Always, Now and Forever Love Hurts

by Shelia E. Bell

  “What’s up, girl?” Michelle said, her hair all over her head, and looking like she hadn’t had a moment’s worth of sleep.

  “What do you mean, what’s up?” Clarye asked angrily. “When are they leaving? How could you leave me with that dude all night, Michelle? Did you know that he wasn’t driving? Shoot, girl the boy doesn’t even have a car of his own,” she whispered angrily. “The kids will be up shortly and I don’t want them seeing some strange, half drunken man asleep on the couch and another one coming out of your bedroom.”

  “Chill out, Clarye,” said Michelle. “Ken is getting dressed now. Boy, I can’t wait to tell you about last night, girl.”

  “Sure,” said Clarye. “Just get them out of here, Michelle.”

  Clarye went to the sofa and stood over Shawn. She had to admit to herself that he looked kind of cute lying there asleep and snoring on the sofa. She nudged him to awaken him. He slowly opened his eyes. As he started to sit up, he reached out and grabbed Clarye, kissing her long and hard. Clarye pushed him back, as she tasted the stale, stanky liquor on his breath.

  “What’s your problem?” Clarye yelled.

  “I’m sorry,” said Shawn, it’s just that you look so sexy standing there in your gown. Clarye had totally forgotten that she had come through the house in a thin, satin, see thru gown. She had awakened that morning expecting Ken and Shawn to be gone. She excused herself hurriedly and went to put on a robe. When she returned, she saw that Ken and Shawn were preparing to leave. Shawn asked Clarye if he could call her later that day.

  “Sure, I guess so.” She embarrassingly answered.

  Ken and Shawn became regular visitors to Michelle and Clarye’s meager apartment. They both began spending the night quite frequently. Clarye pretended not to notice the constant smell of liquor on Shawn’s breath and his somewhat erratic behavior.

  All she could hear was the sound of her mother’s voice saying, “Your boys need a father, Clarye.”

  Three months after Shawn stumbled into Clarye’s life, she decided to get her own apartment for herself and her two sons. She was tired of the small apartment space she and Michelle had to share. She had even asked Shawn to move in with her.

  When her mother found out this bit of news, she told Clarye, “If a man can stay with you, he can sure as heaven marry you, Clarye. You don’t need a man staying with you over your sons.”

  And so it was. Clarye and Shawn were married four months after their initial meeting. Clarye knew from the beginning that she was not in love with Shawn. But she wanted to uphold her mother’s wishes, and she desperately wanted her sons to have a father.

  They planned a quiet, little wedding that was held at her parents’ house. Shawn was drunk as a skunk during the whole ceremony. After their marriage, they lived in the apartment Clarye had rented. Shawn’s job assignment was transferred to the Army Defense Depot. His drinking became more and more of a problem. Clarye began to feel anger at herself because she had known all along about Shawn’s drinking problem and had refused to admit it.

  Three months into their marriage, Shawn was fired for reporting to work under the influence. He began to stay out later and later. When he finally did come home, he would be drunk or high. Clarye knew that he was now into drugs but she continued to put on a face of happiness around others.

  Shawn’s mood swings increased and soon turned violent. He did not want anyone coming to the apartment when he was not there. One day, the insurance agent came over to collect the monthly insurance premium. Shawn flew into a rage when he walked in and saw the little old, white, dumpy man sitting on the sofa. When Clarye saw his eyes, she knew Shawn was high as a kite on something more than just alcohol.

  He yelled obscenities at the man while telling him in no uncertain terms, to get out. When the agent fearfully rose to leave, Shawn slammed the door shut in his face. He turned quickly to Clarye in a fit of anger and rage, mouthing profanities at her that Clarye hadn’t heard in a long time. He began fiercely beating her, pounding her in her face, and pulling her hair while telling her that she was to obey him and never let anyone in the house when he was away.

  Even so, Clarye continued to put on a smiling face around her mother and father. Michelle and Ada begged her time and time again to leave him, but Clarye refused to admit that she had failed again at love.

