Because I Could 1

Some truths are stranger than fiction. The truths of the tale I am about to tell you have greatly shaped not only my family, but who I am and what I do for a living. I must state this up front: I do not honestly know what happened to the couple in this story beyond what I am going to tell you now. I am not going to give you their names, so I don't have to change them. I will open the floor for those who wish to speculate and continue it to any possible conclusion, but I have been searching for the real answers for many years.

He was my twin brother, but like a lot of girls with a boy for a twin, somehow he always felt more like a younger brother. My parents having 5 kids (most of us having being surprises) obviously enjoyed a very active sex life, when they weren't both working long hours to support us. Being the oldest sister, I was the built-in babysitter, nurse, cook, cleaning service, and HBIC whenever squabbles broke out. I think it's important for you to know that our home life was really pretty good. Our parents made sure we knew we were loved, provided for us, and in a lot of ways he and I were best friends as well as siblings.

The only thing that concerned me about my brother is that I always had to step in and fight his fights for him. There weren't many, but when they happened, he always took a few punches, crumbed to the ground, and looked to me to save him. Looking back, I have wondered if I did the right thing by doing that.

In high school we took different paths. I was a plain looking, tom-boyish girl, but friendly enough to fend off the ire of the socialite elite or be ostracized with the socially challenged, and I maintained friendships with anyone and everyone (some of which I hold onto still.) My brother became more introverted. Freshman year he hung with me and my friends at lunch, though he rarely said much, and by sophomore year he was eating more alone, or with a few members of the super-quiz team. I did the school plays, and he did chess club. Mom and dad did get a home computer for the family, I used it to play games and he learned to program them.

I thought we were still pretty close knit, until he started to date a girl, that I still un-affectionately refer to as the bitch (and many variations along the same vein.) She was the team captain of the quiz kids and was an unrelenting task master. She would pull her team out of class for impromptu pop-quiz training and would come up with demeaning punishments for missed answers, like licking the bottom of her shoes, or worse her ugly ass feet. I suspect the only reason the real coaches and school administrators let her get away with her nonsense was because they won. And while she was two years ahead of us, for some reason she started dating him.

Actually and initially, I'm not sure it could even be called dating or a relationship. She had my brother take her out and by things for her, but when it came to major dances, or events she would always go with someone else, claiming she needed to attend with an upperclassman.

When she left Florida for an "Ivy League" college, I sincerely hoped my brother would move on and find someone who would treat him better so that he could enjoy his last two years of high school, and in fairness I think he did try. But they always seemed to connect when she came back during breaks, and knowing none of the family liked her, wisely he kept her away from us for the most part.

One of the few times I saw her was when my brother turned 18, and they lost their virginity together at a party I helped throw. It happened only after a lot of Jägermeister, and was extremely uncomfortable and embarrassing for me. The rhythmic pounding coming through the wall lasted about two minutes and hearing my brother moaning made me dry heave. She made no sound, so I have to wonder if she was even conscious, or this was a rare moment of giving a shit about him. Either way it got me in trouble with the friend who's house we used because they "did it" in her parent's bed and left blood stains on the comforter.

After high school we both went to different state schools. I was going to become a science teacher, and my brother was studying computer programming. He seemed happy and focused, so when Bitchdumort (sorry J.K.) turned up at our family holiday dinner sucking the lifeforce out of everyone, we were shocked and dismayed. Even more so when she became a regular fixture in our parents home.

My brother and I really drifted apart during this period of our life. I had my other sisters and brother, but it's so hard feeling that kind of distance from a twin. I felt like I needed to fade into the background and give him space to figure out how toxic she really was, but over time just turned into an outright cold war between us, especially when they moved into together after her graduation.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when I got a save the date card out of the blue a few years later (the rest of my family was unpleasantly surprised as well.) He was still finishing his schooling, but I guess they couldn't wait to get started on that almost certain divorce. I was asked to be a part of the bridal party, and reluctantly agreed. The bitch's mother was even more of a tomboy than me, showing up in a combat camouflage jacket, and army boots (though she was never in the actual military.) Her father had already passed away, but I learned (after many rounds of shots) had a profound effect on her attitudes about marriage and family. In many ways it was like a perverse modern Great Expectations, she was groomed to despise what most of us treasure. She didn't want "ANY" children (yes, that emphatically.) She was driven by the desire to dominate the business world and follow in her father's footsteps and was well ahead of the current thinking by seeing marriage as something that was almost disposable if it didn't work out (starter marriage bullshit.) Her mother seemed like a closeted butch lesbian (she did bring a very petite feminine "friend" with her to the event), which wasn't a concern for me but what did raise the hairs on the back of my neck was the fact that she seemed totally and completely detached from her daughter. I already knew she was dark, brooding, and borderline evil, but the revelations made me sick (not the amount of tequila I was consuming.) I really wondered if my brother knew what he was getting into.

