Urbanek Loving Conor

A Clairvoyant's Memoir on Loving, Bonding and Healing
1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-4835-0585-5
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 236 Seiten

Tami races against time to help the soul of her daughter's unborn baby and her daughter at the same time.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Urbanek, Tami

Leseproben

Chapter One: The Apartment

Nyle’s rage led him to the tiny kitchen where, seeing the flour on the counter, he began throwing it around the dining room. In his drunken anger, he threw dishes, just as he had thrown the couch cushions, books, magazines, cups, and the television remote control in the family room a few minutes before.

“STOP IT!!” I yelled, my fear escalating, moving from my stomach to my lungs and settling in my ears with a whooshing sound brought on by a rush of adrenalin.

He punched the wall, leaving a hole.

I had to get to my daughter, who slept totally unaware in her crib down the hall. I needed to keep her safe. And I needed to call the police. I was crying and breathing in a rapid, shallow manner as I made my way to the bedroom.

With my entire being on high alert, I quickly stepped over the broken debris that lay all over the floor in the family room and hallway. Making my way to the phone in the bedroom across from Bethany’s crib, I dialed 0 for operator. With the sound of breaking glass in the background, I asked for the phone number of the police station.

“Ma’am if this is an emergency, you need to call 911,” the dispatcher said, just as Nyle entered the messy bedroom, slurring, “I could beat the shit out of you before the police get here. No one will help you.”

My fear felt like it was reverberating off the walls, but I was afraid of getting Nyle into trouble, so I hung up the phone. In the next moment, I could tell that his anger was beginning to dissolve, and I knew he was about to pass out. I moved back to the crib to stand next to Bethany while he slowly made his way to the unmade bed, falling upon it.

Making very little noise, my breathing shallow, and my heart beating quickly, I sat down on the floor next to Bethany’s crib. Holding my head in my hands, I cried.

The next day, bringing home a few groceries, I walked the hallway of the dirty apartment complex and entered our dismal garden level apartment. Bethany was in her carrier with Nyle watching over her. At this time of the day, he was sober. Given that, I could not remember an entirely sober weekend since we had met.

“Hey,” I said as I walked in.

“Hey.” Nyle’s voice was soft and contrite as his eyes followed me around the kitchen as I unpacked the groceries. “I tried to get most of it picked up…I’m sorry, Tami.”

“I know,” I replied, sighing. And in that moment, I believed he was sorry, just as he had been sorry so many times before.

There was a stench to this apartment building, the perpetual odor of some combination of onions and dust and old people. That, along with cheap plywood and dim lighting, left me feeling depressed and overwhelmed. I was nineteen years old, married, and in love. At least, I thought I was in love. But it was hard to look at the holes in the walls, testimony to other drunken weekends, and not wonder how love had turned so violent.

My parents had advised me not to marry Nyle. That I didn’t listen to their advice, that I rebelled against my upbringing, is surprising given that I came from an intact family with a strong spiritual orientation. And had I not been subjected to the kind of peer bullying that had a profound effect on my self-esteem, I probably wouldn’t have rebelled. But for me, at that time, feeling wanted was more important than anything. And when we first met, Nyle made me feel wanted.

***

As I continued to put away the groceries, my mind shifted from my childhood to the summer I turned eighteen when I went to a party with my friend on the Army base. She and I walked into a room full of cigarette smoke, a pool table, and a few guys who had no dates. They weren’t saying much; they were drinking, smoking and playing pool. I saw Nyle for the first time laughing and drinking margaritas out of a pitcher.

I was enticed by his tall, slim build, bluish eyes and sandy blond hair. He looked like he was enjoying himself and when he noticed me standing there, he smiled, sending my stomach into a swirl of butterflies. I wanted to get to know him and it was easy to quickly join in the fun.

Eventually, we began talking and we ended up in my car where we could be alone.

He said he liked me.

“Why is that?” I asked him.

“You’re different.”

“You tell all the girls that,” I said with a laugh.

He laughed too. “Maybe; but it’s true.”

