are. Anyway, it’s my money, not yours, not ours. Mine.”
That was Cynthia. She knew best in all things. My opinion wasn’t needed. I pointed out that investing it even in a money-market account would bring more return than the paltry sum banks paid in interest, but she ignored me. I think she took pleasure in ignoring my advice, proving to herself she had the superior mind.
Her money hadn’t grown much in the time since her dad died; it hadn’t kept up with inflation, either. It wasn’t enough for her to live on very long. Maybe she’d find another sucker to marry. Maybe not. She wasn’t as pretty now as she’d been seventeen years ago, and—worse for her prospects—she didn’t like sex as much now. At least, not with me.
Now, she’d have to start using that money, as I had no income and we had almost nothing in our joint savings account. She’d already cleaned that out. I had the money that was in my wallet. Thankfully, I always carried about $200 in cash and still had my credit card. It was in my name, not a joint account with her. Thank God! There was a large line of credit that came with it that I had never used; I always paid the account in full each month. It seemed quite likely that was about to change.
I drove to the city. It was a long enough drive that I ended up getting close in mid-afternoon, just in time to hit commuter traffic. It was bad, as I expect it usually was on a Friday. I’d been thinking during the drive about whether I should get a motel room first or see Jordan first. I didn’t know how that would go. Would Cynthia have called her sister, Margery, and would I be persona non grata when I showed up?
In the end, I decided the best way to handle it would be to call Jordan. It was scary to do so. What if he didn’t want anything to do with me? What if his mother had poisoned his mind against me?
Only one way to find out.
I called his cellphone from my car. Knowing I might well be devastated by what I heard, I pulled off the interstate highway into a service area before calling and parked where no other cars were close.
“Dad?”
At least his voice sounded happy to hear from me. That was good!
“Jordan! So good to hear your voice! I . . . I wasn’t sure you’d want to talk to me.”
“Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, I wasn’t sure what your mother might have told you. About the reasons she’s filed for divorce.”
“She didn’t tell me anything. Just that you two were divorcing and it might be better if I stayed with Mike and his parents as long as they’d put up with me. I am curious, of course.”
“Well, that’s good. And I’ll tell you about it when we’re together. Not over the phone like this. Look, I’m on my way there in the car. I should be there in an hour. Maybe we could meet then? I really want to see you. I’ve missed you a ton. Then maybe we could go out to eat? I have to find a place to stay, too. Probably a cheap motel somewhere. Emphasis on cheap.”
He didn’t answer right away, and I started worrying again. Did he not want to meet me? Maybe Cynthia had said something to him after all.
“Look, it’s a little complicated,” he said, “but I’m not staying with Mike. I’m staying with his best friend. They’re really nice people. I mean, really nice. And they have a spare bed at the moment. Why don’t you drive here, and I’ll see if they’re okay with you staying here, at least for tonight. I have something to tell you, too. Maybe we can share dirty secrets.”
He laughed, but it was a forced, not-very-funny laugh, and he sounded nervous. I immediately wondered what that was all about. But obviously he wasn’t upset with me if he wanted me to stay with him that night. That was a huge relief. Huge.
He gave me directions and told me we’d either eat with David—that was the name of Mike’s friend—and his family or go out. I told him I’d see him in about an hour if the traffic didn’t hold me back more than I figured.
The traffic was much worse than I’d expected. To make it even worse, I had to drive right through the middle of town to get to David’s house. I was surprised and happy to see it was in a very good, exclusive-looking neighborhood, and the house was much nicer and larger than Margery’s house. I’d known there wouldn’t be room for me there.
But I was later than expected. It was now dinnertime, and I felt very awkward bursting in on them just then. I parked on the street in front of their house, dithered, and then called Jordan again.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, Jordan. Sorry, traffic was a bear. Just got here. You’re probably all eating. I should go get a room and a bite to eat come back in an hour or so.”
“No, come on in. I told them you were coming, and they’re expecting you for dinner. Mr. Pierce laughed when I told him where you were and that you thought you’d be here in an hour. So, they waited dinner for you to arrive. You’re just in time for cocktails!”
“Cocktails, huh. You know I don’t drink much. Uh, do you? Are they giving you cocktails?” I tried to make my voice sound like I was joking, but I wasn’t. I’m afraid I sounded dad-like.
“I’ve found I don’t like martinis much, but scotch on rocks is pretty good. Manhattans, too; those are good straight up.”
“Jordan!”
He laughed, and this one wasn’t forced. “Mr. Pierce is a banker. That he’d take a chance on getting in trouble with the police for serving alcohol to a minor—no way in heck that would happen. But he and Mrs. Pierce usually have one before dinner and are waiting for you. So, come on in.”
I felt nervous. I wasn’t shy like Jordan was, but this was a strange situation. They all knew I’d been thrown out of my house. They’d all be curious about that. And I didn’t see it would help me any to walk in and say, “Well, see, I was watching gay porn.” So what should I say? This could be awful.
It wasn’t all that embarrassing, doing what I’d done. Still, it wasn’t something to brag about, either. Thinking about it, though, I realized it was very unlikely I’d be asked what had caused her to file for divorce. That was a private matter for a married couple, and it would be rude to ask anyone about it.
I pulled into their driveway, got out of the car and walked to the front door. Jordan was already there with the door open, and when I was close, he jumped into my arms and hugged me tightly. I hugged him back, and realized how much I needed this.
“Dad!” he said, and I felt the scattered pieces of my world starting to pull back together.