I really needed a soccer ball....

And, I actually got one.

God is simply amazing, sometimes.

First thing I guess ya need to know is the significance of soccer balls, right? Especially to a person who doesn't even play soccer...

It has to do with those trapped Pennsylvania Miners.
Remember I said I saw the movie as I ran past the rack in the store a while back, then when I ran back past it, I snagged the movie and it's really good?

Well, that where I saw the thing about a soccer ball.

One of the wives went home from the firehall, where they'd all gathered to wait for the men. I forget why she had to run home, but it was late and when she parked in her driveway, she kinda lost it and begged God for a sign that the men would survive.
See, her kids had a soccer ball and they'd always get it stuck in a drain pipe near their driveway and the only one who could always get it back was her husband... one of the trapped guys. The boys had gotten it stuck in there again that day, after their Dad had left for work.
So, she flips out and gets almost hysterical and begs God for a sign.
Then, she gets out of her car and there it is.

The soccer ball.

Sittin' there at the end of her driveway.
And, she knew... she knew they'd be okay and they all were.

Okay.. now keep that in the back of your mind while I tell ya MY part of this...

I'm sick of being... LIVING... scared all the time. It's been forever and sometimes I feel like I can't stand another day of it and I've NEVER seen even the hint of an end to it, except dying.
First, I was scared of my mom. Scared Dad would die and I'd be stuck with only her even more than I already was. Then, I spent years being scared of never being loved. Guys fed on that like buzzards on a dead antelope. My mom never did in the first place, then it seemed like my Dad stopped when he got Kim and her kid and then they had one of their own. And, it went down hill from there for YEARS...

Til God gave me Eric, it was really hard sometimes to keep believing in love, but I never did give it up.... I just had to pay hell. And, I did... for a long time. It got kinda dicey at times, too. Thinking... no, feeling... that if my own (hero) Dad could stop giving a shit then maybe it made sense that nobody else ever even would start... knowing that my own mom could not possibly have cared less... not surprising, but it didn't help, either... ya know?

I've been scared, no... nauseatingly terrified of "loss" since the first time I lost my Dad (when he went into the hospital when I was 9 for what seemed like a year), even though the second time has been worse because, so far, it's been permanant. I've lost more freakin' people than I can even count anymore. Everybody from my Pop-pop to my idiot mom to Andy Harris to my first "serious" boyfriend... loss, loss, loss... every danged time I care about somebody, God takes 'em away. The one man I needed more than any other... gone. Then, his (Dad's) Dad died, then Uncle Henry and then and then and then.
Fuckin' endless.

I'm so tired of living in terror.

Wanna know a huge truth?
It's why I got high the first time and have stayed that way since. It's also why I'll probably never quit completely, too. Not that I wouldn't like to, I'm just SCARED to, because then, see... the shit'll keep happening, but I'll have to feel it all again, like I used to from when I was 9 years old, til I discovered weed.

No thanks.
It nearly killed me when I was younger and lots more "rested" and stronger than I am now. I can just imagine what "the shit" would do to me now, dealing with it completely alone.
Again...
No thanks.

"The shit" is in my future, too. I know it is. I can see it. And... it's been runnin' me again...

Every once in a while, it still boils outta me. I get a lot of it out here, yes, but the deepest, most entrenched parts only come out at night, in bed, when Eric is supposed to be sleeping, but is instead listening to me lose it... badly.

I remember the first time I did this... We'd just moved here and I kept getting more and more nutso. Couldn't sleep, no appetite, Bill got to me easily... I hated it. Then one night, I just went off. I don't know about Eric, but I scared me. I was hysterical, crying, rocking back and forth, just feeling gutted, like somebody stole my heart and replaced it with a huge hunk of terror. I heard me finally get to the heart of the matter when it came outta me that my stupid mom had died a month after I moved outta her house, so, naturally, I had already killed Dad by moving outta state.

Pfft.

Not only did it not kill him, thank Christ, but, to my consternation, he hardly seems to have noticed. Yet. Still. Whatever.

Want another truth?

I wish I could do as good a job for Eric, keeping him from tearing himself up over his kid, as Kim has apparently done for Dad. Half of me hates her for outright stealing him and keeping me from him all these years and the other half of me wishes I could do half as good a job of helping Eric forget. Like she did for Dad...

Ah, hell... stand by for one more truth... It motherfuckin' KILLS ME to constantly have to hear about all the people who DO get to hang with my Dad. Norman does, Pat does... people I've never even heard of get to do it, but not me ever.
Goddamn that hurts bad.... really bad.
And, it doesn't make what I'm trying (and failing miserably at times) to deal with now any easier, either....
Makes me feel like, if the bad thing does happen, I needn't call Dad about it. But, I'm gonna have to. Except for Rob (Pa. Rob, not Ga. Rob), I don't have anybody else and I'm scared of that too.
But...
What if I get blown off again, then?
All this time that I've not mattered won't matter anymore, if only Dad is there IF this thing happens.... It's just that after this many years of being an "un-person", I'm too what? to even think about having to call him over this...
Scared, that's what.

