Once upon a Time -- by Anne Shier

Once upon a time there was a pretty, young woman named Claudia Moore who had worked hard all her life in the business world. Though she had earned a bachelor of science degree early in her adult life, she had never gotten any  significant kind of recognition for her achievements, either at school or work. Her BSc degree had not gotten her anywhere at work so far, since it was largely unrelated to business.

        Due to wanting to excel in the business world, however, Claudia then decided to take some business courses at night: business administration, micro economics and fundamentals of accounting, to name a few. She did very well in these courses at Ryerson University, achieving either a grade A or B in each one, and then resolved to continue on to get her bachelor of commerce degree as well. She knew it would take her at least four or five years to complete a degree program at night, but she knew she could do it. All she needed was enough money to pay for each course, in turn, and the time to complete the required work. She was certain that someone somewhere would one day recognize her excellent work ethic and positive attitude and give her a chance to prove herself in a business leadership role.

 Three more years passed and she was finally able to earn a business management certificate, which is comprised of eight courses (a degree is comprised of 20 courses.) Even though she had earned good grades in all eight of her business courses and had demonstrated the excellent work ethic and attitude needed to get ahead, she still found that she was not getting the opportunities she craved in the business world, and the problem continued to perplex her. Why wasn’t she getting more opportunities to advance?

  One day, when she had accumulated at least five years’ full time business experience of various types (mostly in a computerized accounting capacity), Claudia finally decided that she needed to take the plunge and dive into a full time college program in business and finance for the next three years. She didn’t know where the money for it would come from, but she was determined to complete the program, come hell or high water. The curriculum would include courses in quantitative methods (statistics), computer technology, macroeconomics, intermediate and advanced accounting, English and psychology. It was a well-rounded program, and she relished the idea of developing her mind and skill set in this way.

   Claudia had access to optional courses that she could take as well, for example, business computers, which included word processing, spreadsheet, presentation and accounting software. Although she already had computerized accounting experience, she looked forward to taking business- and computer-related courses and felt that, if nothing else, she was going to be prepared for any job that came up after she graduated.

    On her graduation day at Ryerson University, she was delightfully surprised to discover that Ryerson had a student job placement service that helps new graduates find suitable work for themselves. Forthwith, she took her impressive, up-to-date resume with her to the Student Employment Centre and, in less than a week, was able to line up several interviews with several medium- and large-sized companies. It was amazing to her that she could achieve such a thing so easily at this point in her life. After all, getting an interview is tantamount to getting a job offer, depending on a person’s interviewing skills, and she was definitely experienced in this area. Upon being interviewed only three times, she was offered a lucrative position as a management trainee with one of the largest companies in Canada: Bank of Montreal Financial Group (BMO, for short). It was exciting to think that, at age 30, she was finally getting her chance to show what she could do in the world of work. She was told that she could advance as fast and as far as she wanted to; her rate of progress was up to her. The only stipulation by BMO was that her performance reviews, which would be done by her boss twice a year, had to be exemplary. That meant she had to achieve a performance level that was deemed either “good” or “excellent,” and that seemed wholly achievable. She now felt there was nothing she could not achieve.

  When she went to work for BMO two weeks later, she was pleasantly surprised to find that she would have a nice office on the 23rd floor of an office building in the heart of the financial district of Toronto. An office like this would be equivalent to one found on Wall Street in New York City. It was gratifying to know that she had a professional and pleasant working environment in which she could explore and fulfill her potential.

  Her boss, George Bolton, was a truly nice man. He was a professional through and through in his capacity as a seasoned business manager. He had been working for large companies, similar in size to BMO, for the last 20 years. Claudia could not have asked for a more experienced and capable person to be her boss. Fortunately, he was not the male chauvinistic type of boss she was used to working for whose agenda included constantly putting his female subordinates in their place. George respected Claudia’s abilities and used her many strengths as a vital member to get his team’s job done. His team had consistently excelled in their efforts since he’d joined BMO 10 years previously.

Claudia was very happy to be working for George. She resolved to give him everything she had to offer as a team member and show him the excellent work ethic and attitude that she’d always had in the past but had never been recognized for having.

 While working hard for George in order to prove herself, Claudia came up with a simple yet brilliant idea that actually saved the company a lot of money—more than $90,000 in one year! It consisted of paying all of the company’s vendors as early as possible to take advantage of the vendor discounts being offered. For a large company, $90,000 was considered just a drop in the bucket, but the fact that money could be saved using Claudia’s idea was the critical thing. Because of this, she got a big promotion to assistant business manager within only two years of being hired by BMO. Under normal circumstances, she would have thought that other people would become jealous of her success, but the fact was, she deserved her promotion. If they wanted to gripe and gossip about her, so be it.

 Two years later, she got her long-cherished promotion to business manager. It had been a long time coming to be sure, but Claudia was ready for it. She was now allowed to interview and hire her own team members and set her own goals for her team. It was exhilarating to be able to do this because she knew that if she did a good job of hiring the right people and using their strengths to her team’s advantage like George had done with his team, she would be very happy with the result. And thus, BMO would be very happy with her.

  Gradually, as her salary improved annually, she was able to buy new things for herself and her family. To wit, she was able to buy a beautiful 3,000 square foot house on a lovely lake that one would dream about owning and coming home to every day after work. Although she was very busy at work with her increased responsibilities, she tried hard to arrive home before her kids had to go to bed. Her husband, Richard, was supportive of her career (thank God!), and that made it much easier for her to fulfill her mandate at work. It had occurred to her along the way that her great success in the business world had as much to do with the quality of her marriage as it had to do with her own efforts. By showing her appreciation to Richard for his continuing support, she ensured that her marriage was going to be successful, as well as her career. Anything she did at home to show her husband how much she loved and needed him was worth every second of the time she spent with him. And since she truly did love him, it was a labour of love for her.

 Eventually, she was also able to buy two brand new vehicles: a navy blue Aston Martin for herself and a large camper/trailer for her family. Richard already had a car of his own, so it was not necessary to buy him one. Claudia’s family was definitely not hurting for the better things in life.

  All the while, she carefully and wisely invested consistently in stocks and bonds with growth potential, as well as RRSPs, CDs, GICs (and RESPs for their two kids). Claudia felt that if she did not do this, one day she might find herself short of funds for something really important. In her mind, vehicles were not considered good investments since they depreciated in value immediately after being purchased. Thus, she had to invest in things that would grow in value, not diminish. If, by any stretch of the imagination, she or Richard should lose their jobs, they would still be okay. They might have to scale down their standard of living somewhat, but they would survive.

  The following year, Claudia and Richard decided to build an addition onto their already large house. The new addition would include a well-stocked library and a modern office for Claudia. It might have seemed like a selfish thing to do, but she wanted to make sure she could work from home if need be. Modern-day office workers tended to want to work more from home while staying connected to their respective offices. There was nothing that could not be dealt with via telephone, video conferencing, e-mail, chat or the file transfer facilities on her computer. If anyone needed to get in touch with her, her phone numbers and e-mail address were readily available to each and every one of her team members if and when she needed to take a day off. In fact, every team member did the same if and when they needed to take a day off. Nobody in her team abused the privilege; conversely, they were all thankful for having a terrific boss like Claudia.        Everything she knew about being a good boss came from George; he had been an excellent role model and continued to be a good friend to her as well. She and George would have lunch together occasionally and talk about business as well as personal matters. Claudia could confide in George like no one else she knew; even Richard was not nearly as good a listener. George had a family too, but he always seemed to find time for her whenever she needed him.

