Saturday, July 05, 2003
THE FINAL ESCAPE, Sex and Lies continued...
Stalking had not been anticipated. I thought Pete was just too laid back or that he simply no longer had the energy for such behavior. At this point I figured he'd be glad to be rid of me.
The telephone calls started coming at work. It was the first time in my life I'd had a secretary and I was concerned about her. What could she be thinking? He sent long, impassioned letters declaring his love, and feelings for me. Sometimes 3-4 or more neatly hand written pages, beautifully written pages. They surprised me. I wish now that I had kept them. Perhaps they are in some box somewhere. He had majored in English but in the entire ten years of our marriage I had never seen evidence of creative writing, until now. But it was too late. Poignant letters made me feel sad, but going back was not an option.
He would also park his car across the street outside my office and wait for me to leave. I'd try to out-wait him or leave by the rear entrance through the parking lot. Ironically, while all this is going on, he is trying to make it impossible for me to see Erika. He has been telling her that mom has abandoned them. I try to make contact with her every day. To see how school is going, make sure that she knows I love her and to let her know that if she needs, wants, to come to mom's she can always choose to live with me. I'm only a bus ride away in downtown Boston for God's sake. He made it sound like I'd gone to the moon. I guess from his point of view I'd might as well have.
One day I was leaving the office and his car pulls up to the curb and he calls to me. I hadn't seen him coming. Nervously I approach. He asks me, pleads with me to get in. He was a hunter and he did have guns but I glanced in the car and didn't see any so I reluctantly get in. Given his state of mind we were probably in greater danger of getting into an accident than anything else. I knew this was going to be torture. He's thinking he can do something, say something, promise something that will bring me back. There is nothing he can do. I have been gone from him a very, very long time. He asks is there someplace I'd like to go, get a drink so we can "talk". No. He drives in circles around Boston, finally pulling up in front of a diner near Government Center. For the first time, explicitly, I tell him I'm not coming back. He starts to cry. I start to cry. He leans towards me. I hold him. There is no more talk. I slowly disentangle myself from him, get out of the car, head for the subway. It's the last time we touched.
Stalking had not been anticipated. I thought Pete was just too laid back or that he simply no longer had the energy for such behavior. At this point I figured he'd be glad to be rid of me.
The telephone calls started coming at work. It was the first time in my life I'd had a secretary and I was concerned about her. What could she be thinking? He sent long, impassioned letters declaring his love, and feelings for me. Sometimes 3-4 or more neatly hand written pages, beautifully written pages. They surprised me. I wish now that I had kept them. Perhaps they are in some box somewhere. He had majored in English but in the entire ten years of our marriage I had never seen evidence of creative writing, until now. But it was too late. Poignant letters made me feel sad, but going back was not an option.
He would also park his car across the street outside my office and wait for me to leave. I'd try to out-wait him or leave by the rear entrance through the parking lot. Ironically, while all this is going on, he is trying to make it impossible for me to see Erika. He has been telling her that mom has abandoned them. I try to make contact with her every day. To see how school is going, make sure that she knows I love her and to let her know that if she needs, wants, to come to mom's she can always choose to live with me. I'm only a bus ride away in downtown Boston for God's sake. He made it sound like I'd gone to the moon. I guess from his point of view I'd might as well have.
One day I was leaving the office and his car pulls up to the curb and he calls to me. I hadn't seen him coming. Nervously I approach. He asks me, pleads with me to get in. He was a hunter and he did have guns but I glanced in the car and didn't see any so I reluctantly get in. Given his state of mind we were probably in greater danger of getting into an accident than anything else. I knew this was going to be torture. He's thinking he can do something, say something, promise something that will bring me back. There is nothing he can do. I have been gone from him a very, very long time. He asks is there someplace I'd like to go, get a drink so we can "talk". No. He drives in circles around Boston, finally pulling up in front of a diner near Government Center. For the first time, explicitly, I tell him I'm not coming back. He starts to cry. I start to cry. He leans towards me. I hold him. There is no more talk. I slowly disentangle myself from him, get out of the car, head for the subway. It's the last time we touched.
