Once a King, Always a King: The Unmaking of a Latin King

by Reymundo Sanchez

  Aside from our search for answers, the only other thing Marilyn and I seemed to share that had any significant meaning was our sex life. It was very healthy and enjoyable and it seemed to provide us with an escape from the troubles we faced. Then, suddenly, Marilyn began to question our need for sex, and that part of us and our life together started to fall apart.

  Marilyn and I brought out feelings within each other that we had long harbored but never had an opportunity to deal with. These feelings were now coming to the surface at different times and in different ways. I knew that Marilyn’s sudden questioning of our sex life was all part of her hidden emotions beginning to erupt. It was a time when she was begging for love and understanding, but I knew of no such emotions to be able to share with her. I was selfish and blind to what was trying to come out of her. Marilyn needed someone to hold her, listen to her, and assure her that it all would be OK. I didn’t know how to do that. All I cared about was me, my feelings, and my desire for sex. That’s all I knew.

  Marilyn’s excuses for not wanting sex ranged from tiredness to the experiences of the women having abortions at the clinic where she worked taking a toll on her. She said she was not ready to be a mother and would not want to go through an abortion. She also complained that the birth control pills she was taking were making her sick in many different ways. I got some condoms and made myself responsible for our birth control, but she said that condoms could break and were therefore not a safe enough option. I told her I would use two condoms simultaneously, but she still refused. Through all this daily deliberation, it never dawned on me that the situation may have gotten better if I had just taken the time to find out what was really bothering her, and listened. I took her excuses and arguments at face value and continued pursuing sex with her, and I was often disappointed.

  With Marilyn’s refusal to have intercourse, I turned my attention to oral sex. Her arguments regarding unwanted pregnancy and birth control pill sicknesses were useless against oral sex. There was still much deliberation and debate about the need for it, but Marilyn finally gave in. At first we started by pleasing each other either simultaneously or one then the other. After a few days of this Marilyn suddenly decided she didn’t need the pleasure. She did, however, continue to please me, albeit reluctantly. Then one night we watched a program on television that mentioned an old rumor that semen had allegedly been found in a male rock star’s stomach. Marilyn freaked out. She had been allowing me to orgasm in her mouth, but after hearing that she acted grossed out by it and decided that oral sex was out of the question as well.

  The night of the television show I was tired and just wanted to go to bed. I thought that Marilyn was overreacting and jesting about discontinuing oral sex. The next night however, she completely turned me down when I approached her with physical contact. She said that she didn’t want me to get myself worked up for something I wasn’t going to get. I, in turn, became determined to get some kind of sex from her that night.

  We wrestled around on the floor as I tried to undress her and she fought me off. At one point I attempted to pin her down by sitting on her chest and holding her arms and shoulders down with my knees and, then tried to force my penis inside her mouth. At first Marilyn turned her face from side to side but then she suddenly stopped and looked straight at me with bulging, angry eyes. “What the fuck do you think you’re going to accomplish?” she asked. I didn’t answer. I just reached behind me and tried to put my hand down her pants. “I’m going to open my mouth and I dare you to put your dick inside,” she said while still staring directly into my eyes. I got off her angrily, went into the bathroom, masturbated, and showered. I came out of the bathroom to find Marilyn pretending to be fast asleep.

  From that night onward our apartment became a battleground where insults and accusations were thrown around freely. The painful secrets we had revealed to each other to find relief we were now using as weapons for attack. The difference between us was that, while Marilyn wallowed in the emotional hell we were inflicting upon each other, to me it was as if nothing had happened fifteen minutes after an argument. In that short time it took me to collect myself from the anger, I always concluded that all our problems would go away if we just had sex. I would try to plead and explain my way into some kind of sexual activity. Of course this led to rejection, which would further frustrate me to the point of explosion.