  One day, while at lunch with George at the Pickle Barrel Restaurant on Yonge Street, Claudia was busy confiding her usual worries to George when he suddenly said to her, without any preamble, “Claudia, I just love listening to you talk. Your face becomes so animated and your eyes sparkle. There aren’t many women that I know who can make me feel so needed. It might surprise you to know this, but—I am in love with you—not the way you read about in novels. It’s the real thing. I didn’t want to tell you at first, but you’ve become very important to me over time.”

   “George! How could you? We’ve known each other for so long, and I had no idea you felt this way about me! Come on, you’re married and so am I!” Claudia replied in complete shock.

  “Yes we are, but I can’t help it. I need to be with you. Nancy and I haven’t been on the same page for a long, long time, but I was afraid to tell you about it because I didn’t want your pity. You seem to think I’m perfect, but I assure you I’m anything but.”

 Stunned, Claudia looked at George for a long moment and then said, “I have to leave now. This is too much for me to absorb right at this moment. I don’t think I can see you for a while.” And with that, she got up and walked out.

 Not sure of what to do, she walked downtown for at least an hour, thinking. What do I do now? He says he’s in love with me! And I love him too, but not in that way. I love Richard. I love our kids and our life together. I won’t desert my family for George. Perhaps if I stay away from George for a long time, without speaking to him, he’ll get over it. In fact, I’ll have to tell him that he has to get over me and the sooner the better. Otherwise, our friendship is in jeopardy. I guess I’ll have to find a new business mentor with whom I can discuss things at work. My God, what have I done to deserve this?

  Later that night, Claudia went home to Richard and their kids and decided to have a heart to heart with him. She wasn’t quite sure how she would say what she had to say though. She just knew that if she did not tell Richard about George’s heartfelt admission to her, she would not be able to face George again. She felt she needed to come clean with Richard and then close the book on George. It made her very sad to have to do this, but she had worked too hard for too long to obtain her position as business manager to put it at risk. It was a prize she had both earned and deserved, and she was not going to give it up for a fling with anyone, especially George. She had heard that things like that sometimes happened in the workplace, and when they did, someone usually had to leave. Thus, she resolved to start putting feelers out for similar positions with similar responsibilities and hoped like hell that she would not have to leave BMO or the city in order to achieve this possible job change.

When Claudia got home later that night after doing some serious soul searching, she asked Richard to sit down with her for a discussion. Although he had no idea what was coming, she knew that she had to tell him what had happened and be honest with him regarding her feelings about everyone involved.

“Richard,” she began hesitantly, “you know how hard I’ve worked to get where I am today. You know it’s taken me a long time to get here, and I am so grateful for your support and love along the way. Today I had lunch with George, as I often do, and he said something so disturbing to me that I really feel that I can no longer work with him. He told me … that he is in love with me! I only want to tell you this because we’ve always had such an honest relationship. I need to tell you the truth. I need you in my life. I need our family in my life. But I don’t need George in my daily life. He has been a good friend and mentor, to be sure, but since his heartfelt admission to me today, I now find that I have had to make an important decision, and that is to stay away from him. He may or may not change his mind about me, but I cannot take the risk that we might get involved with each other. That would jeopardize not only everything I’ve worked for but also our love for each other and our family life.”

  “Claudia,” he replied, taken aback, “you’re right, and I support you all the way. You do what you have to do to make it all work. I’m glad you told me the truth, and I too need you in my life. I need our family in my life. I don’t think George has thought this thing through, however. What does he expect you to do? Leave us to be with him? If so, I agree with you that it would jeopardize everything you’ve worked so hard for and justly deserve. However, it’s not about the money, the house, the vehicles or other material wealth that we have. It’s about the intangible things—those things you can’t see or touch—that are the most important to me. All that other stuff, I could live without if I had to. I’m sure we all could. But, I don’t want to live without you and our kids. Nor do I want you to lose the position you’ve achieved as a result of your hard work and dedication. What do you think?”

“I think it’s time to tell George that I don’t love him the way he loves me. If he wants to stay friends with me, I might be able to handle that. If he insists that he wants something more intimate, I will have to say good-bye to him and leave the company. Unless I can come up with another alternative, I don’t see what else I can do to preserve my job status and my home life with you and our kids.

“I agree with you that the accoutrements of wealth are not that important. We could definitely live in a smaller house, use only one vehicle and cash in some of the investments we’ve made. I’ve always been convinced that money, alone, cannot make a person happy. There are other things in life that are much more important to me, to us, and we have to evaluate what kinds of things we need most out of life. From what you’ve just said to me, it’s each other and our family that we need. Nothing and nobody else matters as far as I am concerned.”

          And, with that, Claudia and Richard warmly embraced and kissed, each knowing that the world would be an extremely lonely place without the other.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

Sequel to “A Freak Accident”: The Real Aftermath -- by Anne Shier

My name is Elle McNealy. In the spring of 2000 I was involved in a horrible car accident that nearly cost me my life and that of another woman whose car I had hit. This is the story of what happened to me in the real aftermath several years later, as a direct result of this accident.

        On one of the busiest streets in Scarborough, in the middle of rush hour, I actually passed out at the wheel of my car and drove right off the road. A freaky part was that it was a farmer’s field into which I drove; it could so easily have been a tree or a hydro pole or even a deep ditch. While driving across this field, I was suddenly startled into semi-consciousness because of the rough terrain, but I was still moving at close to 60 kph and only half-conscious. At that moment, I knew I was likely to hit something—a house, a tree or worse, someone walking along—and that absolutely terrified me! If one can imagine going almost full-tilt in a car while driving it yet not being very aware of one’s surroundings, this was my situation at this moment. I was positive my life was now being measured in seconds. I was going to be lucky if I survived this or didn’t kill someone or both. But I guess on that day in April 2000, someone high above was looking out for me because I didn’t die or kill anyone. But what I did was hit another person’s car in a head-on collision, all because I thought it was a good idea to try and get back onto a very busy road!

While sitting in the car, trapped there by the caved-in driver door and a crunched-up steering column, I was numb from the neck down; I couldn’t feel anything. There was absolutely no sense of pain or of being injured, no sensation that I can recall. After a while, I felt like I was fading fast. Without the firefighters to free me from the wreckage, and the EMS guys to give me emergency first aid, I still don’t think that I would have made it. They also gave me some kind of painkiller after I was pulled from the wreckage because the pain that I began to experience then was excruciating and like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I imagined that the other driver was in the same bad way as me. Then the paramedics had us airlifted to the hospital, but by that time I was totally out of it. To this day I have no memory of that trip to Sunnybrook Hospital. All I remember after the helicopter picked us up was waking up in the emergency department, confused.

