Husband Number Two Part One

Shack full of woods

Shack full of woods (Photo credit: kmerenkov)

Husband number two was the worse mistake I ever made.  And I have made some bad ones.  The only good thing that came out of that relationship was my son.  I had just ended crazy marriage number one.  It had been maybe six months when a younger girl who lived down the street asked me to meet a friend of hers.  I met the friend.  He was 27 to my 17.  He should have been locked up, but that is another story altogether.  We went out on a date.  My mother hated him on site.  When we came home from the date, my mother was a little irate.  She came down hard on him.  I don’t remember the conversation as it happened 35 years ago.  But he looked at me and told me that I didn’t have to put up with my mothers shit anymore.  Me being seventeen, I thought that was a great idea.  He told me that he would wait down the street from my house and my sister and I threw some of our clothes in a garbage bag and headed out the window.  Sure enough, there he was.  I started on a journey that was three and one half years long.  I wish my mother had shot me in the ass as I was going down the street.  I didn’t see my mother again for another 6 to 7 months.  When we left, unbeknownst to me, he had told his WIFE that he was going to Memphis to look for a job.  I didn’t know he was married.  We wound up in Arkansas. He told me that he had family in the area. Everything was flat fields as far as the eye can see.  Soybeans and rice.  The only work there was as a farm hand.  You know, like the share cropper.  He worked for a farmer that would supply a house while he worked on the farm and paid him under minimum wage, but a house came with it and his relatives in the area was sick of his ass so we were running out of options.   The house was straight out of a horror story.  The wall paper in the living room was peeling off the walls.  The stove looked like some one had used every spice available and just let it build up on the stove top. The floors were made of warped hard wood. and in the bedroom all there was a box spring and mattress.  I looked around and said to my self, ” My Daddy would just cry if he could see how I was living.”  But did I have enough sense to leave?  No.   I felt like I had made my bed and now I was going to have to sleep in it.  I should have called my parent and told them to please come and get us.   It was so back in the sticks that the small Mom and Pop grocery double as a beer joint on the weekends.  They didn’t strictly bath before going out either.  The winter was approaching and all the tree were minus their leaves and the crops in the field were gone.  It was such a desolate place.  No work in the winter time.  People around there lived on unemployment and food stamps in the winter.  I just could not stay there any more.  So, he took me down to Mississippi to his parents house.  O.M.G.  This place was worse than Arkansas.  There were trees and hills, but his family was something out of  tobacco road.  The house was filthy, with clothes stacked from the floor up the wall almost to the ceiling and nobody bathed.  I mean nobody.  The bath tub was filled with clothes.  You couldn’t see  the counters and sink  in the kitchen for all the shit that was piled up on it.  Oh, and they had a wood stove for heating.  I looked around and couldn’t believe it.  Of course by that time I was pregnant.  What was I going to do?  I didn’t know.  I was two months pregnant and couldn’t imagine living there.


About 1wanderingtruthseeker

I'm a fiftish woman that has opinions and passions about nearly everything under the sun. I love a good debate, not name calling. I believe in the Constitution , the Bill of Rights and God. I believe the government which governs the least is the best government of all. I believe in the rights of the people. I dispatched fire trucks, the Po-Po and ambulances for a long time so I have a wicked sense of dark humor and speak fluent sarcasm. I think out loud a lot times. I am offensive. But I'm offensive of everybody. Socially unacceptable, plain spoken and unashamed. If you don't want to be offend, please don't read and if you do, please consider that I'm not politically correct in any sense of the word.
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