  One night I came home a little after midnight from my job at Kroger and found Marilyn in the shower. She had made it a habit to lock the bathroom door whenever she took a shower, but on this night not only did she not lock it, she left it wide open. I heard the sound of falling water and entered the bathroom quietly. Through the pattern on the glass shower door I could see Marilyn’s naked body, as beautiful as I remembered it. She seemed so relaxed and at peace as the water hit her body and dripped down. I thought this would be the perfect time to try and rekindle what we had lost.

  I quickly disrobed, slowly opened the shower door, and entered the shower. Marilyn turned toward me and asked how my day at work went. I took the soap from her hand and began washing her as I told her about my day. Surprisingly, Marilyn allowed me to wash her and was even receptive to my kisses. I washed her whole body and kissed her passionately more than once. These were the Marilyn kisses I had fallen in love with, and her body language spoke of sexual adventure.

  Marilyn got out of the shower and retreated into the bedroom while I finished washing myself. I got out of the shower and walked into the bedroom as I dried myself with a towel. I was expecting Marilyn to be there waiting for me, naked and ready to continue what we had started. I found her lying on her side pretending to be asleep. Upon further inspection I realized that she was also fully dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt.

  I sat down beside her and held my erect penis in my hand as my blood began to boil in anger. I then uncovered her and pulled her sweatpants and panties down to just below her knees. Marilyn remained completely motionless while I did this. I tried to turn her over on her back but she resisted so I lay down beside her and tried to penetrate her from behind. Marilyn tightened her legs together and made it impossible for me to get to her vagina so I began working on penetrating her anus. Just when I thought I was going to succeed, she said, “Boy, you sure the hell are determined tonight.” Then she got up, pulled up her pants, and walked into the bathroom.

  Marilyn stayed in the bathroom for hours while I lay staring at the ceiling, completely thoughtless. Nothing at all entered my mind. I didn’t think about Marilyn or our predicament. I just watched the ceiling fan spin around and around as I fell into a hypnotic state. I don’t remember hearing her coming out and lying next to me. I just remember seeing her there in the morning when the alarm clock woke me up.

  We got up and prepared ourselves for the workday without saying a word to each other. It was the first time since we had been living in that apartment that we left for work without any greetings whatsoever. That prepared the topic of discussion for that evening.

  “How was your day?” I asked her when I walked into the apartment about eleven that night. I walked past her as she watched television and went into the kitchen to put down some ready-to-eat food I’d brought from Kroger. “How was your day, Marilyn?” I asked again. “Are you hungry?” She got up and walked into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and began to serve herself from the food I brought. “After last night, how do you think my day went?” Marilyn said as she carried her plate of food out of the kitchen. She sat back in the same place. The only thing that kept me from attacking her verbally was the fact that I was starving. I sat about three feet away from her, facing the television and enjoyed the silence between us, which lasted only until we were both done eating and were relaxing in front of the television.

  “So everything that happened last night was my fault?” I asked without looking Marilyn’s way. “Considering you tried to rape me, I would say so,” Marilyn responded. “I guess what happened in the shower was also an attempt to rape you, huh?”
I asked in a matter-of-fact tone. “What happened in the shower was all about you, and had nothing to do with me,” Marilyn said as she got up and headed toward the bedroom. “Don’t blame me if you don’t know how to control yourself,” she said as she disappeared into the bedroom. I got up, turned off the television and the living room and kitchen lights, and then went into the bedroom with the intention of continuing the conversation.

  “I guess I’ll have to find myself another sex partner,” I said as I lay down next to Marilyn. I stared at the ceiling as I waited for Marilyn’s response to my comment. After a few minutes Marilyn finally said that with all the strip joints in Dallas, finding another sex partner should not be a problem for me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, you fuckin’ bitch? We’re a couple, we’re supposed to have sex!” I yelled as I sat up. “Why the hell can’t you understand that sex is not what I want right now. That is the least of our problems!” Marilyn snapped back. “What the hell are you doing here then?” I yelled. “Waiting for the six-month lease to expire on this hellhole so that I can go back home,” Marilyn responded. “You don’t have to wait! Leave now,” I said, getting angrier and angrier. “If I weren’t afraid of ruining my sister’s credit, I would’ve left a long time ago,” Marilyn shot back.