On the wedding day, our side of the (huge) church was packed, while the bride's side was almost completely empty. I couldn't help but stare at the ignorant, blissful expression on my bother's face though the whole thing. There was no point where the minister asked if anyone objected to the marriage, or I really think I would have screamed something. But I didn't say anything to him, not before, not during, not even in the months and years after. I bit my tongue and hoped they would find happiness somehow. That is perhaps the biggest regret of my life.

I am ashamed to say that other than family functions, I didn't speak to my brother much the next few years. My parents, despite having little themselves, helped the young couple buy a townhome. My brother graduated shortly after that and was trying to find a job as a programmer, and I heard she was climbing the corporate ladder, but I was never sure what she actually did.

It started crashing down a few months into their third year of marriage. I got a phone call about 1am on a Saturday night and answered to the sounds of my twin hysterically crying. I had just gotten home from drinking and dancing with my friends, and it sobered me up fast. Through the tears and wailing I managed to decipher that he got the bitch pregnant somehow. She was going to get an abortion because she was holding to the never wanting kids. And he was begging her to keep the child, even telling her he would raise it alone if she didn't want it. It was one of those circular sadness conversations. We talked for a few hours, but nothing was really resolved. The pain passing through him in waves. I alternated between sadness for him and for my unborn niece or nephew, and utter distain for the sociopath. Finally, we both reached a space of emotional and physical exhaustion and hung up the phone to try and sleep.

The next morning, I went over to their new house as early as I could drag myself out of bed. Satan answered the door, and immediately slammed it in my face. After knocking several times, I found a local payphone and tried calling a few times hearing the line pickup and then the phone slam down to hang up, until it was just left off the hook. I didn't have a cell phone back then, so finally I headed back to my apartment. On my answering machine was a short message: "Please whatever you do, don't tell mom and dad. I'm sorry I can't talk to you for a while."

I was fuming but did as I was asked. I figured it was their business and it wasn't my place to interfere. They stopped even attending family functions together. I did run into him once for one of my sisters graduation ceremony, I had to use the restroom and found him hiding behind the seated crowd near an exit and obviously avoiding the family. I confronted him about his behavior and disappearance from our lives, and told him he needed to start showing up again. All he seemed to care about is if I had kept their secret. She would be mortified if the family knew what had happened, he claimed. I reluctantly assured him that I had not shared anything with anyone, but I was so pissed that I was "thrown out with the bath water."

A few weeks later I was informed that my mother had received a call from the lying cunt where she claimed I had said some awful things to her that could not even be repeated, and that they would not be at any family gatherings where I was present. Can you fucking believe that? My mother chewed me out and I became kind of a black sheep in the family. I let it go on for a while but reached my breaking point months later when I was basically being un-invited to Christmas dinner. I don't think I ever had a more pointed or heated conversation with my mother in my life. I let her know exactly what had happened, that I was done playing the stupid bitch's games, and that my brother needed serious help in what had to be an absolutely abusive relationship. I think mom got the message when I pointedly asked her if she would allow any man to treat any of her girls this way?

When the smoke settled and after several minutes of my mother breathing deeply. I received a quiet apology. Was it worth it? It was one of those things in life that was immediately gratifying, but now I feel tremendous guilt about. I didn't speak to either my brother or his wife for over a year. They stopped attending things again after my mother chewed her ass out. At the time I hoped it would all blow over with time, but it never did.

I had been working as a teaching assistant trying to get a job at a high school I really liked and had just gotten home when I noticed that I had missed a bunch of messages on my answering machine. Listened to in order they gave me a running narrative of my brother's life going from bad to worse:

Revelation 1: The bitch had gotten herself pregnant again, but he only found out about it when the hospital called asking him to come pick her up from the abortion he didn't know she was having.

