Kindness or Cruelty?

Greg seduced me with his bright, green eyes and the smile that took over his entire face. My emotions were flying high that night. When we met I had just returned to work after a months long pregnancy hiatus. I missed the stage. I missed being a part of the show and all the excitement that came with the night life that had stolen my heart.

All this exuberance was about to destroy my carefully crafted plan to get back on my feet financially and become an independent, super single mom to my Jeffy, who was three weeks old at the time. In the 1970s the stain of unwed motherhood was still splashed across our reputations. There were no pregnancy centers handing out diapers and formula. Other than a begrudging Social Services handout, we were on our own.

The humiliation of asking for help from Social Services and the medical school that used our bodies as teaching tools for new interns. I never knew who was going to give me my pre-natal inspections and it was usually a crowd affair. Reminders that at least I was receiving care came as often as the tears did.

All that was over. As soon as my first shift was booked I called my case worker and canceled the future allotments for food and rent and healthcare. It felt good. So good.

Then, I met Greg.

Flying on the high of being in charge of my own life again made me an easy target. He wanted me. I wanted everything. We went home together after picking my baby up from the sitters. Greg fell right into my lap like an angel dropping from heaven. My borderline personality absorbed him and he melted into our lives. I was in love, or something close to it. He was perfect.

My parents thought so too. Instead of telling me not to visit with the baby, I was respectable because there was a man in my life. Because of Greg, Jeffy and I were now welcome at the family home.

Cracks began to appear after a few months.

Uncontrolled anger.

Flying plates crashing into walls. Eggs, like yellow blood streaked onto the floor.

Late nights unexplained.

Furious fists threatening me for small infractions.

I wrote these fears to my Mother. She responded, "You should be grateful that he wants to marry you. No one wants a woman with children. Love? You don't think you love him? It's a little late for love. You made your bed."

Greg picked up the mail that afternoon. He opened mine. Just like he opened everything that ever belonged to me and destroyed it.

When I returned from work he met me at the door shaking the letter in my face. "What the fuck is this? You don't love me? You don't want to marry me anymore?"

He began throwing me around the apartment as if I weighed nothing. Dragging me by my hair and kicking me in the ribs down the hallway to the bedroom we shared with my baby. I had to be quiet. If Jeffy started crying it would further enrage Greg.

Slapped, punched, kicked and handfuls of hair were yanked out of my head while I quietly whimpered. After getting loose I ran to the neighbors' and begged them to call the police. They ignored me and played dead.

Returning to the apartment I realized he had locked me out. Fearing for my baby's safety I threw my 98 pound weight against the door, breaking it open. Greg was systematically breaking everything in the kitchen cupboards.

I grasped a ski pole from a recent trip we had made and told him if he didn't leave I would stab him through the heart, and then I chased him out of the back door in a fury I'd never felt before. Motherhood is fierce.

He was arrested and held for 48 hours, giving me time to call an agent in Canada and pack Jeffy and I up for a very long, depressing bus trip to Toronto, where my agent helped me regroup and get back on my own again.

Things did not work out for a single mother working in a different city every week. Jeffrey was given up for adoption six months later. He had a fine life. My heart broke in places I didn't know it had.

Fast forward ten years:

Greg was homeless. I was back in town and doing well. He stopped in a club I was working at and shared what had been going on in his life since we split up on that frozen February night. I felt sorry for him. His temper ruined everything he could have had. He swore I was the only one he ever cared for and showed me an old, dogeared photo he kept of Jeffy and I.

There was a new man in my life and if Greg could handle that without going off, I told him he was welcome to stay at my apartment until he got his life back on track. I offered forgiveness and friendship. He wanted more.

Two weeks after the arrangement began he told a friend of mine I only let him live with me to rub his face in what he lost. He thought my offer was out of revenge. I thought it was out of pity.

I invited him to leave-- once again.

Some people don't get better with age.