  When Shawn was fired from his job, they were forced to move to a less expensive apartment complex, which happened to be closer to where her parents’ lived. Shawn’s violent temper and drug abuse continued to escalate. It had gotten extremely bad and completely out of control. Shawn wouldn’t allow her and the boys to even attend church anymore.

  Early, on a clear, bright Sunday morning, Clarye was determined that she and her sons were going to church. Shawn awoke early only to find them sneaking quietly out of the apartment. They started to argue heatedly, and once again the fight was on. She took his blows, while fighting him back, all while stumbling to the old blue Dodge Charger.

  She yelled at Eric and Jeremy. “Get in the car. Hurry up,” she said. Eric and Jeremy raced to the car like their mother had told them to. When Shawn pulled viciously on the door, Clarye found herself with a strength that surprised even her. She pulled viciously back against the weight of Shawn’s angry body, as the door suddenly closed. She was acting with quick speed, as she hurried to grab the keys she had hidden inside her bra. Everything was happening so fast. She turned the keys in the ignition and shot off, speeding across the apartment lot, hitting curbs, and running down small bushes. Eric and Jeremy laughed; they were excited as they pretended like they were on a high speed police chase. Their young minds did not conceive that Clarye was running, running away for her life and their safety. Clarye made it safely to her parents’ house, screaming and crying, ranting and raving, as she told them the horror she had just gone through with Shawn. As usual, her father listened to her, never saying a word against her, and never judging her, but Clarye knew he was concerned.

  Her mother displayed the hurt and anger she was feeling by telling Clarye she needed to get away from Shawn. “Clarye,” she said. “You know that man is nothing more than a crazed, drunken, fool. He means you no good.”

  Clarye agreed, but still thought about how she longed to have a real father for Eric and Jeremy. She knew she had made yet another tragic mistake by having married Shawn. She knew all along that he was not the one for her. Clarye also knew that she did not love Shawn, nor had she ever loved him. She vowed to end this second marriage, just as she had the first.

  When Clarye filed for divorce from Shawn a month later, she became more and more depressed. The mere smell of food caused her to become violently ill. Sleep did not come easy for her. Her mind was constantly tormenting her, reminding her she had failed once more. Clarye became more and more depressed, unable to hold anything on her stomach. She started spitting up blood. She could feel nothing but a constant burning and aching in her stomach and she became thinner and thinner. She was already a slender woman, 110 pounds to be exact, but now even those pounds were rolling off like water rolling off oil. Her mother finally convinced her to see a doctor.

  Dr. Goodson, an internist, examined Clarye and immediately put her in the hospital. She was diagnosed with acute gastritis, a disease that attacks the lining of the stomach, and is usually brought on by high levels of stress. As she lay between the cold and sterile sheets of the hospital bed looking back over the events that led her to this point, the tears burst loose like a dam.

  She cried out and screamed, “Oh God, Oh God,” when she felt the stabbing assault of Pain creeping in slowly. She pondered on all the things in life that she had succumbed to. “Why? What’s wrong with me?” she asked God, as tears rolled down from her round, brown eyes onto her cheeks. Clarye waited to hear His voice tell her what she needed to hear, yearned to know. No voice came, no answer came. Nothingness continued to consume her mind.

  Clarye was discharged after spending three days in the hospital. When her mother c
ame to take her home, Clarye was still feeling weak and frail, so she did not put up a fight when her mother suggested that she and the boys should come back home for a little while. Clarye and her sons did just that, but within three weeks Clarye was back out on her own.

  Shawn continued to harass her, begging and pleading with her to take him back. He pitifully told her how sorry he was and vowed that he would never lift a hand to strike her again or speak the cruel and horrible words that demeaned her. Clarye refused to believe him. After all, Clarye could tell he was high even during his begging sessions. The divorce became final ninety days after the initial filing.

