Tragedy strikes everyone during a lifetime. It's not a very pleasant way to begin a story about a person's life, but it has been a strange life and I'm happy to report a rewarded life. I just didn't think tragedy would rear its' ugly head so early in mine.
My name is Barbra (like the singer). Brabra was the way my baby brother would pronounce it, and somehow my friends picked it up and from then on, I was known as ... you can figure it out yourself.
My parents were very strict in how my brother, and I were raised. We were required to make our beds every morning, we laid out our clothes for the next day. When it was my turn to do the dishes after dinner, I wasn't allowed to use the dishwasher. It was important to my father I know how to be a proper housewife. We weren't allowed to date, and at times we felt like we were there just to make their life easier. If you think about it, don't all kids feel that way growing up?
There was always plenty to eat and when anything needed to be done to keep the house in good repair, they knew who to call to get it fixed. My brother and I both grumbled a lot, but later in life I looked back to realize they gave us anything and everything we needed.
I remember screaming at the top of my vocal range that I hated being fourteen years old and couldn't wait till I was old enough to be out of the house and on my own. I'm certain I shouted those same words several times at fifteen. But when sixteen came along, things changed; a driver's license will do that to a person.
I enrolled in an off-campus teaching program that allowed me to work in a bank every afternoon. There, I met several girls that were older and a couple that were even married. Once I had been accepted into their group, I was invited to join them on their party nights. I was just seventeen, but we figured if we rushed the doorman all at once, I would have my ten dollars in one hand and my thumb over the date on a newly minted driver's license. He was more than happy to allow all of us in. Who could resist all those beautiful girls and all those tits staring back at him.
One night I told my parents I was going to a girlfriend's house. I don't remember what BS I made up, but it was exactly that ... Bullshit! Off I went to meet up with my gal-pals at their favorite dance club.
After an hour or two the dance floor was really cookin' and I felt the need to stretch my newfound power. On my way back from the bar to our table, I just happened to run into a familiar face ... the face of my father. Man, oh man, was he pissed! His words hit me like a sledgehammer.
"You have thirty minutes to get home, or your mother and I start throwing your shit out on the street!"
Once I got back to the house, I sat quiet and shaking with fear. I made a lame attempt at an excuse of why I was at the club. My father interrupted my ramblings.
"You lied to your mom and dad. Go pack your shit and move in with your buddies." He immediately turned and disappeared down the hall.
I asked my mother if he was serious, and she assured me, he was very serious. She then told me something I never forgot. She told me to stop trying to grow up too quickly and take advantage of their wisdom. She begged me to adapt that wisdom to my own life and then I would understand why we were raised the way we were.
The next morning, nothing was said about what happened that night. I would learn in later years my father never said a word about what happened, especially to my brother.
Anyway, I lost my virginity in High School to the quarterback of the football team. It turns out half the girls in school gave it up to him. There was one big difference to that part of my story... I married him.
No, we didn't rush out and tie the knot right away. We continued to date through college and even lived together for a year after graduation. I wasn't sure this was the way a married family lived, I found out his family was loaded. I must be honest; I didn't have the most rewarding examples in my own homelife. Without sticking my head in the sand, when Thomas said, "let's do this thing." I said, "yes." Remember he was my first and being first was very important ... I guess.
Anyway, on with my life, Thomas, that, by the way, was my husband's name, knocked good ole Brabra up during a bout of drunken passion on our honeymoon. No matter how we counted the days it had to be that night. Our honeymoon lasted only two days. I don't remember when we went to bed, But I was in a bed with Thomas when the sun struck half past noon the next day. Please believe me, no matter how hard I try, that's the only thing I remember about my wedding day after the party started.
I was certain this would be the most memorable time in my life. Damn, was I ever wrong. Thomas got a phone call, and without even a how do you do, we were on our way back to Dallas.
After we returned, Thomas did what he needed to get done, and we were able to start settling into our daily routine. He had a lucrative position in his father's company, and I had a gaggle of girlfriends out in the burbs. He worked very hard and always let me know what was going on, or so I thought. He doted shamelessly over our daughter, and we presented all the signs of being the perfect family unit.
