Mirror, Mirror

December 2012:

A few weeks ago my friend Dalia visited me for a few days. We have been friends since our first semester at Bible college in Dallas, TX, Fall 1998. I was about to be 19, she was 23. In the fourteen years since we have followed each others lives and visited each other every few years despite not living in the same place at the same time since the three semesters we spent in Dallas together. We have adventured in Dallas, NYC (2000 & 2012), Charlotte, Boston, Montreal, Toronto, London, RAF Lakenheath, San Francisco, Lancaster, Abilene. This visit was nice since there were no partners, mutual friends or family members to negotiate around.

Having not seen each other in over three years, we spent the three days we had together talking. She had recently experienced a painful breakup. Intending to comfort her, I mentioned a detail from the last months of my marriage which ended almost five years ago. I did not realize how much she had not known and after telling her about these nearly forgotten events, I was left upset and restless. Pacing and sleepless and not knowing why.

September 2013:

My ex-husband was powerfully built. We were stationed together at RAF Lakenheath, England. We became friends around 9/11 and were dating withing a few months. He seemed like a gentle giant. Like myself, he made friends easily, loved to make people laugh, loved to dance. He was great with money and would plan fun vacations. We loved each other and I used to want us to die at 100 on the same day.

He was also incredibly passive-aggressive and bullied me. When we were alone he would ignore me, playing HOURS of video games. I was often the butt of his jokes when we were out with friends and he would bait me, setting me up to behave badly. He was a habitual liar and I could not trust him to be entirely truthful about benign subjects, let alone important ones.

Not understanding why the man I loved acted like a brick wall when I wanted a partnership, I would lose my temper. I threw tantrums and broke appliances and did other things I am not proud of. I didn't like this about myself and started going to therapy when he was in South Korea. In that year apart from my husband I learned to control my reactions...

October 2013:

In February 2008 Eric visited me in Lancaster, PA for two or three weeks after his assignment to South Korea was completed. He was en route to his new base in England. I was supposed to ship our belongings to England at the end of February and join him in England in May after I finished my sophomore year at Millersville University. I had been accepted as an exchange student at Metropolitan University in London and intended to do my junior year in England, commuting from our house near Eric's base while still working on bachelor's degree. We had been living apart for thirteen months due to his assignment in South Korea. I had gotten out of the military at the beginning of that timeframe and

September 2014:

Eric did not inform me of his flight information ahead of time. He called me at 3 am to tell me that he would be arriving the next day, right before he boarded his direct flight from Seoul, Korea to Baltimore. I had not awakened when he called so he called my parents and woke them up, relaying the flight information. Pretty typical behavior on his part. I had two classes including a quiz and no way to contact him to sit tight for a few hours. I booked a hotel at the airport and called him between classes to let him know the plan. He said that plan did not work and he would catch a ride.
Not wanting my husband to take a bus or some other bullshit after such a long flight, I think I skipped the second class and drove to Baltimore to pick him up, which was a strange start to a visit from my husband I had not seen in seven months. Had not lived with in a year. We were 28 years old.

September 2015:

Since I was a full time student a month into the semester, I was not able to give all of my time to Eric during the three weeks of his visit. I suggested things he could do around Lancaster. A few days into his visit I requested that he bring empty boxes up from the basement so that I could pack our belongings in preparation for the move to England. My right foot had a stress fracture, was in an air cast and I was trying to avoid using stairs whenever possible. I explained that the six boxes were to the left of the stairs.

January 2016:

When I returned from class that day, I shuffled down the hallway with my books. Eric was surfing the internet in the living room. I asked if he had brought up the boxes. Without turning, he replied that he looked and they had not been there. I took off the brace and hopped down the basement stairs. Ten feet to the left of the stairs, in the center of a large empty space where the boxes.
Pretty annoyed but not interested in an arguement about it, I called his name from the bottom of the stairs:
Eeericcc
He probably didn't hear me.
Aeeeyrrricccckkk
A little louder. He could have just told me he didn't look for the boxes.
Eric!
More insistent. I just wanted to hand the boxes up the stairs to him so I did not have to make more than one trip.
Eric!
pause
Eric!
He appeared at the top of the stairs: What?
Can I hand these boxes up to you?
pause
No, he said. Then my husband shut out the basement light. He shut the basement door and deadbolted it, locking me in the dark basement.

June 2016:

I climbed to the top of the stairs, turned the light back on and sat on the top step. Instinctively I knew to remain calm. If I shouted or pounded on the door I knew my time locked in the basement of my apartment would be prolonged. A glance around confirmed that I would not be able to climb through a window or get out another way.

In my memory the quiet wait feels longer than the five or ten minutes it was.

My cheek pressed on the door, I called out, "You are going to have to let me out. The sooner you let me out, the better it will be."

I waited. A few more minutes. Perhaps a few more pleas, on the tightrope of panic and peaceful persuation. Eric. Eric. Eric. Let me out of the basement.

The door suddenly unlocked and swung open. I stood up and entered the apartment. "Why did you turn out the light and lock me in the basement," I asked my husband. He ignored my question and gave me a hug. Suggested I get off my injured foot. Asked if I was hungry.

I said that I did not want to talk about anything but why he locked me in the basement. He suggested we talk in the bedroom, took my hand and led me to my bedroom.

We sat beside each other on the bed. I faced him and repeated the question.

July 2016:

Eric put his arms around me, an embrace I did not want.
I said that I did not want to hug, I wanted to talk.
I tried to squirm away and his grip tightened, keeping me on the bed.
I tried to stand or twist out of his arms and he held on,
repeating that this was a hug.
He had missed me.

I was getting weaker and screamed.
First at him in fury at being forcefully restrained.
Then in fear when I didn't know what was going to happen next.

August 9 2018:

His arms locked around my upper body, his mouth near my right ear, Eric said multiple times in between my shouts, pleas and screams "When you calm down I'll let you go." In my efforts to break free i was now laying on the bed