  “Once again,” Clarye thought, “I‘m free. But one more strike and I’m definitely out of the game.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Five years had passed since Clarye’s divorce from Shawn. She and her sons had adjusted quite well to living a rather quiet and uneventful life. Since the divorce she tried to date every now and then, but the guy basically turned out to be a bum, a loser, and as always going nowhere. She could not understand why she always attracted the same kind of man. She couldn’t understand what was so wrong with her that no one decent dare look her way. She involved herself in her work and in the life of her sons, determined that she would not continue down the awful, disgusting path her life was leading her on.

  Without any obvious pre-warning signs, Clarye’s health began to take a devastating change for the worse. She could not pin point the onset of this change. She only knew she felt weakness and exhaustion such as she had never experienced before. Her back ached something terrible and her legs were becoming numb with each step she made. She had been diagnosed with scoliosis when she was a small child. It often was found in those who had contracted polio. Clarye thought that was the reason her back had been bothering her so much lately. She also fell into a serious, deep, dark depression. She had always been prone to bouts of depression. Pessimistic thoughts would often invade her mind at a moment’s notice.

  When she didn’t seem to be getting any better, she decided to make an appointment to visit her orthopedic doctor. She had to get to the bottom of this pain thing. She had two sons to raise and she had to work in order to provide an adequate home for them. Clarye could not see anyway that she could face life being dependent on someone or something else for their livelihood. She was not going to let polio get the best of her. Maybe relationships had a winning hand, playing their cruel jokes on her throughout her life, but polio, never.

  She called Dr. William Boaz’ office. When she entered into his clean, nicely decorated office; she was at an all time low. Her body was bent over from the severe pain shooting through it. Dr. Boaz x rayed her. He moved her weakening legs around in different positions and gave her a thorough examination.

  At the end of his exam, he told Clarye rather nonchalantly, “You might as well face it. Your health is going downhill fast, Clarye. The Polio is beginning to take its toll on you. You’re going to have to quit working immediately, and it’s more than likely that you’ll never be able to hold a job again, young lady. I’ll fill out the necessary paperwork for you to begin receiving disability benefits,” he said, not looking at her once during his entire conversation.

  “Clarye, you might as well face it, within two years, you’ll be confined to a wheelchair.” Clarye couldn’t remember when her mind took on another dimension. She vaguely remembered the prescriptions Dr. Boaz gave her for pain and for her depression. She recalled going out of the doctor’s office and heading straight to the pharmacy. She could hear his words over and over, ringing throughout her already cloudy, depressed mind. ‘You might as well accept it, Clarye. You’re going to be an invalid and you’re going to be one very soon.’

  How was she going to provide for her sons? How was she going to remain out on her own, showing this prejudiced world that she could make it in spite of her disability? Clarye sunk deeper and deeper, faster and faster. She didn’t recall what happened to her over the next few months. She didn’t know if the weather was hot or cold, or if it was winter or spring. She didn’t remember her Aunt Laura coming over day after day placing her in warm tubs of water, or the visits from church members and family. All she could do was take her pain medicine and antidepressant medication. She lost count of how many pills she was taking. She lost count of the days going by swiftly like a speeding locomotive. She could only hear Dr. Boaz’ words. Words that meant defeat and failure. Words that meant devastation and destruction to her already dangerously low self esteem. Words that shot through her like a bullet piercing its victim’s heart. She began to turn away from friends and family, choosing instead to withdraw deep within herself, within her private shield of safety, her shell of escape.

  She had known Gary since he was a boy of thirteen or fourteen years of age. As a matter of fact, she had dated his alcoholic and abusive uncle, Tony, for about a year before she even knew about Gary. That was another dead end, senseless relationship that headed swiftly down the road of nowhere.

  Gary was about five feet eleven inches, of slender build, maybe about 160 or 165 pounds and handsome in his own way. He wore a flashing, gold toothed smile and walked with a sort of macho gait. Clarye remembered him coming by to see her one evening, or was it one night? Her days were still tangled up in her mind. He had recently gotten out of prison for aggravated assault. Gary was also twelve years her junior.

