Chapter Three: Interlude
Before I return to the retelling of my husband's story, I thought you, dear reader, might appreciate some background information about us. While you won't find any last names here (in fact, don't be too sure about the first names), the place, timeframe and the events themselves are real.
Contrary to what most Americans might think, not everyone growing up or living in Ann Arbor is rich. My family certainly wasn't. Neither were Abigail, James and their mother, Dorothy. Everyone called her Dot, by-the-way, and she really had it rough. We're better off now, but not so much back then.
Abigail and James were born about four and a half years apart - Abby being the older child. All this happened before Dot herself had turned twenty! Up to the day of this story, I didn't know much about their dad. I only knew that he never married Dot and that by the time Abby was six, he had been killed by a fellow inmate at Jackson State Prison. 'Good riddance to bad news!' was what my best friend used to say.
Dot didn't have much of a family to rely on. (I think they blamed her for having two kids out of wedlock.) At any rate, the three of them were pretty much on their own from that point. Ok, so you know what I'm talking about here: welfare, food stamps, the whole ball of wax. You get the picture.
Fast-forward to 1975. That's the year Abby and I graduated from Pioneer High School. I was just about to turn eighteen later in June. Abby, on the other hand, had already turned twenty (she had been held back for two years). There were no undergraduate degrees in our futures, but there was a two-year program at U of M Medical that led to a nursing certificate.
James was two years behind us at Pioneer; having been born in 1960. And even though he was already producing some amazing artwork, he would not be going to college either. Talent is important, but so is opportunity. When you are poor, opportunity is a rare visitor.
I was in love with James almost as soon as I became Abby's friend. He was a hunky guy and what girl doesn't like to have her portrait drawn. Put the two together and... wham! I was hooked. The problem was Abby.
Abby was my best friend, but she could be the meanest, most vindictive witch you could imagine. And, for some reason, she hated James. Maybe 'resented' is a more accurate way of putting it. Whatever it was, it meant that I couldn't show any affection to her brother without getting on her bad side.
The other thing you need to know about Abby was that she liked living on the knife-edge. She smoked a lot of pot, did other drugs and had more than her fair share of risky sex. And if you hung around her as I did, you ended up doing your own share of risk-taking. We were also lovers who occasionally liked to share a guy... at the same time.
That's how the two of us ended up getting pregnant in our last semester of nursing school in 1978. Abby was twenty-one and I was nineteen. We were both living with Dot and James (my parents threw me out due to my drug use). It happened at a frat party on the U of M campus.
Abby's boyfriend at the time was a pre-med student. I hated him, and I'm not sure if she even liked him all that much. Abby knew Derek was going to be at this frat house that was known for its parties turning into orgies. She got this crazy idea in her head that we should stop taking the pill and ambush poor Derek at this Halloween costume party and have him knock both of us up. It seemed like a fun idea at the time. I know, I sometimes can't believe all the crazy, stupid shit I've done.
Anyway, like we planned, we got pregnant and still managed to finish out our program. Derek, though, denied he was the father of either child and the blood tests we made him take backed him up. So, exit Derek stage right.
Thank goodness for James! He finished high school and graduated to the position of baby sitter for two infants while their mothers finished their educations and began their working careers. From the day I brought Rachel home, James was my personal hero, and I knew that come hell or even the wrath of Abby, I was going to marry that man.
Then Dot became ill. At first, we didn't know what was going on. Eventually she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. This was early in 1981. Abby's son Peter and my daughter were just over a year old. They brought her so much joy toward the end of her life. It was only 103 days from the day of her diagnosis to the day she passed. So, exit Dot stage left.
Sometimes it pays not to ask what worse thing can happen to you. You might just find out. Now, back to my husband's story...
Chapter Four: Friday, July 4th, 2003, 6:00 P.M.
I was about to realize that this whole day of bad news could and, in fact, would get worse. But as bad as it was for me, it was even more horrible for my husband...
"James, honey, what do you mean by 'sins of the father'?"
"It's just my way of saying that some family histories keep on repeating. Can you get me some Tylenol and a glass of water, babe? I feel a hangover coming on."
"Sure thing, hon."
I brought back from the kitchen two glasses and enough medicine for the both of us. The cold water felt good going down. Also by then, James had put himself back together - clothing-wise.
"Do you remember where you were on the night of October 25, 1978?" James asked.
This was a strange question, and while it seemed like I should know the answer, I just couldn't nail it for sure in my mind.
