Leaving Salt Lake City
Page 31
| FIFTY EIGHT |
Leaving Salt Lake City
August 26, 2012
Why was my phone ringing? Why was it still dark? Why was I asleep on the floor? It was late August of 2012 and my few days following up to that moment had been a whirlwind of garbage. Literally. After throwing away half of my possessions I still had more stuff than I knew what to do with. I had worked late into the night filling up garbage bags, big black ones, with random garbage throughout the house. Old clothes, books, and VHS tapes all went into these bags. Random photo albums Jessica left behind, sketches from my stint as an art major, and useless picture frames went into those bags. I drove throughout the neighborhood and found a place to throw them away. A house was being remodeled, and there was a giant dumpster in front of the house.
The phone rang again. Who was it? Why was my head pounding? It was six in the morning, and my friend and former roommate, Alan, was calling me. An empty liquor bottle sat on the floor next to me. I couldn’t waste the liquor. This explained why my head hurt. It also explained why it was six in the morning. Alan was going to drive out to Chicago with me in the moving truck. It was six in the morning because he was there for the move. I was sleeping on the floor because my bed was packed. My living room was littered with electronics that I didn’t want along with cleaning supplies, blankets, and a vacuum cleaner.
I didn’t have time to finish throwing things away. Even if I had the time, my garbage cans were overflowing and had no room. I was going to leave my house just like it was with a truckload of cleaning supplies and miscellaneous items throughout the house.
That was it. I was leaving Salt Lake City. I closed the back of the moving truck and we drove.
I didn’t say goodbye to my neighbors. I didn’t even tell them I was moving. They started to figure it out themselves though when I had parked the moving truck in my driveway. As soon as I had pulled out of the driveway, a swarm of people from the neighborhood descended on my house to grab anything I had left behind. My gas grill, which wouldn’t fit in the moving truck, was taken away. My electric lawn mower, useless for Chicago apartment dwelling, was wheeled down the sidewalk. All of those things that were such a part of me at one time were left behind. The stuff I had acquired over the years was no longer a part of me. They were ready to be a part of someone else’s life, someone else’s story.
At a stoplight I called Courtney. “I’m on the road,” I said.
“Baby! I’m so excited for you!” She loved that I was making such a positive change for our lives. She always saw the best in me. She always knew my potential. In the years since she and I had first started dating the first and second time, I had changed from someone who talked about making life better into the person who actually followed through and made my life better.
I drove past the liquor store for the last time, and I knew I might never see it again. That place would become part of someone else’s story when they learned that it is closed on Sunday and the only parking you can find is a block away. I was okay letting it go. The streets that had become so familiar to me would be missed, but they would be replaced by new streets in a new city. Hopefully the new streets wouldn’t be subjected to the annual “undie run,” where people run a 5k wearing nothing but their underwear. This annual display of flesh was just a way to show how free the runners were from the “oppressive” dominant religion. I wasn’t going to miss that. I wasn’t going to miss both the overt and silent signs of rebellion over something that no longer mattered to me.
We passed the Gothic bar where Jessica and I used to dance. Someone else could dance with their friends there and drink way too much. I no longer needed it. We passed the park where the Farmer’s Market was normally held. Another single father could carry his four year old while just trying to fit in with the local liberals. I no longer needed that place. The early morning air was still a little cold, and my head still hurt from saying goodnight to the liquor the night before. It was time to just relax and be done with it all.
Alan took his turn driving. We listened to Johnny Cash on the radio. We were mostly silent. Highwayman was playing and as we drove past the mountains we began approaching Wyoming. Utah was now literally and figuratively in my rearview mirror. It was a part of my past. So many people and places I would never see again were behind me.
In front of me were great wide open plains of nothing. It was an empty landscape waiting for buildings to be built, for lives to be lived. I sat in the cab of that moving truck driving at sixty-five miles per hour, wondering if I should have any regrets about leaving a city that was supposed to be my home for the rest of my life. I had no regrets. Despite moving away from friends and the house that I had once loved, not a single ounce of me wondered if I made a mistake. Nothing was holding me back.
With the road in front of me, I thought about the great wide open plains of my own life that were waiting ahead of me. There were stories to be told and memories to be made. I thought of the life I could have with Courtney. I thought of the opportunities Manny would have in a city with a good educational system. I thought of how my journey in Salt Lake City had prepared me for a life where I no longer needed it. I was finally ready.
For the first time in years a genuine smile came across my face. I was happy.
