The Bad Mom

(excert from my memoir titled Scars of Paris)

Fall term was back in session two days later and I started feeling funny.  I remember having this same feeling once before.  I went to Portland State Student Health Services where a nurse said those two words that changed my life… Again:  “You’re Pregnant.”  She handed me my options: A list of abortion clinics and adoption agencies.

I was right back in high school where the nurse told me the same thing and offered the same choices.  I told my boyfriend over the phone, he said, “can I call you back?”
He never did, when I called him, his phone had been disconnected.  I went to his grandma’s house where he lived.  She said he moved back home with his parents in Modesto, a town about four hours away.  I told her I was expecting her great grandchild, she didn’t give up any information until a few weeks later, when she called me with some terrible news.  She said Sean was killed in an auto accident.  I didn’t believe her until I read about it in the newspaper.  There was a photograph of his convertible bug turned upside down on highway 17.  I attended his funeral pregnant with his child.  I still wondered if this was all a set-up to get rid of me.  I chose to have an abortion.

For some reason abortions are preformed at night, maybe to avoid the pro-life protesters.  As a liberal thinking person, I was always confused about our stance of pro choice and the death penalty.  My people believe in saving the lives of criminals yet undeveloped babies lives were disposable.  I guess I have a conservative side.  I considered adoption but I wasn’t emotionally stable enough for something that heavy.  I was brought into a room, this clinic kept patience awake during the procedure in hopes they won’t repeat the same crime.  The doctor was unfriendly, he placed the vacuum in me and it was over.  He looked at me and said sternly, “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

I did it and I don’t regret it, but I’m thirty years old.  I’m too old for an abortion. I’m old enough to be accountable for my actions.  I’m emotionally stable enough to provide a good life for a child and have positive qualities to offer.  Just like high school I was in a situation without a partner.  When my backpack was stolen off the train in Venice, I lost all contact information for the father.  Should I find a family that does have a dad; it still wouldn’t be your real father.  It would be fun to have two dads; I could find a fabulous gay couple.  I wonder what it’s like to not have a dad; I wonder what it’s like to have a good dad.  I have a lot of issues with my father, I hold him responsible for a lot my behaviors growing up.  He didn’t beat or molest me, nothing like that.  In therapy I learned that because of his depression, he was emotionally unavailable to me and therefore I felt emotionally neglected.  He’s also just an asshole.

I remember one sunny Saturday where my parents hosted a BBQ in our backyard.  My dad was a jock and mom pretended so that she could get closer to him. Everything revolved around sports including his mood.  My dad had season tickets to the San Francisco Forty-Niner football games.  We would turn on the last quarter to see if they had lost, if so, we knew dad was coming home in a bad mood.
My parents played on a coed soccer team that liked to party.  After the game the team picked up a keg and headed over to our house.   I found it entertaining seeing my parents get drunk and stupid with other parents, it was fun.  Some of my friends from school had conservative parents that had lots of rules like no feet on the table and bedtime at eight PM.  I felt sorry for my friends with mean parents, and was happy with my pot-smoking parents who lacked responsibility in parenting.  The gang was all there, drinks were poured and joints were passed.  Tasha, my mom’s friend got up on our picnic table and announced that she had gotten a new tattoo and had everyone gather around so she could reveal it.  Most of the kids were playing PAC-man in the house but for some reason I was more entertained by the drunken stage that our backyard had become.  Tasha unzipped her wrangler jeans and exposed a butterfly located on her shaved vagina.  I ran into the house to tease her son Brad who I had a crush on, “I just saw your mom’s vagina.”
“I know, she got it cause my dad left her,” he responded as the ghost ate his last PAC-man.  “Shit you made me die,” he said as he tossed the control.
“Your mom made me gag so were even,” I said
“Since you saw my mom’s vagina let me see yours,” he replied.
“Yeah right!” I said.
“Come on, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” he bargained
“Ok, but you first,” I said then he quickly pulled down his swim trunks to reveal his shriveled little penis.  I laughed and ran outback yelling, “Ha ha sucker.”

I found Dad and Tasha playing horseshoes.  She bent over and teased my dad to “ring this” as she pointed to her ass.
“Dad, where’s mom?”  I asked hoping he would stop flirting with mom’s drunken friend.  I was invisible as usual.  Later dad offered to drive Tasha and Brad home because she was too drunk to drive.  He was gone for hours.  I knew he was fucking her.  Mom knew he was fucking her.  He returned and I heard him admit to mom he fucked her as I listened through the walls.  I could hear mom crying.  The next weekend she took us to the park, when we returned home Dad’s stuff was gone, he had moved out.  Some dads do more harm than good.

When dad cheated on mom, it sent this message that all men will cheat.  Later in therapy I learned that as a result of this mindset, in order to protect myself I gave my husband permission to cheat.  I figured he was going to do it anyway so by giving him permission, I would be in control and wouldn’t be broken down.  Of course the deal would go both ways, I could cheat too and therefore wouldn’t be deprived of my desire to be with women.  Jack and I were together for years and had no desire or opportunity to be with anyone else until Brittany moved in next door.

Jack being the nice guy that he is went over and offered to help with the heavy stuff.  I who am not as nice kept to myself.    Jack came through the door as I was taking a hit from my black glass penis shaped bong, watching reruns of “The Real World” on MTV.
“Brittany invited us over for a beer,” said Jack.  “Wanna go over there?”
“No thanks, you go and have fun.”  I exhaled.  I didn’t drink when I was married.  Jack drank so much, it took the pleasure out of drinking for me because I was always trying to get him to quit so I wouldn’t have to baby-sit him.  I smoked weed instead, which kept me pretty isolated in my stoner den.
“You sure you don’t mind if I hang out over there?”  He asked
“Just remember to wear a condom!”  I was halfway joking.  He kissed me and went next door.   I went to bed.  The next day Jack called me at work and asked to meet me for lunch.  He began to cry, as he admitted to having sex with Brittany last night.  I cried too.  My heart was broken.  Jack had planned a trip to Arizona to visit his family a few days later.  I was torn with emotions, we both were.  The only way to make this ok was to fuck Brittany myself.
I knocked on her front door, “Hi, I’m Molly, Jack’s wife.”  She hesitated as she invited me inside.
“I thought I should introduce myself since you slept with my husband.”
“He said you guys had an open relationship and that you were cool with it,” she sounded nervous.
“Oh, yeah, it’s cool.” I reassured her.
We drank a few beers, which was ok because Jack was out of town so I felt I could drink.  She rubbed her neck and complained it was sore.
“Come, here I’ll massage your neck,” I said, thinking this is how it always begins.
She moaned with pleasure and asked me to “touch her”.  We had sex on her couch.

The next day I went up to Kat and told her to smell my finger. I couldn’t get the scent of her off me.
“What did you do?” she asked
“Brittany” I bragged.
I called Jack, unsure at how he would react; he felt a little weird and shocked at the same time, although we were confident our love would pull us through.
Jack returned home, Brittany knocked on the door; we invited her in, and then invited her to a threesome.  It was the fantasy come true, until we learned from couples counseling that fantasies should be left at fantasies.  Our affair became awkward, it was fun once but Brittany wanted some kind of relationship with us, she wanted to spend more time with us than we wanted to spend with her.  We gave our 30 days notice and moved to the other side of town.