  When she saw him, she told herself, “He’s a man now and a rather handsome man at that.” Age was nowhere in her thoughts as Gary told her how he often thought of her while he was locked up. He had spent most of his teenage life in and out of juvenile detention centers. Now in his adult years he was following the same pattern. Again, Clarye did not dwell on Gary’s past at all. She only knew his smile made her smile after being lost in her world of depression and anger. Gary began to come over each and everyday. He would gently lift her to place her in the car so her father could take her to her doctor’s appointments. By now, Clarye was weak, barely able to walk.

  Unbeknownst to anyone, Clarye continued to get refill after refill on her medication to which now she had become addicted. So it wasn’t so much that the polio had gotten worse like Dr. Boaz had predicted, it was the drugs that were robbing her of her strength, her energy, and her mind.

  But old faithful, Gary, would always be right there waiting on Clarye hand and foot. He fed her, talked to her, and showed her something she had not seen in a long time; attention and love, something she had craved most of her life. She began to slowly come out of her closed in shell of escape. She looked forward to Gary’s visits. The weeks went by and Gary started to stay at her house later and later. Finally, Gary was not leaving at all.

  Clarye could hear her mother’s voice clearly. “Clarye, Gary is a young boy. He needs to be at home with his family and people his own age. He’s practically the same age as Eric and Jeremy, Clarye. I‘m telling you, girl, this boy needs to go. Do you realize that he has been staying over every day?”

  This time Clarye let her mother’s words go in one ear and out the other. How dare her mother try to take away the prince charming that God had sent her way. Clarye’s mind told her that Gary was “the one.” She began to believe that God was being merciful by sending her a young man who would be able to take care of her, since soon she would not be able to do so herself. After all, Eric and Jeremy wouldn’t be around much longer. They would be graduating from high school soon, probably going off to college or the military. They had their own lives to lead. They couldn’t concentrate on a future of taking care of an invalid mother and she definitely would never allow them to do that anyway. Clarye continued to feed her mind with these thoughts while the relationship with Gary escalated.

  She remembered their first kiss, when his young, tender, boy lips enveloped hers. The boys were gone to shoot basketball with some friends. Gary and Clarye were lying back on her queen size bed, watching one of those horror flicks she liked. Clarye didn’t protest when Gary pulled her into his arms. She was fee
ling good. The antidepressants, mixed with the pain medication, had her totally relaxed. Gary had a strong, firm, touch that assured her of his manhood. In her drugged and confused state of mind, Clarye actually felt an unnatural passion and desire for this young man.

  When Gary pampered her and showered her with schoolboy poems and childlike tokens of his love, she could see nothing but a blessing from God. Within five months, Clarye was standing before a judge at the local courthouse saying the words, “I do” for a third time.

  Her family was dead set against their marriage, against everything Gary stood for. Even Ada tried unsuccessfully time and time again to make her best friend see what a huge mistake she had made. But they would never understand what Clarye was feeling. They would never understand the emptiness, the loneliness, the hurt, the anguish, and most of all the Pain and Fear that lived inside her. They would never understand her need for love, a love sent from God. Why couldn’t they see that God was on her side this time? Why couldn’t they see that this was not of her doing? God had brought Gary, this young man, into her life, across her path, in the nick of time; just at the moment Clarye had felt like dying.

  Gary found a job driving a delivery truck for one of the local rent to own establishments. He and the boys got along fairly well. Well, that’s not exactly true. He and Eric got along fairly well.

  Jeremy detested Gary. He had even told Clarye, “Momma, don’t you see? Gary is not the man for you. He’s just a young boy. He’s a gangsta and a troublemaker. Momma, please listen to what I’m saying,” Jeremy pleaded. But Clarye shrugged the words of her son out of her mind. What did he know? How could he ever come to understand all the hurt she had suffered throughout her life? How would he ever know that Pain had been her one true and only camaraderie? How dare Jeremy tell her who was good for her and who was not? He had his life to live and Clarye had hers.