I had many alone hours at home, so when I was invited to join a group of fellow pool boy watchers, I quickly said yes. Our little group played cards, we had parties, we met regularly at someone's home to just gab. About once a month we'd put on our best bib and tucker for a night out away from our husbands. When we were together, we talked, and talked, and talked. A lot of the stuff we talked about left me slightly red-faced. As time passed, I was shocked less and less. It seemed like being a loose woman wasn't as bad as I had been taught; seeing it was so popular with the group.
Then, during a wine drink-a-thon at the home of a newer member of the group, a revelation was made. Nothing out of the ordinary for this group, but at the very end of the rookie's confession, she said. "He had the cutest little heart-shaped mole about three inches below his belly button."
You could have heard a pin drop in that room, probably in the entire neighborhood. Ten eyes stared straight at me. A couple of my friends showed the guilt they were feeling, but most faces reflected the pity I now had to swallow.
I, like the obedient person I was trained to be, broke the silence. "Did he make you cum? God only knows he leaves me hanging plenty." With that comment, one voice and then another returned. Soon we were setting a time and date for our next hen-fest. I think someone actually made a toast to my husband's sexual prowess. Truth be told, I didn't hear much more from the mouths of those skanks. My thoughts were confined more to controlling the burning anger building behind my eyes.
It was a short walk for all of us to our homes. Alice lived next door to me, and Mary Ellen was two doors further down. There was the new member of the group, her name is Francis, and she lived on the far side of the street. She was the person who let it slip about my husband's cute little mole. Looking back on it now, she was the one who was probably the last woman to ever fuck him; at least that's the way I look at it now.
I calmly walked through the door, slammed it as hard as I could, I took out my cell phone and pressed the speed dial button for my loving husband. The first call went to voicemail. The second call he answered, and I didn't wait ... "What the fuck are you doing? I don't satisfy you anymore, you cock sucker?" I thought I had him, but instead of trying to stop my tirade, he let me continue. "Poor little Francis let it slip about the mole above your cock. Do you want to explain that, or do I have to take a knife and cut it out?" There was a pause ... then the phone did its little beep thing, and I knew I was screaming at what might as well been a rock.
My decision of what I needed to do had been made before I even opened the door. I was going to pack a bag and head for the cabin in the hills (actually the lake). Did I mention my husband had a very lucrative position in his father's company, and the family owned a cabin on Gladewater Lake in East Texas, along with whatever else struck their fancy? If I didn't mention it earlier, well, here it comes. Not only was his family in oil and cattle, but they were also knee deep in metals mining, water, and every Governor, all the way back to, Ma Ferguson, Democrat or Republican had a hot line straight into the family private office in Dallas. The funny thing about all this power and politics, they didn't aways vote. But they never missed a political dinner. Of course, the checkbook was open to both sides of any issue.
Our four-year-old, Jenn was dropped off from her day school and I already had a bag for her and set her up with a Disney movie in the basement. It didn't take long to fill a backpack with a couple pairs of panties, clean shorts, a blouse for me. Now it was time to wait to see what lies and excuses I would hear today. Would they be the same excuses I had been hearing for the last five years, when now that I look back on it, they were all lies so he could go off someplace and get his dick sucked. All he really had to do was open his eyes. The best fuck he ever had, or ever would have, was standing right in front of him.
He was late. Later than I could remember without a call letting me know when he would be home. There was no need to worry. He knew he was walking straight into a buzz-saw when he walked in the door. But he didn't. Instead, there was a timid knock on the front door, so I got up and tried to calm myself so I wouldn't look like a raving maniac. And when I pulled the door wide enough, I could see who it was. I knew there was a problem.
Standing there with his cowboy hat and trusty side arm was a DPS officer. He asked my name, and then proceeded to tell me my husband had been in an accident. He had run a Red-light and was hit by a cattle truck. He was dead. My world went black.
When I was awakened, my husband's younger brother, Mike, was standing next to me. His face showed signs of tears, and his hand resting on my forehead showed the depth of his sorrow. I sat up from the couch, we hugged each other, and we cried.
For the next few months, I was inundated with well-wishers. My former friends, neighbors and family were like a never-ending cue of people coming to my front door. I didn't feel like a widow. I felt more like who did I hate and who could I tolerate.
Thomas' family were the most devastated and understanding of the sadness I felt. Then everything changed again. On top of all the recovery I was going through, the family matriarch, Thomas's father, had a massive, life ending heart attack. Now, the only people in the world I cared for were saddled with another loss. I got to the point if I looked at the flowers growing in the wild, they would die too.
