A Dark, Turbulent Moment In My Life...
I met Sam (not his real name btw) in early 1999. It was the final semester of my senior year of high school and I was eagerly anticipating graduation...and the subsequent college experience. One of my four best friends mentioned to me that she knew Sam, in a manner of speaking, and that he had moved in down the road from her with his father quite recently. He was older, 21 at the time, so that automatically made him more appealing. Introductions were made and without really knowing it a relationship begun. Sam could be described as quiet. Soft spoken and reserved. There was something that surrounded him though, it wasn't overt so you had to pay close attention. A shadow of danger carefully concealed behind the facade of a laid back demeanor. If you listened to the stories he told or caught certain looks given, you could see it. It was almost like a shutter would close and his eyes took on an emptiness that was truly eerie. I was so young that I didn't know how much trouble I had gotten myself into until it was too late. I was naive and way too emotionally invested when he showed me what kind of person he really was.
Yikes...this post is not one I enjoyed writing. There is only one "moment" that comes to mind and its not my divorce. I've made mention in an earlier blog, you can read it here, but didn't delve too deep into the specifics. It seems like a lifetime ago, but I hate revisiting that time in my life, it still causes pain.
Nonetheless, here's the true, lengthy account of a girl and the abusive man she loved...
It started small...it always does, doesn't it? Sam was a big fan of beer & Crown. In the beginning of the relationship his drinking wasn't an issue. I was still in that euphoric state of having a new boyfriend so I was accommodating and not prone to be anything but happy. I ignored many signs or downplayed them, maybe even made excuses. The first instance of witnessing his volatile nature came when he had a friend from Oklahoma come down for a visit. Sam, his friend, and a couple others went out for a "boys night." The night consisted of heavy drinking, a strip club, and a broken hand. I found out that Sam likes to hit things when drunk. That night, the strip club's bathroom mirrors and his windshield where his victims. I remember being really confused, a little wary, but mostly concerned for Sam and his broken hand.
Very little transpired while I was still in high school. Just some drunken nights, but no violence toward me beyond mean words and occasional insults. After graduating I moved to a nearby town to start college. Around the same time, Sam found out his dad was moving back to Oklahoma. So he had a choice to make: go with his dad or stay and move in with me. He stayed. Sam and I only stayed in Texas for the fall semester, by January we were making plans to move to Oklahoma. Sam couldn't hold down a good job and he wanted to be closer to his father. The time we spent living together is when Sam started to put his hands on me. Pushing, holding me against the wall were the beginning. His drinking increased due to his unhappiness I suppose and I was an easy target. Nothing & no one were safe when he spiraled. He got so mad at me one night that he launched a Crown bottle across the courtyard of our apartment building complex. It hit the opposite apartment's sliding glass door, shattering the door. It was then I should have left, but he promised me that we would be happier in Oklahoma...life would be better. I, sadly, believed him.
After moving to Oklahoma, things escalated. The drinking didn't lessen, the pushing got harder, the insults got nastier, and I was totally alone and beginning to feel broken & lost. I tried to talk to his dad, or hint at my concerns but he didn't want anything to do with that particular conversation. I was ashamed so I hid it from my family. I don't know how I managed it, but I gathered enough courage to leave him. I moved to another town and got into my own apartment. He followed shortly after and his attacks on me hit their peak. He had never full out hit me before but that changed. He called me incessantly. The calls would range from tearful apologies to expletive laced rants & threats. He would show up at my apartment drunk demanding I let him in. He would threaten to kill himself or my family if I didn't open the door...and I believed him because he owned multiple guns. So I would let him in. I won't go into the gory details of those nights, most of which I think my brain has blocked in self-preservation. They were nights filled with beatings. Nights of shoving Crown Royal bags in my mouth & plugging my nose so I wouldn't be able to breathe. Nights of taking a knife and shallowly carving his name into my stomach so others would know I was "his." The final straw that prompted me to no longer live alone was the night he force ably broke into my apartment and held a shotgun to my head.
As fate would have it, an older guy friend of mine was needing a roommate. There was nothing remotely romantic, but it provided an opportunity for me to not live alone anymore and he would act as a deterrent & added safety measure. Things seemed to settle. Sam kind of faded into the background. The calls and drunken visits stopped due in part to him starting a relationship with a fellow coworker. For the first time in a long time I think I started to relax a little and breathe again. That all changed early one morning months after that last attack...and this is the basis of this blog.