The trauma of this car accident resulted from the two vehicles colliding—each going 60 kph in opposite directions. This resulted in a crash that happened at about 120 kph. A crash at even a much slower speed can kill a person. That crash could have killed us both easily. While I was glad to be alive at the crash site, I was equally glad later on upon learning that I had not killed the other driver. I also remember praying to God while trapped in my car, begging for forgiveness for what I had just done. I was so sorry for everything that was wrong now, but I wasn’t ready to die just yet. My young son still needed me and I needed him; he was really the only immediate family I could count on.

If it were only my immediate family that I was concerned about leaving behind, it would have been so much easier to deal with the trauma of this horrific car crash that I had inadvertently caused. I certainly didn’t mean to cause the crash; I would never intentionally cause harm to anyone, least of all myself. But I had to learn how to forgive myself before I could realistically expect anyone else in my life to forgive me. In fact, I needed to forgive myself, which I thought would help other family members to forgive me as well. I didn’t realize at the time that some people will never forgive you, no matter what. These people were the ones who had so far appeared to be so caring, loving and kind to me—my parents, for example. You’d expect, as I did, that your parents will always love you no matter what happens in your life, even if it is your own damn fault! As I was about to find out, such things do not always happen that way.

When my mother, Elaina, and my stepfather, Rick, first came to visit me at Sunnybrook Hospital, I was really glad to see them. It showed me that those who loved me the most were genuinely concerned about me, glad I had survived the crash and even gladder that I had not killed anyone else. They seemed to mirror my own feelings. While I sat in my wheelchair (since I couldn’t walk), we chatted casually together for about half an hour until, all of a sudden, I started to get really tired. I think that the reason for my sudden fatigue was the weakness that was now in my legs after my knees had been jammed full-throttle into my car’s dashboard upon impact with the other car. It felt like all the fluid in my body was now flowing into my legs and there wasn’t enough left for my vital organs. I desperately needed to lie down and rest, so I bade them a fond good-bye and asked them to come back in a few days when I would probably feel better.

Unfortunately, they seemed in no rush to come back and see me. I wondered about that. Did they think I was going to just “jump out of bed” and resume my life as if this horrible accident had never happened? I couldn’t walk; I was too weak to stand or walk and, besides, I needed operations to fix my deeply slashed left knee, my badly broken ankle and crushed right ring finger. My wounded knee had already been stapled shut, but the operations on my broken ankle and right hand would not happen for another few days. Surgeons didn’t seem to want to work on the weekends, and today was a Saturday. My parents’ attitude seemed quite strange; I didn’t really know what to make of their standoffish behaviour. I thought that maybe other family members would also come and see me soon, but hardly anyone came, except for my young son and my roommate, Dan. These two, as it would turn out, were the only ones I would be able to count on from now on.

Two weeks later, after an ambulance service was called by the hospital to bring me home, there was only one more visit from my parents at my home. By now I was getting the distinct impression that their pre-accident loving and caring attitude was now a thing of the past. I wanted them to love me as I’d thought they’d always loved me, only the “love” that I thought was there didn’t seem to be there for me anymore. Why? Have I done the unthinkable? Have I murdered or hurt anyone on purpose? Certainly not. Surely, they know that. If they knew how freaky this accident really was, they should also have known that its final outcome could not have been predicted. Obviously, they don’t know the circumstances of the accident—that is, what led up to it; they just assume they know.

The truth is no one knew why I’d gone off the road, except me, and even I didn’t know why I had passed out at the wheel without warning before I hit that other car.

Two-and-a-half years after my accident, including eight months of rehabilitation, I had fully recovered and was back at work teaching high school full time. My parents and I were getting along pretty well, and I thought everything was okay again with us. Unfortunately, another horrible car crash would happen on Christmas Day of 2002, which would claim my mother’s life, put my father into the hospital with critical injuries for two weeks and traumatize my own life emotionally. That accident happened when my parents took me home after our family’s Christmas Day celebrations at their home. My mother was driving and my stepfather was passed out, drunk, in the front seat. I was in the backseat and ended up being the sole eye witness—the one who had to give an extremely painful statement to the police and the insurance company after it was all over.

What did this second car accident have to do with anything? How was it relevant? About two years later (in April 2004) after my mother died so tragically, my stepfather, Rick, invited the whole family over for a pizza dinner at his place. We were all looking forward to spending some family time together for once, since none of us seemed to be able to find the time for such get-togethers very often. I went over to his place early; no one else had arrived yet. We sat there in the living room chatting casually, and it seemed like a normal interaction between us until I mentioned my own freaky car accident from April 2000. All of a sudden, my stepfather’s attitude changed. His face darkened and his voice got much louder and more aggressive. I was startled enough to stop talking and listen to what he had to say. This was the gist of our conversation that day:

Aggressively, Rick said, “You talk about your car accident as if that were the only important event that ever happened to you in your life. If you had not run your car off the road, you would never have hit that poor woman in the other car. She was seriously injured and could have been killed, all because of you. Please don’t think for one second that I ever had any sympathy for you!”

You bastard! I thought. You have some nerve accusing me of harming someone on purpose when you don’t even know what happened! Piss on you! Since when did you ever give a sh*t about me and whether I lived or died!?

“Rick, I could easily have died in my car accident. If you think that didn’t impact me significantly, then you really don’t get it, do you?” I replied vehemently, in a very defensive tone.

“Well, now that your mother is dead, that hardly matters, does it? Thanks to you, I lost my wife of 31 years two years ago, and my life will never be the same again as a result. Why did we have to take you home that evening anyway?” Rick shouted.

“I don’t know, Rick. Why did you elect to take me home? I could’ve called a cab, or I could have stayed at your place overnight, but no, you decided that you and Mom were going to take me home that evening by making Mom drive! Well, at least you weren’t at the wheel. In fact, you were passed out in the front seat almost as soon as we left here. But Mom was in no shape to drive me home either—she must have been exhausted from all the preparations and cooking of Christmas dinner for all of us!” I screamed.

By this time we were in the midst of a screaming match that was getting hotter by the second. Either I had to leave now or something terrible was going to happen between us. I didn’t want to wait around to find out what that something was going to be.

Rick looked like he was about to physically attack me. It was just at that moment that my youngest sister, Vivian, and her family arrived, and only then did Rick start to calm down. Otherwise I really don’t know what would have transpired then. Eventually, everyone else—my younger brother, Shane, my younger sister, Kate, and their respective families—arrived for the pizza dinner Rick had promised us that evening.

Needless to say, I needed several very strong drinks of whatever happened to be available—the stronger, the better. As a result, I was pretty drunk by the time everyone started to leave that night, nevertheless; I was one of the first ones out the door. For safety’s sake, I managed to hitch a ride with Shane’s family because I could not have gotten myself home otherwise.