THE END
PROLOGUE
Manny: Manny is adjusting well to life outside of Utah. It has not been an easy transition for him, but he has amazing strength and unprecedented resiliency. He still has issues with his mother, but has not seen her since the incident at the airport.
Ariel: Manny's brother Ariel is doing well with his family in Utah. His life is infinitely better where he is now. I am grateful such an amazing family was able to take him in.
Peter: I know Peter kept running away from his foster homes to his grandmother's house – to the point where the Utah Foster Agency stopped trying to stop him. He was aging out of the “system.” He has a lot of anger towards Jessica and I for promising him a home all of those years back. I hope one day he reads this and finds me. I also hope he is able to find peace with his mother and family. He never asked for the life he was given, and he did not deserve it.
Jessica: Jessica still lives in Arizona with Vince. She still calls once a month and child support is unreliable at best. Jessica was never prosecuted for child neglect since the children were never technically in her care unattended. Once again she got away with it. The system can only do so much, and she has beaten it repeatedly.
Vince: Vince received a promotion at work when they moved to Arizona. While he does not have physical custody of his children he appears to be doing a great job with what he has. He once told me that “living with Jessica is enough work as it is.”
Courtney: Courtney and I are still together. We have been navigating through a long distance relationship for almost a year now, and it appears the end is in sight. She plans on moving to the Midwest shortly. Our story has been long, difficult, and often times heart-wrenching. I am horribly lucky to have her in my life again.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Writing this book was no easy task. It involved pouring over old court documents, reading years worth of emails, and interviewing so many people who witnessed all of the events described. There were a number of events that I had totally blocked out of my memory until I began the research process. Remembering them all has been difficult but I am ultimately grateful for putting the pieces together again.
A number of people have asked if I fear legal repercussions from Jessica over the book. The answer is no. I went above and beyond to ensure nothing about Jessica can easily be attributed to her. All of her identifying features (as well as Vince's) have been changed.
Every event in this book took place just as I described it. While I am positive Jessica could say that my version of events were not accurate I am aware that no two people remember the same thing in the same way. During the writing process I took painstaking measures to ensure all of the emails and text messages were accura
te. They can be subpoenaed in court if need be. I also have multiple people willing to testify concerning the majority of Jessica's outlandish claims and actions. Luckily for me I was not the only one she told about being a CIA agent, murdering another person for her other job, and her stillborn babies from her first marriage.
Ultimately this book was a burden to write. It was a wonderfully healing burden. I carried around these stories and experiences for years. Now that they are on paper I do not feel the need to keep them in my heart and head.
As a result, Manny and I are better for it.
I thank you, the reader, for letting me tell my story as it happened to me.
Thanks
While I was writing this story I reached out to a number of people asking for feedback. The result was that on any given day over a dozen people were commenting on parts of this story; offering suggestions and clarifications.
I would like to thank, in no particular order:
• Archie Egbert – for helping me relive some of the early days
• Katie Sheen – for ensuring my facts were straight and for being one of the best friends I have ever had.
• Iris Jean James – for believing in this story and encouraging me – your words had more effect than you know,
• Rory McDaniel – for keeping me entertained while I wrote and pushing me forward
• Peter Huggins – when I was afraid the story was too much about Jessica you said, “it's sort of like saying that movie about the giant nuclear grown lizard should have more information about the City of Tokyo.” You were spot on.
• Cat Palmer – We have been friends for so long, and talking to you about this process has inspired me greatly.
• Kathryn Duncan – for “getting” what this story was all about and giving me big, general feedback – it was much appreciated.
There were dozens that read the book and gave great feedback. I do not have room to name them all, so if I missed you I apologize profusely.
I would also like to thank Benji Smith, a friend I have had for a decade, who helped motivate me during the process of writing this. Benji was busy writing his own story while I was writing mine. He kept me going when some days the task of writing and reliving everything seemed too much to handle.
To Nicole Yabut for editing the book. You took the 10th revision and turned it into something I am happy to share.
To my mother for being there on the phone the night I called when Jessica dropped the bomb on me. You listened to me day in and day out for a year as I tried to process it all. Needless to say you raised two extraordinary men who want to do what is right regardless of the consequences. While the consequences are often times difficult to handle please be proud of the moral character you instilled in your children.
Lastly I want to thank Courtney for her role in all of this. She listened to me as I talked about the writing process night after night for months at a time. Courtney's love and encouragement not only help make this book possible, but her love for me gave me the fortitude required to uproot my life for the better. It is a debt I will never be able to repay.