Sam called one morning spinning me a story of late night partying and being stranded far from his truck. He assured me he had sobered up and had no one else he could call...we had work that night and without his truck he wouldn't make it. For some dumbass reason I believed him. I agreed to pick him up and take him to get his truck in the next town over. His attack on me started almost immediately after I shifted my car into drive. Its still kind of a blur. I remember him yelling and insulting me while smoking a Black & Mild cigar...the scent of which makes me sick to this day. He kept saying that "I burned him" and that I needed to stop crying because I had no right. His tirade lasted miles and then something shifted. He became silent and still. I thought that he had run out of steam and this was my chance to pull over and make him get out. Just as I started to pull off the highway he ground his lit cigar into my arm and told me that I just made a "stupid ass decision and was going to regret it." He demanded I push in the cigarette lighter...his cigar needed to be re-lit after all. When it popped, he casually lit his cigar again and handed it back...telling me to push it in again so it would get hot once more. He pushed the cigar into my lower lip, I think he missed his intended target. He just kept saying "do you see what you make me do?" as he burned me. After that he changed tactics, the cigar wasn't doing enough damage. Over and over he would take the hot car cigarette lighter and burn any exposed skin within arm's length, making me push it back in to reheat after each application. He would push the lighter harder if I cried out so I silently endured burn after burn. Choking me with one hand, he told me if I attempted to stop or slow down he would hurt me even more. I guess he grew tired of burning me and that frustrated him. He kept throwing my transmission stick from gear to gear in anger. After 4 or five times doing that, he stilled once more. I don't know what thought or realization transpired within him but he very calmly said, "I'm done. I've had enough." For a split second I felt a measure of relief, but it was premature. Sam grabbed the steering wheel, pulling the car into oncoming traffic. I fought for control and was successful. That angered him so he doubled his efforts and grabbed the wheel again. Each time I was able to keep us from a head-on collision. I don't know if it was the fact that he was still intoxicated or was making a half-hearted attempt, but I managed to get us to his truck without crashing. I was preparing to make a run for it, but he surprised me by quickly exiting my car as we pulled into a parking lot. I immediately locked my doors and began reversing. He was a bit faster though and punched my windshield, cracking the passenger side, before I could get clear.
I don't think I've ever driven as fast as I did making my way back to my house. I was scared he was going to follow me home and finish what he started in my car. I didn't have a cell phone at the time and in my panicked state I just wanted to get home to use the house phone instead of stopping somewhere else. I called my mom, instead of the police, and she instructed me to hang up and call the police. I hung up and just stared at the phone. I think I mentally checked out. I don't remember what was running through my mind but I couldn't call the police. I called her back, bawling my eyes out, and told her I just couldn't do it. She calmly said, "I know honey. I knew you couldn't so I did it for you. They are on their way now." They arrested Sam that day. They found him passed out in his bathtub in what appeared to be an attempted suicide. A restraining order was issued. He was ordered to pay to restitution for my windshield. I quit the company we both worked for and started working somewhere else. I started college again and began a new relationship. Years passed and I never thought I would see his face again. I was wrong.
It was a Saturday afternoon. It was sunny and warm. It was a slow day at work with not many customers out shopping. I was working with a man named Jason when I heard the front door chime, signalling a customer had entered the shop's lobby. I rounded the counter and headed to the front. A couple was browsing, a baby in the woman's arms. I offered my canned greeting, telling them to come find me if they needed anything or had questions. The man turned and it was if all sound left the world. It was Sam. My past had just collided with my present. I was already starting to turn to leave so I'm not sure if he recognized me. I sought out Jason, told him I would explain later but I was going to the stockroom until the couple up front left. He muttered a confused "Ok, no problem" and I quickly fled. I'm pretty sure I sprinted to the haven the stockroom offered. The minute the door closed I began to wretch. I dry heaved until the tears started. Jason found me a little while later sitting on the floor between two shelving units at the back of the room. It was apparent by my state or by the look on my face that something was really wrong, so he softly told me they were gone and he would be upfront manning the store...I could stay back here as long as I wanted.
I left Oklahoma a few months later, and I will never return.
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