Well, one thing... at least I know now that it's not that Kim goes outta her way to MAKE Dad ignore me, it's just that nobody but Pat ever even mentions my name in the first place.
Funny huh?
Yeah... I didn't think so either....

Anyway.... I'm tired of being scared. Deathly tired of it. Just about the only thing I'm more tired of than being scared is dipshits tellin' me to "just don't think about it all the time".
How the FUCK to ya do that?

When you could lose everything you have, when Eric could wind up locked up, when you've got no plan for that emergency, when ya don't even know who to call first... how the FUCK do ya not think about it?
"Get stoned" is all I know and even then, it's there. Only thing is, stoned I don't freak out so bad.

Hell, I DO know who to call first (Pa. Rob) and it still drives me completely insane sometimes...

(I'm gettin' to my soccer ball... gimme a minute... or twenty... *grin thru tears*)

The "bigger-than-life-itself" bad thing I'm just waiting for has to do with "support" (spousal, not child), courts, stupid, feckless "judges" and the lack of intelligence that's RIFE through this whole mess.

I've told the "us" part of the story about how Eric and I got together, but that's only half the story. The other half is a horror story Stephen King could only hope to equal.
Ga. Rob has done that, though... hell, his is worse, even, I think...
And, yeah, I do try to "use" other people's worse problems to show myself I have so little really (really?!? No.) to worry about, but that's like a bandaid on a decapitation... not too effective at best, ya know?

Anyway, when we got together, it was heaven and hell, mixed together. Heaven was him, Eric... finding all the love I could ever ask for... seeing it in his eyes every time he looks at me... feeling it almost more often than this damnable fear.

The hell was and is her and the blind, deaf and insane court system.

The first week we were together, I was still nights at the farm and Eric was still days. He slept in the office on a chaise lounge chair while I was working, in case she showed up to hurt one of us.
It was a real possibility.
I had him in the office and my Pusser club in the parlor.

Besides being freaked out over what she might do, we weren't thinking too clearly about the "court" end of this shit.
Hell, we were too busy trying to adjust to "us" and Wally's fucked up reaction and being "ware" (bewaring?) of her to be thinking about that crap.

Truth time again... I'm the one with law enforcement in my background, so I feel 100% responsible for not thinking of this shit and preventing it... even though I am aware that I never have had a kid, nor had anything to do with the courts or "family court" shit... don't matter. To me, it's still my fault... (And,actually, it's even more basic than that... if he hadn't left her FOR ME, he'd not be being put through this shit at all...)

Anyway... first I quit Wally, then Wally's cunt mother drove Eric offa the farm and he went to work for a nuclear valve shop.
THAT was when the shit hit the court fan. THAT was when he had to go to court to have the amount of the "support" (child and spousal) set. THAT money that he was making THEN, at the valve shop (try 18 bucks an hour) is what they went by.
Shortly after the amount was set, the company and the "supervisor" of said shop went fuckin' nuts. They lied to Eric about having to travel and were about to send him away for over a month on a job when he quit. He couldn't stand the thought of being away from Jr. that long, especially at that time, right after the initial seperation and all.
So, he quit. (He wasn't the only one, by the way. They'd just told all the guys that when they were away on jobs, they could NOT go out at night except to eat, no "company" in the rooms, no drinking at all and buncha other similar bullshit everybody freaked out over...)

I got online one night and found this place, this farm. I called, Bill called back and talked to Eric, we came up here the next morning at 5am, milked his cows, checked out the house and boom... here we are.
Great.
Except he makes no where NEAR 18 bucks an hour now and the courts refuse to adjust anything. AND, even though Jersey gets 65% of Eric's pay, it's not the "set" amount and so he is in violation and gets further behind every week. The child support portion is paid, just not her "spousal" support. It's at about 23,000 right now.

We get these blustery notices from the Jersey court every now and then and nothing ever really happens. So far.
There's another court date looming. Eight days before I turn 42. Gee, that's gonna be a lovely week, huh?
I don't know why, except the implacable eventuality of it all, but this time, it's making me seriously crazy.
I'm fuckin' terrified that he's gonna get picked up sometime after we don't go to court because we can't afford a lawyer. If he does, what the fuck am I gonna do then?
From what I remember about Jersey's asshole way of "handling" men with "arrears", they lock them up til it's paid in full.
Jesus wept.
And, so do I... almost daily.

The closer it gets, the heavier it gets. On one hand, we've decided that if it DOES happen, at least it'll be over with, so that'll be good. BUT... I'd rather be dead than be seperated from Eric. In fact, they're the same thing.
I wasn't "living" before I was given Eric. I was "existing" and hating it. That's what'll happen if "they" get their hands on him, I just know it. They're gonna lock him up and keep him for how long? HOW LONG, DAMN IT??? Somebody tell me that, okay? How long? How do I get him back home here? How I keep them from getting him in the first place?

