Read Online Love's Illusions: A Novel by Jolene Cazzola - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jolene Cazzola
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Stephen being back. Before I knew it, Thanksgiving was looming, and my parents were asking if I was going to make the trip back home for the holiday. I hadn’t been home since September 1970, when Stephen and I got married, well over a year ago, far longer than I had ever been away from them before. My grip on reality was tenuous at best, slipping more and more with each passing day, and even though I knew I needed to face them, to talk to them, tell them the truth about what was happening with Stephen and me, I just couldn’t. In case I was wrong, I couldn’t take the chance of turning them against him – they loved him too. I hated lying to them, but I couldn’t talk to them – not yet. Luckily, Mary Beth had decided to stay in Chicago for Thanksgiving, so I was able to successfully sell a story about not wanting to drive all that way by myself for such a short time, and air fare was too expensive, but I would come home for Christmas.
When Stephen and I were in high school and applying to colleges, we only applied to places that were at least a thousand miles away from Boston, no East Coast schools. I couldn’t go anywhere that was within easy driving distance of Weymouth – Stephen and I planned to live together, and I couldn’t risk any surprise visits from my very prudish parents. We both applied to the same places – one of us would not go without the other – so when The School of the Art Institute of Chicago accepted both of us, the decision was already made.
I was getting good at lying, or at the very least, keeping things from them at this point. Growing up in their house hadn’t been easy, but certainly wasn’t as bad as a lot of the homes I knew of – Stephen’s being at the forefront of that list. My parents argued constantly – I swear it was every minute of every fuckin’ day! They would argue about everything, they would argue about nothing – I honestly don’t remember what the arguments were about, but by the time I met Stephen at 15, I was dying to get out. Stephen provided that escape, that relief from the constant turmoil at home. Yet, as I began to spend time at his house, his parents furnished me with a first-hand view of what a truly fucked up family looked like.
I now remembered all the warning signs; all the things I ignored at 15, 16 and 17, flashed back in my mind – I knew there was no way I was going to repeat that shit in my life. One minute his parents would be together, then his mother, Virginia, would get pregnant and have another kid, and then the next minute his father would get drunk, upset the kids and take off again. I wanted some stability, consistency – some happiness. Because of his mostly absent status, I never got to know Stephen’s father very well, but from what I heard, I was not missing anything. His mother bounced from one self-made problem to another; as far as I could see, she used people, even her children, mostly to connive money out of one person or another since she was always broke. ‘Boyfriends’ would come and go; Virginia dumped anyone who didn’t put enough cash in her hand. There was no way I wanted anything to do with a life like that.
No, no, my parents are like saints compared to his, I thought . Why the hell can’t I just talk to them, they’d understand. No, not now… After all, I truly didn’t know what was happening. Stephen had certainly never admitted anything; maybe what Bernie had seen, and what Joe had told me, was all some kind of bullshit. If I could just talk to Stephen, without arguing, maybe there was some way we could work it all out. When I got married it was forever, at least in my mind, and I wanted that life back. Why tell them something I wasn’t absolutely positive about. Besides, what if my parents blamed me? They knew me – they’d see it was somehow my fault. No, I couldn’t go home now – I needed more time, staying in Chicago for Thanksgiving was the right thing to do.
~~~~~~~~
Stephen had been
When Stephen and I were in high school and applying to colleges, we only applied to places that were at least a thousand miles away from Boston, no East Coast schools. I couldn’t go anywhere that was within easy driving distance of Weymouth – Stephen and I planned to live together, and I couldn’t risk any surprise visits from my very prudish parents. We both applied to the same places – one of us would not go without the other – so when The School of the Art Institute of Chicago accepted both of us, the decision was already made.
I was getting good at lying, or at the very least, keeping things from them at this point. Growing up in their house hadn’t been easy, but certainly wasn’t as bad as a lot of the homes I knew of – Stephen’s being at the forefront of that list. My parents argued constantly – I swear it was every minute of every fuckin’ day! They would argue about everything, they would argue about nothing – I honestly don’t remember what the arguments were about, but by the time I met Stephen at 15, I was dying to get out. Stephen provided that escape, that relief from the constant turmoil at home. Yet, as I began to spend time at his house, his parents furnished me with a first-hand view of what a truly fucked up family looked like.
I now remembered all the warning signs; all the things I ignored at 15, 16 and 17, flashed back in my mind – I knew there was no way I was going to repeat that shit in my life. One minute his parents would be together, then his mother, Virginia, would get pregnant and have another kid, and then the next minute his father would get drunk, upset the kids and take off again. I wanted some stability, consistency – some happiness. Because of his mostly absent status, I never got to know Stephen’s father very well, but from what I heard, I was not missing anything. His mother bounced from one self-made problem to another; as far as I could see, she used people, even her children, mostly to connive money out of one person or another since she was always broke. ‘Boyfriends’ would come and go; Virginia dumped anyone who didn’t put enough cash in her hand. There was no way I wanted anything to do with a life like that.
No, no, my parents are like saints compared to his, I thought . Why the hell can’t I just talk to them, they’d understand. No, not now… After all, I truly didn’t know what was happening. Stephen had certainly never admitted anything; maybe what Bernie had seen, and what Joe had told me, was all some kind of bullshit. If I could just talk to Stephen, without arguing, maybe there was some way we could work it all out. When I got married it was forever, at least in my mind, and I wanted that life back. Why tell them something I wasn’t absolutely positive about. Besides, what if my parents blamed me? They knew me – they’d see it was somehow my fault. No, I couldn’t go home now – I needed more time, staying in Chicago for Thanksgiving was the right thing to do.
~~~~~~~~
Stephen had been
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