I vowed never again to be alone with Rick now that I had discovered that he had been holding me responsible all this time for my own mother’s death! He’d practically said it to me: that if I had died in my own car accident, Mom wouldn’t have died in ours. I was totally mortified by his attitude and the way in which he’d delivered it to me just before everyone else had arrived there. The situation made me sick to my stomach. So, I promised myself that I was going to stay away from him—for the rest of my life, if necessary. Obviously, being together as a family was not going to be in the cards for me as long as Rick maintained this hostile attitude toward me. As much as Rick might want to deny it, I have missed my mother very much over the years, just as much as he’s missed his wife. The truth is I couldn’t have loved her more if I tried, and I always will. I just hope she could forgive me for not being able to be the loving stepdaughter that she’d always hoped I could be.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

Miles to Go before I Sleep -- by Anne Shier

(This story was inspired by Celine Dion’s song of the same name.)

In my darkest dreams, I can still envision the day my life changed forever. No matter what happened from this day forth, I would never be the same. I would never look at another man the same way. I would never trust another man like I used to and would definitely never go to sleep again without dreaming of that horrible night. I keep asking myself, What happened to make me into this hermit of a young woman?—someone who had just wanted to go out and have some fun, dance a lot, drink a little and maybe meet someone with whom I’d want to spend some quality time. That fun-loving young woman is now gone for good. How did this ever happen to me

        It all began when my best friend, Melissa, had called me the previous Tuesday evening. She said, “What’s happenin’, girlfriend? Are you available this Saturday night? I want to party, as you well know, and I need to know if you want to join me. You might have to drive me to the bar though—I hope you don’t mind.”

 “You should know better than to ask me if I want to party! Of course I do! I don’t think about anything else all week at work except what we’re doing on the weekend! It might take me all of the following week to recover, but I am going out, don’t mistake me.”

 “Great, Gwen. Well, call me Friday night and we’ll talk about our evening out and you can tell me what dishy dress you’re planning to wear on Saturday night, okay?”

 “Okay. You pick out an equally dishy dress and we’ll pretend we’re competing against each other for the best-looking man in the place! Deal?”

 “Deal!” she replied to my teasing. “Seriously, though, what are you going to do if you do meet someone really terrific? Go home with him to his place or take him back to your place, as usual?”

 “If I knew the answer to that, I wouldn’t have to keep asking you for advice about men and how to act around them, would I? I figure that if I meet Mr. Right, I’ll just know it in my heart. That’s it—I’ll follow my heart—end of story.”

 Little did I know that “following my heart”—which to me meant using my intuition about men—is not always foolproof, even though I thought it was. My mother had always warned me about talking to strangers, but I never thought she meant I should never talk to a young man my own age who just wanted to meet someone like me, to talk to and get to know better.

  On Friday night Melissa called me to ask what dress I was going to wear on Saturday night, and I told her my favourite—a royal blue, satin, below-the-knee-length dress that had a slit up the side to my mid-thigh and a V-neck with a delicious dip in the middle and short sleeves. I thought it looked sexy on me; I felt very sexy when I wore it. No eligible man was going to be able to resist me if I willed him to come over and talk to me. Let’s face it—I liked having the attention of the male species. And so did Melissa, only she was more blatantly assertive about it. It didn’t bother her in the least to walk up to a man she thought was attractive and flirt outrageously with him. He would get the message soon enough that she wanted him in her bed that night. I, on the other hand, was content to sit back and play the waiting game and have the object of my desires come over to me. It made me feel feminine and invincible to know I had that kind of power over an attractive man.

  On Saturday night, I left my place all dolled up with my makeup tastefully applied, some jewellery accents, my sexy blue dress and black, three-inch heels on my feet. My dress was more than enough to make me look good. I felt great, ready to party with Melissa and whomever I might meet that evening. Nothing was going to make me change my mind about the evening’s outcome. It would be a terrific evening because I looked and felt terrific. I was going to meet Mr. Right tonight, even if he turned out to be “Mr. Right Now.” I could always pretend he was Mr. Right, and he would never know what I was thinking and that was fine with me.

   Our favourite hangout, the Soho Bar & Grill, was one of the best bars I’d ever been to downtown. I had somehow always managed to meet my fair share of men there, younger or older, good-looking or just above average. They had all treated me with respect and I had trusted them—you know, as far as one can trust someone you have just met.

  My instincts were usually fine-tuned for those predatory types who come on like gangbusters and expect that you’ll just fall at their feet begging for love or something. If a man did that around me, I just ignored him and went on my merry way. I wasn’t desperate for a man’s attention and affection; I just really liked it when a man I was attracted to seemed to reciprocate. He had to play it cool around me and not act like I owed him anything sexual. In my view, sex is something a couple should mutually agree on. There should be no obligation of any kind to do anything one doesn’t want to do with another person. I wanted it that way and it was the only way I could handle it. Anyway, everything had gone so far, so good—until the Saturday night I met Ryan.

  Ryan was tall at six feet three inches, of Caucasian descent with jet-black wavy hair and a neatly trimmed jet-black moustache. He had clean, average features and dark-brown eyes; he looked like one of those sexy guys on TV and the movies who doesn’t shave for a week—with a shadow of black hair just showing on the lower part of his face. There was no denying that I was attracted to him on sight. If there were such a thing as love at first sight, it hit me when I met Ryan. He seemed to reciprocate my instant attraction, and we sat together pretty much all evening, talking and gazing into each other’s eyes. We couldn’t get enough of each other that evening.

  He told me he liked the look of my dark-blonde hair and blue-green eyes, more green than blue on any given day. He liked me in the sexy dress I had so carefully selected to wear that evening, and he complimented me on it. From then on, I knew it would be impossible for me to walk out that evening and leave him there, and it would be equally impossible for me to allow him to leave without me.

  What happened next is sort of a mystery. I don’t remember a whole lot about it. All I know was that I wanted Ryan more than any other man I could think of. We sat there drinking, mostly Coke and ginger ale, because I knew I had to drive home sober and so did he; I wouldn’t drive home drunk and presumed he wouldn’t either. He told me he was a police officer and I believed him. Police officers have to be very responsible. I told him I had three police officers in my own family tree, all cousins. They were all very upstanding and respectable people.

 Ryan was kind enough to offer to drive me home. I asked him what I should do with my car, and he said he would pick me up tomorrow from my place and bring me back here to get it. It sounded like an awfully nice gesture to make toward someone he’d just met that evening, but I said it sounded like a very good idea, and off we went together.

 However, instead of taking me to my place, Ryan took me to his place, somewhere out in the country, I think—at this point, I wasn’t sure of the way there. I assumed we were just going to get something he’d forgotten before he took me home.

 We had a drink together at his place after we arrived, but I’m not sure how potent that drink really was. I must have passed out afterward though, and when I momentarily woke up, I discovered he had undressed me and put me in his bed. I was so groggy that I didn’t really know where I was, but I trusted him not to hurt me. I passed out again, I believe, but this time when I woke up, he was on top of me, about to rape me! I was so shocked that he would do this that I screamed. He then changed his mind and forced me to “go down” on him. I thought that doing this would appease him, though I vehemently objected to being used like this. Not only did this act repel me, he repeatedly forced oral sex on me until the wee hours (four or five a.m.?), at which time he finally fell asleep. I knew sleep was out of the question for me. If I had known where I was, I would have gotten up while he was asleep and gone home, walking or hitchhiking if necessary. I felt dirty, used, abused and raped, not to mention horrified.

