An Encounter

I’m divorced. It was a big thing to me when I first started my diary. I’d only just gotten the final divorce papers just before I started writing at DD. The divorce was amicable, as these things go, but drawn out. Possibly it was drawn out because it was so amicable. Neither one of us pushed the lawyer hard to get things done, and there was a nearly eleven month period when nothing got done at all because our lawyer got pregnant, left work early due to complications, and came back to work late after giving birth. Which has nothing to do with anything, but it does set the stage for today’s saga.

A lot of people didn’t understand why I divorced The Engineer. He was (and still is) the perfect catch in a lot of ways. The divorce was my idea, and I suspect that The Engineer would have taken me back happily at any time up until the point I met up with The Socialist. The Engineer slept in the hospital nearly a week in a chair in my room, until they knew I was going to live, back when I had the myocarditis. He had a good job, didn’t have any vices, was absolutely loyal to me, put me through veterinary school. A few days before I moved out of the house, he told me that it felt like his child was leaving home. That single line, more than anything, explains why I wanted the divorce. He took care of the finances completely. He didn’t want me to have my own bank account with my own earnings, or even a portion of my own earnings. He made the major purchases, like the cars, with very little input and absolutely no assistance from me. He picked our vacations (except the one time I pretty much insisted I wanted to go to Disneyworld, and he had a miserable time on that trip). He liked camping, so we camped. He liked horseback riding, so we worked at a stable and rode horses. He liked old cars, so at one point we had six automobiles in various stages of disrepair in our driveway.

I had no identity. Even going back to veterinary school was his idea (my original plan was to go for vet tech training, but he insisted I wouldn’t be happy being a vet tech and insisted I try for vet school instead). It was actually after my heart problems that I realized that things weren’t going to change, and I’d never get a chance to be anything other than his wife, no matter what else I did, if I stayed married to him. Yeah, there’s more to it than that. But that’s enough for this entry.

Today was the day of the Relay for Life charity walk for the American Cancer Society. I was to walk the 5:00 to 6:00 late afternoon shift for my team. I showed up about half an hour early, and walked the track a bit with the girl who was doing the 4:00—5:00 shift. On our second or third lap, I heard my name called. I stopped and looked at the man who called out to me, only half recognizing him, but not yet placing him. He stood up and said hello, and then I recognized him. It was an old friend of my ex-husband’s, Hemingway.

zX<---Clueless's contribution, as he jostles for position on my inadequately ample lap The Engineer used to have breakfast early (6:00 am) Saturday mornings with a small group of people. He’s done it for a few decades now. Hemingway is a member of this breakfast club, which apparently still meets each Saturday. (Hemingway, by the way, is the nephew of a famous author whose name most Americans would recognize instantly.) Hemingway is also a member of the group my husband goes camping with once or twice a year. I discovered that they’re doing some wilderness area in Montana this year, along with a lot of other trivia that the ex hadn’t mentioned to me. At first we skirted around the whole divorce issue, but after talking for half an hour or more I think we both become comfortable enough to talk a bit about what happened with my marriage. What surprised me was that I didn’t have to say much by way of explanation. I’ve thought for years that any mutual friends of ours would have sided with the Engineer about the divorce. Most of the people we socialized with when we were married were friends of The Engineer rather than friends of mine, and I’ve lost touch with virtually everyone from that period of my life. I’d actually lived in dread of running into any of his old friends. I seem to have been in error, though. The Engineer has gotten progressively stranger since we split up. He’s purchased an old house (a mill, actually) and is in the process of renovating it. He’s doing this on his own, hiring contractors for specific projects as need be, but working as part of the crews as he brings them in. He refuses to allow any of his friends (most of whom are either familiar with construction because they built their own homes or because they work in construction for a living). He does not socialize beyond his Saturday breakfasts, and he’s become difficult to talk to. Hemingway was careful to say that he was still friends with The Engineer, but that he was a hard man to like nowadays. Hemingway and I exchanged addresses and phone numbers, and promised to stay in touch I hope we do. I feel badly, because I feel in part this is my fault. I feel vindicated, because much of what I lived with has become obvious to others. I feel sad that things are turning out this way for The Engineer, and hopeful that he can find a way to turn things around before he finds himself truly alone. But mostly, I just feel relieved that I am no longer part of whatever downhill spiral The Engineer is experiencing. And I feel guilty that I feel that way.