Through these Eyes Part 23

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 Sat.u.r.day 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 inst.i.tution 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 a.s.sertion 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 acc.u.mulating, 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 embarra.s.sment 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 pa.s.s 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 cla.s.ses 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 "h.e.l.lo" 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 a.s.sumed all of my instructors had been thus enlightened. My civics teacher soon proved that my a.s.sumption 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 a.s.sure 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 a.s.sumed 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 cla.s.ses at a local college. There were no cla.s.ses, 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 doc.u.ment, 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 inst.i.tution 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 creva.s.ses 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.