 I thought about laying charges against him, but he was a police officer. How would I ever get anyone on the police force or in the courts to believe that I had been raped, as I believed I had? He could so easily get his buddies on the force to testify in court that I was nothing but a cheap whore who gave out sexual favours on demand. What was I to do?

 When I finally got home after Ryan had driven me back to where my car was parked, I got into a very hot bath and scrubbed myself from head to toe and, afterward, rinsed out my mouth continually in the sink. But nothing would take away that sense of having been violated and invaded against my will; suddenly, I was very scared. Should I report the rape and go to the hospital? If I did that, they would do a “rape kit” on me to get the necessary physical evidence of sexual assault. Unfortunately, now that I’d had a hot bath and had cleaned out my mouth, there was probably no physical evidence left in or on my body anywhere. Thus, no charges could be laid against him and no trial could happen to convict him. Not only that, I felt that I might now be vulnerable to harassment by police at their whim from now on even though one of their own had not actually been charged and convicted as a result of my report. He was going to get away with it, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. I had never felt so powerless in my life.

 In some ways, it was still a mystery to me as to how he’d managed to get me into his house, undress me, put into his bed and then assault me so relentlessly. I had discovered something very important from this horrible experience, and that was to not trust strangers so blindly ever again. I knew it would be a very long time before I trusted any male again, if ever.

Of course it was never going to be that simple. I still can’t sleep at night without experiencing nightmares and flashbacks of what he did to me. I have to watch TV or movies till the wee hours before I’m finally exhausted enough to drop off to sleep. I suppose I’d just been fortunate enough until then not to have met a predatory type who was on the lookout for a vulnerable female to damage and destroy. I never in a million years would have thought that person could be a police officer. I have never gone out with another police officer on a date and have no intention of ever doing so.

But it was more than that. I had to learn how to protect myself, my emotions, my body, everything from now on. I have to ensure that I’ve locked myself in securely every night in order to feel safe.
Although I have three cousins who are also police officers, only one of them works on the same force as Ryan, and I never really knew him since he is just a distant cousin-in-law. Somehow I know that my police officer cousins are all very good people, but I can’t seem to shake the notion that someone who is in a position of social authority, like a police officer, is still someone I cannot readily trust.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

My Virtual Companion -- by Anne Shier

The nightmares started almost exactly two years to the day of my mother’s untimely death. I would fall asleep at night after tossing and turning restlessly for an hour or more, and then I would sleep only after I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. Then my mind would start dwelling on the horrific events that had followed her accidental death. There were constant images floating in and out of my subconscious—specifically, the image of my father pointing his accusatory finger at me, screaming at me that I was a murderer! Then my own image would appear, screaming back at him tearfully, protesting that I had nothing whatsoever to do with her death. I had loved her. But he would insist that she wouldn’t have died that day in that way if it weren’t for me. I told him to go look in the mirror whenever he wanted to say horrible things like that. He’d had as much to do with her death as anyone. She had died horribly, yes, but in reality, she was much better off now that he wasn’t around her any longer, abusing her and constantly taking her for granted. That’s why we don’t talk to each other anymore. He just can’t stand it when I talk back to him. Now that I’m a young adult, I don’t take crap from him (or from anyone else) anymore. And I never will again.

The reason my father, Bill Richards, was accusing me of murder (incredibly) was because, one evening, we were all in my parents’ car together, with my mother (his wife, Laura) driving. My father was in the front seat passed out from drinking, and I was in the backseat behind my mother. We were all wearing our seatbelts, as required by law. They were driving me home from their place after a lovely family dinner. The accident occurred when the car suddenly started sliding and spinning around on the snowy, icy road and only came to rest when it hit a concrete hydro pole full force. She was killed instantly and my father was hospitalized for two weeks. I escaped with nothing but a nasty whiplash and a bad emotional shock from witnessing the death of my mother. It was terrible to have to witness an event like that. It took me a long time before I was able to accept her death and carry on with my own life.

My name is Lisa, their eldest daughter. When I was growing up in my household with my parents, my mother was definitely the loving one of the pair. My father was the one who went to work every day, faithfully doing his job, even liking it most of the time. He was the one who “brought home the bacon,” so to speak. We never talked about anything important though. I was just his daughter who dutifully went to school every day (at that time I was in Grade 11). That was my job. He would occasionally ask how my studies were doing and I would, equally dutifully, tell him there were no problems. I wouldn’t have dared tell him otherwise. He could never handle hearing anything that wasn’t pleasant about me or from me during my preteen and teenage years.

My mother was the one who went to all the parent-teacher interview nights twice a year to talk to all my teachers. She was the one who had stuck by me, helping me with my studies back in Grade 4 when I was struggling so much with math and English. I might very well have failed Grade 4 if it weren’t for her efforts. One thing was certain—if it weren’t for her devotion to me and my childhood struggles at school, I wouldn’t be doing nearly as well as I was in Grade 11 this year.

My parents couldn’t usually come to my gymnastics competitions or my track and field meets in which I had participated for three years of my high school career. I was doing very well as an athlete and had earned both my junior and senior letters (athletic awards). In fact, athletics had always been part of my life. Even my parents had been athletes in their younger days. But now with both my parents working full time, there was no extra time to spend with me or my siblings. I tried to accept this seemingly apathetic attitude from them. Naively, I thought things would change over time. But I also knew that parents can get very stressed out by the day-to-day demands on their time and energy.

I was 15 when I starting dating in high school. My parents didn’t appear to be overly inquisitive about my dates. These boys were just taking me out for the evening and would return me back on a timely basis. As long as I was back home by midnight (on a Saturday night only), I was usually left alone and they didn’t ask too many questions. So I was okay in that respect. I had known of other girls who went out on dates even on weeknights when they had other obligations (homework), and that was something my parents discouraged as far as I was concerned. They weren’t “bad” parents; I just wasn’t close to my dad like I was to my mom.

Long after my mom’s death, late in 2008, as a young adult, I would be walking around and doing my thing (going to work every day, paying my bills and going out once a week or so). Then, when I least expected it, I would “hear” her voice in my head, guiding me along, telling me I was doing all the right things. She would tell me I should not worry that I did not like my father as a person (despite the fact that one should probably like his or her father). She would also tell me that I should not worry about her at all; she was just fine. She would assure me that if I really felt that strongly about not spending quality time with my father that was okay with her—she understood completely. She’d tell me she’d always known he wasn’t often a nice guy. Of course he could be really charming when he wanted to be, but he seemed to act a lot nicer than normal whenever he was with my mother. According to him, he loved her. I guess he tried to show her some of that love at times.

I really think he was incredibly lucky to have had a woman like my mother in his life. The fact that she’d died unexpectedly didn’t diminish the fact that she had given him the best years of her life. I don’t really know to this day if she was always happy with him, but I do know that he tried to make her happy (whenever he was in a good mood). From what I knew and saw of their relationship, I became convinced that a conventional, old-fashioned marriage like my parents had was definitely not for me. I wasn’t sure if marriage was something I’d ever be good at. Only time would tell if I could make a marriage (traditional or common-law) work so that we, as a couple, would both get the most out of our own lives and, at the same time, make each other happy. It takes a marriage of equals to accomplish that. That was the only kind of marriage I was going to be able to accept for myself. I had no reason to doubt that, even to this day.