  An eerie silence consumed our bedroom as I lay back down breathing hard in anger. I began thinking about what Marilyn had said. The more I thought about her words, the more warped my conclusions about their meaning became. I began to envision my suffering from being abandoned by Marilyn being the same as when my mother had abandoned me. I imagined her in the arms of another man, laughing at my suffering and homelessness. I saw myself having sex with men for food and shelter and sleeping in dark, dirty hallways. My vision became blurred and I felt my body tighten as I pictured myself walking directionless in the cold, doing things out of desperation in order to survive. I closed my eyes tight as my tears began to flow and the room became consumed in darkness.

  I opened my eyes to see the ceiling fan spinning unevenly until I was able to regain focus. My body felt hot, and perspiration was seething through my skin. My breathing was hard and heavy and my mouth was dry. Then, from a distance, I heard whimpers followed by uncontrollable crying. I turned to Marilyn and found that she was gone. That’s when I realized that the crying was coming from the bathroom.

  I got up and tried to open the bathroom door but found that it was locked. I knelt in front of the door and told Marilyn that I was sorry for saying that I would find another lover. She didn’t respond to me; she just kept crying. I begged her to come out of the bathroom so we could talk about it and promised not to get upset, but she still didn’t respond. Marilyn had often wept after our arguments but never as uncontrollably as this time. She cried nonstop, loudly, then softly, then loudly again. She wasn’t hurling curse words at me as she usually did when she cried, and not once did she pause to try and collect herself. Suddenly the seriousness of our deteriorating relationship hit me like a ton of bricks.

  “Marilyn, I promise I won’t yell or ask for sex anymore. I won’t curse at you anymore, and I’ll look into getting therapy to control my anger,” I pleaded genuinely. Finally, Marilyn forced words out of her mouth in a tone so horrifying that they even scared me. “You almost killed me!” She began to cry even louder and more uncontrollably than before.

  I didn’t know what to make of her words. After hearing that, my head dropped and words just would not come out of my mouth, although I tried to speak. All the things I wanted to say, all the explanations I wanted to give just would not come out of me. I got up from where I kneeled, lay down on the comforter, curled up in the fetal position and silently cried myself to sleep.

  The next morning, not a word was said as we readied ourselves for work. Our eyes never met, our paths never crossed. Marilyn left the apartment before I did. I waited for about fifteen minutes, standing in one place, and stared at the walls before I left. That afternoon she came home in the company of a coworker and said she was leaving. I was on my way out to my job at Kroger. I just stood there long enough to see her packing her belongings. As I walked away from the apartment, I looked back and saw her load the last of her stuff into her coworker’s car. Then they drove off. Not once did she look my way.

  I wanted to ask her for an explanation about her decision to depart, but I didn’t. I didn’t even bother to ask how to reach her. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I was still in such turmoil with myself over her telling me that I had almost killed her. I didn’t remember ever putting my hands on her, but I had no doubt in my mind that something terrible came out of me that night. With Marilyn out of there I posed no danger to her, and I hoped that the time alone would allow me to figure out what had happened. Things seemed so out of control after only three months away from Chicago.

  I sat in the empty apartment night after night in a confused state of mind, waiting for the phone to ring. Had I lost the need to get up and go to work every day, I think I might have committed suicide in that apartment. I felt like I was incarcerated again, but without any hope of ever getting out. I began to write poetry the same way I did when I was in prison. Just as before, the poetry was dark and full of hate, but it kept me sane.

  My dependency on Marilyn made it impossible for me to even think of life without her. My past experiences had led me to believe that I could not survive on my own without entering a life of crime. My past experiences had also convinced me that as long as I was providing sexual pleasure to a woman, she should be happy and should worship me. I unfortunately had no clue that other emotions existed that were just as important. To make matters worse, what Marilyn sought from me were the same things I yearned for but didn’t recognize. That mutual need had resulted in our going around in circles trying to figure each other out.

