Black Eye: Escaping a Marriage, Writing a Life

Selective Attention

Saturday evening,April 26, 1986 It feels like the first night of summer. Very hot. Stu is randy; he actually changed the sheets on the porch (putting on the polyester “satin”) and tried to lure me to bed with a bear hug.But I am exhausted from four and a half hours of sleep last night, talking to Santoro and Carol Madsen, and doing a lot of outdoor work today. And I am planning to get up early tomorrow for a long bike ride with Bill, Linda, and the kids. So I turned him down—feeling obligated and rejecting, ergo a “bad wife.” Santoro was a disappointment. He was supportive but patronizing with Helen and, I think, left her (and me) with a sense that he might not be able to help Stu even if Stu went in to see him. Carol Madsen encouraged me to try to make the marriage work. I thought this was strange for a divorce lawyer.But I decided that I am going to make a decision on my mother’s birthday, June 1, about whether I’m leaving this summer or staying. From now until June 1, I will try to be pleasant, upbeat: to encourage positive conversations, not destructive ones. (That means only in neutral territory,before ten o’clock.) On June 1, I’m making my decision based on a number of variables including:resumption of sex relations;sharing a bedroom;Stu’s willingness to deal with alcohol problems;my general feelings about how things have gone,day-to-day (and I’m going to keep score on a day-to-day basis); my feelings of anger toward Stu; Stu’s attempts to control me and others; and finally (for now, anyway), Stu’s changes in behavior around the house and with the kids. Today he suggested that he could go shopping with them to buy shorts. Put the boat hoist in today and ate outside: brats and potato salad. 135 Selective Attention n n When I got home from Norcroft a few days ago, I found a card from a man I’ve flirted with, off and on, for most of the past ten years. We met through work. He lives thousands of miles away. Once, not long after the purple and yellow faded from my eye, he came to Madison to work on a radio project. We were in my car, on the way to a meeting . I had to stop by my house to pick something up. I invited him in to see my brand-new life. He refused, waited in the car. But after he left Madison, he kept up a correspondence, sending clippings, notes, unprintable limericks, occasional letters, a tape he thought Eli might like. Stu used to bully me: “Who will love you the way I do?” Who indeed ? In ten years, I have had one flirtation and two lovers. One lover, really, unless you count a friend’s ex-husband who couldn’t get it up. One long-distance affair that lasted three nights, maybe four. Once I asked Paul Bergeson how long he thought it would take for me to find another man. He looked at me speculatively. I said, “Tune in, in two or three years.” “No,” he said, “I don’t think it will take that long.” Stu knew better. Celibacy, it turns out, is not so difficult. You just ignore sex, as much as possible. You focus on something else. n Sunday,April 27, 1986 Stu,rejected last night,turned brutal and abusive.When I went downstairs this morning, trying to be loving and demonstrative, he practically took my head off. In his hostility, brutality, anger, he said,“I’ve never read your journal, but I might burn it. You have a habit to break.” It didn’t help matters that he knew I was about to ride around Lake Monona with David, Eli, and the Langes. And later at dinner, when I tried to describe how beautiful the bike ride was—all the bulbs and the fruit and nut trees at their peak bloom—he simply refused to let me talk Selective Attention 136 about it. I shut up. He asked me a question to which I could only reply with more about the bike trip—and he bore into me, interrupting and being very nasty. I picked up my plate and fork and left the deck...