I used to visit my mother’s grave regularly in the first few years after her death. While there, I would talk to her gravestone about my ongoing problems with my father. But I hadn’t been to visit her grave since the summer of 2006. I did try to make my usual annual visit, but I wasn’t able to go that summer. Regardless, her good and gentle spirit has given me an inner strength that I might not have had otherwise. Her virtual companionship in my life has allowed me to live my life the way I want to live it. I know that she loved me when she was alive and she loves me still. And I know that I love her too and that I always will.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

Love Me for Myself -- by Anne Shier

When Alex met Elise, it was pretty much love at first sight. Elise had this special quality about her; to Alex, she looked like a lost little girl who needed protection. Alex, with such a strong personality, responded to her as the person who wanted to be her protector through life.

When they met, neither of them was looking for a relationship, certainly not a sexual one. They seemed to have a lot in common, however, and always had something to talk about whenever Elise came into the store where Alex worked. Gradually, Alex took to calling Elise on occasion at her workplace and, gradually, they became close without even realizing what was happening.

One day, Alex asked Elise to drop by the store after work, and Elise, not wanting to miss an opportunity to get to know Alex better, readily accepted. Little did she know they were soon going to become a lot closer.

To Elise, their relationship had been developing for quite a while, and she was not going to have any regrets about it no matter how it turned out. However, Elise still had no real idea of how Alex responded to her emotionally.

The sex between them later that evening at the Bluebird Motel was fantastic. It made Elise totally forget about her problems, and she knew it would make her life at home bearable. It wasn’t really the sex between them that she would remember the most, however. It was their first kiss, so tender yet passionate, that she wanted to keep close to her heart. The emotions they felt for each other at that moment were unmistakable.

She could hardly stand to even look at her husband, Adrian, with the same trusting eyes, especially since she’d practically walked in on him and his girlfriend “doing it” in their bed! At some point, she was sorely tempted to tell Adrian about her affair with Alex but quickly realized that telling him would be the worst thing she could possibly do. Adrian would never understand the chemistry between them. Alex was very good for Elise, but Adrian would, no doubt, just see an interloper trying to interfere with their life together. So Elise and Alex made a pact to see each other as often as it was deemed safe to do so and at the same time promised each other they would tell no one about their secret affair; this was going to be private, strictly between them for now. 

Elise and Alex would get together once or twice a month, and it didn’t take long for Elise to realize that her life without Alex was going to be unbearable. She was going to have to decide soon whether to stay with Adrian under these trying circumstances or leave him and start all over again, completely on her own.

As infatuated as she was with Alex, she also thought she might still love Adrian. After all, he was her husband, though not a perfect person by any means. It wasn’t going to be easy to make such a big decision about her life with him. Meanwhile, her happiness, even for a little while, seemed to revolve more around Alex. Her pain at recently finding out she had been cheated on by Adrian with his girlfriend, Lila, was slowly waning, but her joy in being wantonly sexual with Alex was worth any price she might have to pay later on.

If anyone had asked her even a year ago about the nature of same-sex relationships, she would have pooh-poohed the whole thing as rubbish. Elise had never before had any kind of exposure to this kind of relationship in her entire life. She’d never before met anyone who was gay or lesbian, and quite frankly, she didn’t care. Without some prior experience or exposure to this kind of lifestyle, she had no idea how such relationships flourished. But evidently, they did—whether the two people in it were gay or lesbian. It was becoming apparent that the partners in a serious same-sex relationship could be just as happy together as any heterosexual couple. Some same-sex couples even wanted to make a heartfelt marital commitment to each other. In a few Canadian provinces, same-sex couples were legally allowed to marry. Even though some provinces were slower in changing their legislation to allow same-sex marriage, it was happening.

At the moment, in any case, it wasn’t safe for Elise to do anything other than go to work each day, see Alex secretly as much as possible and go home to Adrian, hoping he would not suspect what she was doing on the side with Alex. Adrian was not the kind of person who would have just let her go without a fight; he would have wanted to know her real reason for wanting to leave him. If he ever found out the truth, all hell would break loose. Knowing him as well as she did, Elise knew that a divorce from Adrian would be fraught with conflict, anger and emotional turmoil, and she didn’t think she could handle that.

Whenever Elise thought about her relationship with Alex, her thoughts were full of love and affection. She also felt a lot of respect and admiration for Alex. As for the sex … wow! she thought. The sexual part is just that—part of the relationship, not the whole thing. That’s what a “normal” relationship should be like, shouldn’t it? Why am I so afraid to leave Adrian? It’s an utter waste of my life to be with him when he doesn’t make me happy anymore. Am I happy with Adrian? No, not really. Am I happy with Alex? Yes and no. I feel so mixed up right now. This is something I must resolve for my own sake. Maybe what I really need to know is how Alex feels about me.

Elise resolved to talk to Alex about their relationship as soon as possible. She needed to clarify some things like how committed they really were to each other. Elise did not want a purely sexual relationship with anyone, mainly because she knew that no couple could ever sustain that level of excitement based on just a physical attraction.

How am I supposed to relate to my partner when the sex is over? However, if the respect, admiration and love she felt for Alex was returned in full measure, there was hope for the future. What if I find out that Alex and I actually love each other and want to make a long-term commitment to each other? Will I still be as mixed up as I am right now? I’m scared about the implications of making that kind of commitment to Alex, but I’m also really scared about how to deal with Adrian. He would just freak out about me being in this new relationship, and he would not know how to handle it! I guess I’ll have to have a heart-to-heart talk with Alex sometime very soon—then I’ll know what to do.

A couple of weeks later, Elise and Alex were alone at Alex’s home. Elise carefully broached the subject of their relationship, wanting to test for sudden tension in the air. “As you know, you have become the most important person in my life,” Elise said, “and my relationship with Adrian pales by comparison. I know what ‘love’ is really supposed to mean. What I need to know is how you feel about me.”

“I have feelings for you,” Alex softly replied, gently caressing her face. “But you need to know it’s not a simple situation here. People in general do not readily accept lesbian relationships, and that’s because it is hard for them to understand a sexual attraction between two females. Basically, if you’re a woman who’s never had this kind of sexual experience before, you would never be able to empathize with a lesbian female. This sets up a lesbian relationship as a target for discrimination and prejudice of the worst kind.”

“What do you mean by discrimination and prejudice? Isn’t that when people treat you worse than they would normally treat you because you are seen as somehow ‘different’?”

“Yes. Imagine what your parents, siblings, relatives, friends and colleagues are going to think about you once you decide to ‘come out’ and be open about your new sexual orientation. You’ll get a lot of grief from your loved ones and co-workers. They may not want to see you or talk to you for quite a while. They will not easily be able to accept your new status, not to mention your new partner in life. If you can handle that kind of horrific stress on a nearly daily basis, then maybe it won’t be so bad for you. But the odds are against you.”