  The frustration of not understanding each other, and losing the hope that we had once held onto so dearly, made our situation extremely difficult. We denied each other basic needs and desires as ways to get something else from each other. Only neither one of us seemed to know how to go about getting what we really needed into our lives. So instead of being each other’s saviors, we were each other’s tormentors. In many ways we were learning the truth about the questions we needed answered, but our emotions were way out of control. We didn’t know how to express our feelings, and we became completely overwhelmed by the answers we uncovered.

  Four days after Marilyn left, I decided it was time we see each other again. I struggled with the idea of going to see her at her job, but decided not to because of the confrontation that would probably take place. Those four days with no communication with Marilyn helped me clarify how much she meant to me. They also made me realize that a monster was living inside me; the time I spent alone, however, strengthened my belief that her denial of sex had brought about our problems. I also correlated Marilyn’s actions with those of my mother and all the other women who had come in and out of my life. Finally, on Saturday morning, I set off for the abortion clinic where Marilyn worked to try and reconcile our differences.

  17 Maybe We Can Try Again

  ON THE DAY I intended to go see Marilyn, I got up with a nervous feeling that I was doing something very wrong. I woke up at about five in the morning and couldn’t fall back to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I finally sat in the middle of the empty living room and read all the poems I had written since Marilyn had left. They all told the same story of loneliness, worry, and confusion.

  At eight o’clock I left the apartment to catch the bus that would take me to downtown Dallas, where I would get on another bus that would take to me where Marilyn worked. I was scared and sensed that only violence awaited us in the future, yet I decided to take my chances in order not to be alone.

  I arrived near the clinic at about ten. The bus dropped me off two blocks away and I walked from there. I saw about two dozen people holding up signs and yelling toward the clinic. As I got closer, I realized that they were protesters holding
anti-abortion signs, some with enlarged pictures of what they claimed were aborted fetuses. Everyone walking past or into the clinic was handed pamphlets denouncing abortion. Women headed toward the clinic were surrounded, first verbally and then physically, in an attempt to keep them from going in. Passages from the Bible were read to the women as they fought their way through the crowd toward the clinic. When a woman reached the point in front of the clinic where protestors were not allowed to cross, the protestors quickly went from reading Bible passages to yelling obscenities. I found the whole scene fascinating and intriguing. Instead of going in and asking for Marilyn, I sat on the front steps of the clinic entrance and watched the protestors in action and the reaction of the people fighting to get into the clinic. Marilyn had told me about the abortion protestors but I never imagined that they were so fanatically aggressive.

  Several couples waiting to get in also sat on the steps of the clinic. Through the glass on the entrance door, I could see that there were a lot of people waiting to be attended to. I began to think that maybe the protestors were frustrated over their failure to change the minds of so many people. As more people came to sit outside, waiting or smoking, the protestors targeted their anger at them. Insults began to be exchanged.

  “You murderer—you’ll go to hell!” a female protestor yelled while looking directly at a heavy-set Caucasian woman standing at the bottom of the steps smoking. “You go to hell, you stupid bitch,” the woman answered. “You fuckin’ whore! You should be dead, you murderer, you bitch!” the protestor responded. Other protestors hugged her and led her away in tears while the waiting woman called her a crazy bitch. Then a man with a Bible in his hand came as close as he could get to the clinic and started reading passages that he interpreted as proof that what was going on in the clinic was murder. A young black man asked him if he was willing to take care of his friend’s baby financially. “Are you, as the father, not ashamed of what you’re having this woman do?” the man asked. “This is not my baby. I’m here to support my friend’s decision, and the last thing she needs right now is for me to turn my back on her,” the black guy responded. “Then you’ll go to hell with her. In the eyes of God you are a murderer, too,” the man yelled. “Oh please,” the black guy said as he turned away and tried to ignore the protestors.