I need to fix this worse than I've ever needed to fix anything before in my life, including Kim's ass for what I feel she did to my life. THAT'S how important it is...
I need to fix this and I haven't got clue one as to HOW to get a lawyer. Well, yeah... MONEY. Of course. The one damned thing I don't have. I mean, I have some and can get some more, but that's not enough for those bastards. They all want HUGE retainers for this shit. (One dick I talked to only the wanted the TITLE TO MY CAR!!!!! Jesus, ya know? Not that Eric isn't a billion times more important than the car, but... umm... we kinda need that stupid thing, ya know?) Bill said, the first day we met him and explained this shit, that HE'D help Eric take care of this... Boy, it's good thing we haven't been holding our breath waitin' for THAT... (The dude spends 50,000 dollars like I spend five, too... *shaking head*)

Then, say I get the money somehow (anybody want a "date"?) and then we get useless lawyers, like Rob had, and Eric still gets fucked again?
See what I'm saying?

Terror.

That's my life.
Again.
Still.
For-fuckin'-ever?

Ye Gods...

SO... two nights ago, we're in bed. I had been asleep, but woke back up when Eric came in. I looked at him and burst into tears. He just held me and listened while I spewed all the terror about the room and said, several times, "I need a soccer ball, God, PLEASE! Gimme a soccer ball if I'm worrying about nothing. I can't stand being so scared that that's all I feel anymore and not even being able to feel and enjoy the gifts You've given me in Eric and this life I have now. I don't wanna lose it all, again. I've done that already, about 50 times so far in my life. Please, please... give me a soccer ball if it's gonna be okay..."

And... He did. Less than 24 hours later, I have a soccer ball.
A real soccer ball.
Be right back... freakin' too hard to see right this second....

I got my soccer ball, but lost my Pop-pop's tie tack... *laughing and bawling at the same time*

The night I freaked, I finally cried it out enough to be able to sleep... for about three hours before I had to go to work. Felt like re-warmed shit all day and got home. Good.
Later that night, after saying "I'll go", then "Fuck it til tomorrow" about 93 times, I finally did go to the store for cat food and trash bags. (Cat food in, cat poop out, hence the need for trash bags, I guess...)
Anyway, I'm cruising the pet aisle, looking at my list, not the shit in the aisle.

When I got to the boxed cat litter, something caught my eye and I looked up... right at a soccer ball, just sitting there, on top of a box of litter. Granted, it's a dog toy, but a soccer ball is a soccer ball and this one wasn't where it belonged. It was right at my eye level, two-thirds of the way down the aisle from where it belonged and it was there THEN, while I was and almost hadn't been.
I stopped, I stared, I teared up and I bought the thing. It's sitting right above my head, on the shelf, still in it's plastic, as I type. Every time I start to cry here, I look at it and am comforted.
BY A DOG TOY.
(Told ya's I'm nuts...)

I got my soccer ball.
Thank you, God. Sincerely.

Then, this morning, I was getting dressed for work and saw that Pop-pop's tie tack is gone from on my tie.
Now, this thing is NOT easy to squeeze open and it's never fallen off before and it's not in the bathroom where my shirt was hanging.
It's just gone.

My first thought was that that was a sign from Pop-pop that he's here with me and I still feel that. I'm even okay with maybe never finding it.
Wanna know why?
I needed a sign and I got one. Maybe someone else, yesterday, needed a sign that has something to do with the letter "N". (That's what was on the tie tack, the letter "N" for his name...) Maybe somebody needed it as badly as I needed my soccer ball... if so, I hope they find it and keep it forever.
If not, I hope I find it soon... *smile*
It's no where in this house. Believe me.
I tore this place UP looking when I got home tonight and it's not here that I can see.
But, I can see that soccer ball.

Now, if I could only afford to see a lawyer...
Ah well... one elephant sized problem at a time, ey?

I still don't know what I'm gonna do if they get him, ever, but I have "made arrangements" for my notification of his having been picked up, if it happens while I'm at work... I told Eric to call Rob, because HIM, I trust. Rob will be there, I know and he'll find a way to let me know that won't cause me to have a stroke, if possible.
He's also got some pretty cool, kinda esoteric contacts and if anybody can pull a rabbit alive out of a lion's den (or Eric outta jail), it'd be Rob, so thank God for Rob and I do, about 79 times a day...

I think between the soccer ball and knowing Rob will be right here, I might not lose what little I have left of my mind, but, somehow, this shit still kills me by inches every day.

So, thank you again, if ya made it this far. If ya have any suggestions, ideas or just anything... let me know.
Please.
My stupid mother died of a stress-induced heart attack at the age of 43.
And...
I'm gonna be 42 reeeaaalll soon.
I hope.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 12:42 AM

Comments

Posted by: Terry Reynolds at April 13, 2005 01:43 AM (OPRCz)

Posted by: Stevie at April 13, 2005 11:40 AM (Sw6UC)

Posted by: pat at April 13, 2005 05:24 PM (ThKyJ)

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Posted by: NAWAZ at September 17, 2005 09:37 AM (FCq4A)

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