After that night, we began dating exclusively and within a few months, we moved in together. Very soon, I found myself pregnant and we became engaged. Within five weeks of my pregnancy, I began bleeding a small amount. I was afraid that I would miscarry and I made an appointment with the doctor.

The doctor didn’t seem worried about me miscarrying and he sent me home with instructions to watch for more cramping and heavy bleeding. Unfortunately, the next week, I did have more cramping and heavy bleeding and when I returned to the doctor, he told me that I had miscarried. Even though, we had not planned on a pregnancy so early, I had started falling in love with the child, whom I always felt was a boy.

Returning home, I crawled into bed and Nyle crawled in with me, holding me as I cried for our unborn baby. I never knew how Nyle felt about the miscarriage; we never talked about it. In that moment, we decided to get married anyway, despite the miscarriage. This choice would change my life forever.

We were married in front of a judge and had a celebration ceremony that spring when we had the money. We lived in a tiny 500 square foot apartment nearby the Army base where Nyle worked every weekday. I found myself jumping from job to job, never satisfied with anything. Earning minimum wage was the norm for me until I was hired as a telemarketer, earning $10 an hour in early 1993. The problem with telemarketing was that I wasn’t very good at it.

“Hello, Ma’am, may I tell you about…” The phone died. The customer hung up on me.

“Hello, Sir, may I tell you about this prod….” Another dial tone.

One part of the job was that we were expected to pressure the customer who didn’t even want our phone call in the first place. I always felt so guilty about that.

“Hello, Ma’am, may I speak with you about this new opportunity?” I asked the woman who answered the phone one day.

“Well…I’m in the middle of something right now…” she replied. I could hear in her voice that she was elderly and her voice was shaking a bit.

“Oh…well, I’ll be quick. You see we have this great package that you can purchase at a very reasonable price! Let me tell you how you can most benefit!” I continued, reading from my script.

“Well…perhaps I have a small amount of time, but I don’t know…” she said, clearly not wanting to continue, but too nice to say so.

I saw my boss on the phone listening in on one of the calls, and I had a strong feeling that he was listening to mine. Though I knew I’d get in trouble for it, I ended the call anyway.

“I understand, Ma’am. Thank you for your time.”

As I hung up the phone, I looked over at my boss. He hung up the phone and quickly walked in my direction with a look on his face that said, ‘What the fuck?’

“Why did you do that?! You could have sold her,” he yelled.

“She wanted off the phone,” I said.

“So? You can’t do that!” He stomped away.

I gladly ended my shift and never returned to that large room with rows of tables, computers, and telephones.

Within a month, I went back to work at McDonald’s. The same McDonald’s I worked at in my earlier teen years. I felt since they knew me I could quickly become assistant manager and earn more than the minimum wage they pay all beginning crewmembers. I also signed up for two college classes at the community college and I was excited to begin working towards my degree in education.

Very soon after I was hired a McDonald’s, several other Army wives and I took a bus out to the field training area for a special lunch with our husbands. I sat on the hard bench waiting and waiting for Nyle to come meet me. All the other husbands met their wives while I sat there alone, feeling rejected and angry. Tears stung my eyes as I looked down at my lap.

We had not been getting along. He was drinking a lot and was usually intoxicated from 4 p.m. or 5 p.m. Friday until Monday morning. We constantly fought about money. We had talked about trying to conceive again and I was trying to keep one job longer than two months. It helped that I had begun working at McDonald’s.

Finally, Nyle came walking towards me, but I was already so angry that I didn’t have a lot to say. I was also embarrassed that the other wives had been looking at me oddly because I was the only one sitting there by myself. I attempted to cover up my hurt and anger and pretended to be happy to see him, though I’m sure he saw anger in my eyes.

“Let’s go take a walk,” Nyle said.

We walked away from the benches full of seemingly happy couples.

“Maybe…maybe we shouldn’t try to get pregnant,” he said.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I stayed silent for a few minutes, “Ok, well, I don’t think I am pregnant, so yes, ok.” I didn’t want to return to the other wives and husbands with red-rimmed eyes, so I held in...