“Okay, Alex. I think I understand what you’re saying. But I also think I love you enough to weather the inevitable storm; at least, I want to try. I know it won’t be easy; in fact, it will be very difficult. Other than Adrian’s reaction to what I am going to tell him, I am not so concerned with what other people, even my other family members, might think. I have to live my own life, and they will eventually get the message from me that if they want to see me, they will have to accept me and love me for myself, not for who they want me to be. Not only that, they will have to accept you too, as being my significant other.”

“I want you to know that I love you too. I felt a special connection with you when we first met. I couldn’t ignore those feelings, because my history with other people has been spotty, to say the least. My relationships with men, for the most part, were destructive. Later, when I started to have relationships with women, I found they were more responsive and sensitive toward me and my needs. That was the moment I decided I was going to be with a woman from now on. That wasn’t the way I’d started out, but now that I am openly lesbian, I’m happy and getting what I need for my emotional health. If you love me for myself, then I will return that love to you with all my heart.”

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

Living One Day at a Time -- by Anne Shier

(Inspired by an article in Canadian Immigrant [Ontario edition], March 2011.)

As a young girl, living in Szatmar, Hungary, in 1924, my whole family and I, who happened to be Hasidic Jews, were unfortunate enough to be shipped off by boxcar to the Nazi concentration camp in Auschwitz-Birkenau. I was just 19. My name was Ester Malek at the time, later to be changed. Of my entire immediate and extended family of 75 people, only my younger sister and I survived. The rest were exterminated in the gas chambers at Auschwitz, and then their bodies were burned in the ovens. Since then, I’ve learned to live my life one day at a time.

In 1945, I was freed from the concentration camp by British and Canadian troops and given the option of moving to Sweden (since I am of Swedish decent). Once back in Sweden, I met my future husband, Raul Elssen; at that time, I not only took on his last name, I changed my first name too. Thus, I became Evana Elssen. Later we came to Canada by boat in 1951 and moved to Toronto, Ontario. Eventually, we moved again north to Bracebridge, Ontario, and this is where we live, very happily, today.

The Holocaust left a deep and enduring mark on me, but I wanted to use this most painful experience to make a difference in the world and change the future somehow. In my view, the Nazis were “the ultimate bullies” who got away with it because no one would take any action against their attitude and behaviour. As I see it, that kind of attitude still persists today—in the form of genocide, bullying and intolerance. But how can there be any hope for the future unless we speak up against these violations of human rights? The idea that people have espoused since the time of the Nazi Holocaust (“Never again!”) is utter nonsense because bullying is still happening. When are we ever going to learn that these attitudes have not changed or disappeared?

I really feel that I survived for a reason. What I really wanted to do was to speak up against all forms of bullying; to make it my passion in life, my reason for living. Why? Someone had to speak up about it and who better to do it than me? I lost a major part of my family due to the Nazis’ hatred and bullying of Jews. Thus, I had a very compelling reason for speaking up and making people aware that they must also speak up against bullying. Otherwise, there would be no reason for those attitudes and behaviours to ever change.

The thing is, hatred transcends all boundaries of religion, skin colour and origin. Even if it doesn’t affect you today, it can definitely affect you sometime in the future. Personally, most of all, I want to ensure that history doesn’t repeat itself. We know we can’t change history, but what are we doing now to prevent history from happening all over again?

Not only is hatred a demon, but indifference is worse. People were (or seemed to be) indifferent while the Nazis grew in power. The bystanders were all silent while the power of the Nazis grew steadily, and millions of people suffered and died for their silence. If people want to have true meaning in their lives and be of good character, they have to speak up against intolerance of any kind: racism, bullying and hatred. That is the only way such attitudes and behaviours will change. So I made it my mission in life to do something to prevent a similar Holocaust from happening again.

The battle against racism, discrimination and bullying in schools is being fought as we speak, but there is never enough that we can do to prevent it from happening. Despite the schools’ Codes of Conduct that specify intolerance for such attitudes and behaviours, they are still going on—around the school, just off school property. The instigators of criminal incidents may not know that school administrators can do something about situations that happen off school grounds; these administrators are committed to getting the police involved whenever there have been rumours of a violent incident. The police know that bullying often happens after dark, in the woods, or when the video cameras are out of range. But, when assisted by the school and the community at large, the police can investigate any particular incident and charges can be laid against the perpetrators. Police action against “perps” can have serious ramifications for them when they are students in a high school; these students can be suspended or expelled from the particular school in which they are registered. This is done to protect the innocent staff and students from future harm.

Today, my purpose in life is to replace hate with love. I tell the students that I speak to that if they are really true Canadians, don’t tell me about it, show me the true Canadian values in your heart. There should be no room for bullying, only love.

At one time, I never thought I would have the courage to do what I’m doing now. It was through my youngest granddaughter, Brenna, that I got the opportunity to speak to her Grade 8 class about this very thing. Her teacher had invited me to come to her school and talk about my experiences at the death camp. It was the first time I’d ever spoken about it, and it was far more difficult than I’d imagined. Thinking about it is different from speaking about it. Hearing my own words was very painful. That was the starting point, and I wanted to keep going in this direction.

Over several years I’ve given more than 26,000 presentations to a wide-ranging audience of school children, educators, parents, armed forces personnel, police, churches and even the United Nations. If I drove 450 miles one way (to make a presentation), and I was lucky enough to affect one person, then it was worth the trip. I’d like to think of it as planting a positive seed (of change).

In addition to encouraging others to stand up to intolerance, I believe forgiveness is an attitude that has the power to change lives. If I didn’t forgive the Nazis, I would not be able to heal. I couldn’t change the past, so I had to learn to live with it. I had to release them from my soul. What they did has affected the second generation of our lives as well, but people also have to realize that ‘Every German was not a Nazi, and every Nazi was not a German’. Another thing: there are good and bad people everywhere. We can all do something to make a difference, no matter how small. Peace in the schools and in the community is really up to each one of us. My healing process began with the realization that I survived for a reason, and this is my true calling.

My advice to other immigrants? I would say you can’t have a future if you don’t deal with the past. Whether you’re a victim or know someone who is, speak up. Canada presents a wonderful opportunity to live a good life if you’re not afraid to work. Adapt to the Canadian way of life as soon as you can, and your immigration here will be easier.

         And to all Canadians I say remember—your ancestors were accepted into Canada, and you must pass on that acceptance. We have to treat each other as a people, and all it takes is a change in attitude.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA

The First Wife -- by Anne Shier

As I sat in the courtroom beside my lawyer, I had this sudden sinking feeling that my entire future was resting on what would happen in the next few minutes. My lawyer had prepared me well though, all the while telling me that my testimony regarding my ex-husband-to-be was a good thing, maybe the only way I could finally get my freedom. I waited on tenterhooks for the judge to call my name and bid me to the witness stand. After what seemed like an eternity, he called upon me to testify in my divorce hearing.

        Quietly and with as much dignity as I could muster, I walked to the witness stand. The bailiff swore me in and then I sat. This was the moment I was dreading, yet I knew that if I changed my mind now, I would never get the divorce I wanted. The fact that my husband needed it was immaterial. He was more interested in looking good to his girlfriend than he was in how I would appear to my family and friends after my testimony.

