To Be or Not To be....

Originally Written Between 2017-2020                               

 

What?  Why?  Huh?  To Be or Not To Be.  Hmmmm.  I guess, “that is the question.”

 

Shakespeare’s Hamlet is actually asking whether people should exist or not.  Or… Whether to commit suicide or not.  And after thinking about this for a while, I remembered that I had previously written about whether I should be engaged to be married …. Or not.    

 

What if….. I had married the first man that asked me to marry him?  Well, I know the answer to that question.  I would be dead.  By his hands…. or his gun.  

 

I had just graduated high school.  Just turned 18.  Working at 3M.  Living at home.  College was put on hold until I figured out what I really wanted to do with my life.  And then, that fall, I met Ron.  Tall, dark, and handsome Ron.  I met him at the roller rink my folks owned in Forest Lake.  He was from Pine City and had just returned from four years’ service in the Navy.  He was 24.  His parents were farmers and he had two older brothers.  I don’t remember their names.  I won’t give you Ron’s last name – to protect the guilty, I guess.  I can’t remember his middle name, his birthdate, or even getting engaged.  I’ve blocked out much of the nine months we were engaged.  I think a psychiatrist would have a good time trying to figure me out.

 

We didn’t really date much.  He would drive down from Pine City in his ugly green Studebaker three times a week and we’d go roller skating.  We never went to a movie.   We never went out for dinner.  I had introduced him, of course, to many of my friends…. But we never double dated with any of them.  I guess they had bad vibes about him well before I did.  I met his parents only a couple of times.  They were very nice to me.

 

After about two months, he gave me a diamond ring.  It was then that I learned that I was his third fiancé.  I can’t remember picking out the ring – so who knows if I was the third one to wear that ring or not.  I find it odd that I can’t remember important facts like that.  

 

Soon after we announced our engagement, Ron told me that he didn’t want me to wear slacks, jeans or shorts anymore.  He gave no reason.  I just thought he liked seeing me in dresses or suits since that’s what I wore to work every day.  Then, he said that he wanted me to only wear pleated skirts or gathered skirts because the pencil skirts that I wore were too tight.  And…. no sleeveless shirts.  He wanted my arms covered.  And, so, I gave away most of my casual clothes to my sister.  She was delighted and I spent a lot of money buying new clothes that Ron had to first approve.

 

Then, he told me that he didn’t want me talking to any of my male friends at the roller rink any more.  I remember thinking that he must love me so much that he wanted me all to himself.  So, I was flattered more than anything else.  My friends – boys and girls – slowly started to distance themselves from me.

 

One day, Ron picked me up after work.  I was walking out of the building with one of my male co-workers and when I got in the car, Ron was in a rage.  How dare I smile and laugh with another man!  I do remember the angry look on his face and the fury in his voice as he yelled at me.

 

That weekend, we went to a wedding of one of my very best friends.  My mom and dad also attended the wedding and reception.  And, my dad asked me to dance with him.  I loved dancing with my dad and, of course, got up out of my chair right away and started dancing.  Ron was furious with me.  He told me that I was never to dance with dad again because he found it almost incestuous that a father and daughter would dance together.

 

That did it.  I broke up with Ron that night and gave him back the ring.  I can still hear the squeal of his car as he drove away.  The next night – a Sunday – mom and dad went to work at the roller rink.  I decided to stay home.  Around 7:30, I saw the distinct lights of Ron’s car coming down my long driveway.  My sister heard it, too, and yelled that Ron was coming!  We both ran around the house and closed and locked all the windows and doors and then Joanne ran upstairs.

 

I called my dad at the rink.  All I said was, “Ron’s back and I’m scared.”  Then Ron pounded on the door.  I opened the door – but left the screen door locked.  He started yelling and screaming at me and calling me horrible names.  I didn’t say a word.  I, honestly, didn’t know what to do.  Then, I heard another car coming down the driveway.  It was my dad.  My dad was 6 feet, 4 inches tall and at that time, probably weighed around 280 pounds.  He got out of the car, walked over to Ron, pushed him against the house, and calmly said, “If I ever see you around here again, I will …… “  I can’t really repeat what else my dad said to Ron, but I’m sure you can figure it out.  Ron hightailed it as fast as he could to his car and I never saw him again.

 

One didn’t read or hear about domestic abuse back in those days.  Plus, I was very naïve at the age of 18.  I had no idea that Ron’s controlling ways could actually be considered abuse.  And, at that age, I didn’t have enough confidence in myself to stand my ground.  Therefore, Ron was the master and I was the slave.  He never hit me.  But, his jealousy was quickly coming to a head with his outrageous and bizarre demands.  I believe verbal abuse can lead to physical abuse.  And that is why I firmly believe that if I had married Ron, I probably would have been dead by our first anniversary.