Revelation 2: He knew the child wasn't his because they had not had sex together for months. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, he was devastated.

Revelation 3: They didn't want to let him in the room with her, until he proved that he was her husband. The asshole that did knock her up and had posed as her husband when they checked in, wandered off to get a sandwich, and lost track of time.

Revelation 4: Asshole was from her workplace, and they had been having an affair for years, even before the marriage.

I just sat by the phone not sure what hospital they were at, and not wanting to call my parents until I heard directly from him. About an hour later he called and asked if he could come crash with me for a few days. I knew my apartment mates wouldn't mind if he stayed in my room, and I was hoping I could be there for him to help cushion the blow somewhat.

The first night was mostly just crying. I hugged him and tried to get him to talk but he was so hurt there were no real words. My parents came by the next day to help (kind of). My mother practical as ever was concerned for him, but legitimately more about how to protect their investment in the townhome. I regretted calling them but wasn't going to get accused of "withholding" anything again. When they left and we were able to talk more, I started to discover the depth of the destruction. It was like watching someone become a zombie, the life, joy, and hope draining from him. He knew he had to face her but wondered if he even had the strength. It was Saturday night, so we agreed he should stay until the beginning of the work week when hopefully he could limit contact as much as possible. I asked him if he wanted to divorce her, and he said he really didn't know. Obviously he still loved her, but I didn't see much hope. My father was very pragmatic, he always told me that when it came to jobs and relationships, when I saw the need to make a change, head to the exit and not look back (strange since he was happily married to my mother for more than 20 years at that point, but then again maybe he knew what he found with her.)

Reluctantly I followed with him over to his house Monday morning and waited outside for a bit after he entered. He emerged about an hour later again in tears, threw some filled trash bags and his computer into his back seat of his car, jumped in and we headed back to my place. Once he calmed down a little he explained that over the weekend she dumped all of his stuff in the guest room, and moved her boyfriend into the master bedroom.

So for the first time since we shared a womb, we were living together in my tiny room in my apartment. My brother spent most of his time looking for work on a dial up internet connection and my roommates got more and more pissed off because the phone was always in use. Two months later when I came home from work, I found all of his stuff gone. He did leave a brief note saying he had a possible job in the Midwest and was moving there to stay with friends he had made online. He had stopped by my parents and borrowed money to purchase a Motorola cell phone brick for emergencies and but never really said goodbye directly. I was crushed and relieved at the same time. I hoped the distance would enable him to start a new life and find someone nice for a change.

About a month later I got a letter without a return address from Minnesota with a few hundred dollars, an apology for taking off so abruptly, and a few words about how I shouldn't worry anymore as he was going to "fix" everything, so imagine my surprise when mecabitchzilla showed up on my doorstep a few days later, divorce papers in hand, and once I opened the door, screaming at me to tell her where he was! I slapped her so fucking hard it finally shut her up for a moment, and while I really am not one for physical violence, I have to say I never felt anything so utterly violent feel so completely satisfying.

I made it clear to her that I didn't really know, and I watched her turn to leave. I asked her one question: "Why?" She turned back towards me without the faintest trace of remorse or sadness simply stated, "Because I could." And with that she was gone. I had to accept that as truth, possibly the most brutal honestly I have encountered in my life.

I never saw her or my brother again. They both seemingly disappeared off the planet. Her mother, the office asshole, and eventually the police all contacted me in their search for answers. I handed over the letter and envelope I had received as part of the missing persons investigation. My parents even hired investigators to try and find him, but they never came up with anything; Not even breadcrumbs that led to any credible leads.

As for me, I gave up on being a teacher, I took some courses and got an internship became a private investigator. If I open my case notes and write about them here, I have many tales to tell of cheating inhumanity, and a few spouses that were innocent, but simply lost their direction in marriage. My current husband works in family therapy, so I often see the whole cycle of marital despair from the bite of cheating betrayal to the turmoil of people try to recover from it.

"Because I could" has become a foundational truth I have seen repeatedly in serial cheaters, after all the other excuses, lying, and shallow pleading is stripped away.

So that is my story. What do you think happened to both of them? I have told myself many possible tales trying to make sense of it all, but the trail for me has been cold for many years and the only real hope that we have as a family is that someday he might come walking through the door again, but with each passing year it becomes less and less likely.