It had all begun one day last January when my soon-to-be-ex-husband phoned me and asked if we could meet to talk over some issues. I asked him, “What issues, Paul? We have been separated for more than a year and you want to talk to me now? How come you could never seem to find the time to do that when we lived together?”

 “Jan, I was so busy running my auto shop business that I was just too tired to contemplate a heavy conversation at the end of my workday. You know how it is: you work full time too, so why are you so surprised that I finally managed to find the time to talk to you about something very important to me?”

 “Oh, well, you should have said it was important! I’ll just go ahead and drop everything I have going on right now so that you can finally vent your frustrations on me, okay?” I shot back sarcastically at him.

 “All right, I guess I had that coming. I’m sorry for making it uncomfortable for you to make time for me. I haven’t really been part of your life for some time now. But believe me when I say this is important; I am not kidding. We need to talk.”

  We decided to meet for lunch at a public place of my choosing so that we could hash out our “issues.” I thought it must have something to do with our pending divorce. My lawyer had advised me not to talk to him unless I knew what he was going to say beforehand, but by this time I was curious, in a detached sort of way. All I knew for sure was that I was never going back to him. After this divorce was final, I would quite happily be forever known as his first wife. Somehow I never thought I’d feel that way after my divorce. Wasn’t divorce supposed to be nasty and undignified? In my mind, however, it was not, and that was simply because remaining married to someone who’d fallen out of love with me was untenable.

  At the Tim Horton’s coffee shop where we’d agree to meet, I was about to find out what he needed from me. Apparently, during his early college days in his radio and television arts program, he had wanted to train and work as a film director and had racked up a number of credits at night school over the past five years or so. I thought he had a lot of talent as a director. He’d made some short films over time that had aired on local television and had gotten rave reviews. Now he wanted to take his films down to the United States and market himself as a director in New York City, having finally completed his schooling, but he needed my help. For the life of me, I could not imagine why he would possibly need my help to start a new career in radio and television arts, but apparently he did.

 “Jan,” he said, “I need your consent to change my name to a Canadianized version of Smirnoff, which is way too Russian-sounding. If I want to make my name in the film industry in Canada or the United States, I need to change my last name to Smithson, but I can’t do that without your consent.”

  "Paul, I hate to burst your bubble, but we are getting a divorce. Once the divorce becomes final, you can do whatever your little heart desires. Change your full name to Tim Horton if you want—I don’t care.”

   “I know what you’re saying, but I need to get a divorce right now. I have some big opportunities coming down the pipes to both produce and direct some short films in the States and I don’t want to give the credit to someone named Paul Smirnoff. People are going to think I’m making foreign films, which is far from true. Not only that, I’ve met a special woman whose name is Marina. She has become very important to me and I want her to have the same last name as me, after my last name’s been changed. You see, I want to marry her after our divorce is finalized.” He looked at me with bated breath, waiting for my answer.

   “Okay, assuming I go along with you on this, what do I get out of it?”

   “You get an uncontested divorce from me; you get to keep all the nice furniture we’ve accumulated together over the years, as well as a nice settlement when I decide to sell my auto shop business. Marina doesn’t want me to be an auto shop owner anymore after we’re married.”

  “How do you expect me to get a divorce from you? You’re the one who started this process, suing me for divorce. Too bad you don’t have any grounds though. How do you realistically expect to get a divorce from me without any real evidence of infidelity or of mental or physical cruelty? You know that I was never a bad wife. We just grew apart. I don’t have anything in common with you anymore. You’ve gone one way and I’ve gone another. So how shall we resolve this ‘issue’? Shouldn’t we just go for a no-fault divorce? I have no problem with that approach. After all, we’ve been legally separated for more than a year now. I don’t think we’re going to get back together again.”

   “My idea,” he replied, “is for you to testify that you slept with your ex-boyfriend (whom you’d run into accidentally again) during a friend’s party in her bedroom. In a moment of deep guilt, you decided later to admit to me that you slept with someone else and were now regretting having done so. Later, I decide to use this information to get a much-desired divorce from you on grounds of infidelity.”

     “Are you absolutely out of your mind? Why should I publicly admit to infidelity that you can’t prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, just so you can get married to your new girlfriend? Is she a Roman Catholic? Maybe that’s really why you’re making this outrageous suggestion! Is it true that you can’t get married in a Roman Catholic church unless you divorce me, not the other way around? Am I right? In fact, don’t Roman Catholic priests frown on marrying any couple when one of the parties has been previously divorced?” I looked at him with a question in my eyes, deeply suspicious of his motives for meeting with me and asking me for such a favour. It was incredible to me that he would even contemplate such a thing.

     What do I do now? I thought. I want a divorce from him and he knows it. He also wants a divorce from me and I know it. The trouble is, he wants me to look like I was the sole cause of the breakdown, but I wasn’t and he knows that too.

     When I finally got up to take my oath and sit down in the witness stand, I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say to the judge. I only knew that if my husband got what he wanted at my expense, he would win and I would look like some kind of schmuck to anyone who meant anything to me. However, I was now sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth and I wanted to hold myself to that standard.

    “So, young lady,” the judge asked me, “did you do anything to violate your marital vows to your husband? If so, what was it? Remember, you must tell me the truth here and now.”

    “Yes, Your Honour,” I replied. “I made love to someone who was not legally my partner, and he consented to this intimate act, thinking I was going to tell the court someday about having slept with another man in order to get my divorce.”

    “Who was it that you made love to?” the judge asked me.

    “I had a brief fling with my ex-boyfriend, which my husband, Paul, found out about, and now he wants me to tell you about it so that he can divorce me and get married to another woman. What he doesn’t want me to tell you is that this ex-boyfriend of mine is actually Paul himself, from whom I have been legally separated for at least one year. I’m telling you this now because even though I do want a divorce from Paul, I don’t want him to get his divorce from me at the expense of my reputation in the community. I had suggested a no-fault divorce to him as an alternative, but he doesn’t see the issue in the same way I do. He wants me to take the fall and bear the full responsibility for the breakdown of our marriage. This doesn’t seem fair to me at all. However, if you need me to do so, I may be able to testify to something that you can accept legally. What do you want me to do now?”

   “Well, young lady,” the judge said after pondering the matter for a moment or two, “your husband should not be able to obtain a divorce from you without evidence of your illicit behaviour. Clearly he doesn’t have that evidence. That means that if you still want a divorce from him, you can be granted one today, but it will not be based on your deemed infidelity. It will be granted because you want it and without your being judged at fault. Do you want a no-fault divorce from your husband, Paul?”

   “Yes, Your Honour! I do! Thank you so much for listening to my side of this story and choosing to believe me.”

  “In that case, Janice Smirnoff, you are now granted a no-fault divorce from your husband, Paul Smirnoff. Court is now adjourned.”

  When I went home later that day, I called some of my closest friends and asked them to come over to celebrate my new-found freedom. I was going to have to start all over again from scratch, and that was just fine with me. I was now the first wife, and that was exactly the way I wanted it to be.

copyright - Anne Shier, 2013, all rights reserved, published by Authorhouse, Bloomington, Indiana, USA