All of my stories are true. And yes, they are better than fiction.
Remember the “eat your own Christmas present” ass? Well, there were two other strikes before he got to the “And you are out!” boot. Strike two occurred a few weeks before strike three.
Although he lived in an older neighborhood that was experiencing more and crime, such as burglaries, the inside of his home was well kept. Now this early 30s never-been-married no kids professional was fairly anal retentive. Because his home was just for his self-contained “bachelor” lifestyle, he kept his house very neat and organized. He actually ate his meals over the kitchen counter so that he wouldn’t have to wash any dishes. No kidding, honest to God. I think another reason that he lived in that house was because he was frugal (AKA a cheap). He justified it because he said it was a starter home investment that was almost paid off.
One evening I was at his house fairly late. When all of a sudden we heard a series of gunshots. We looked at each other. Then he left the room. He left me alone in the back room. Although I had NEVER heard gunshots in person before, I unconsciously started counting the number of shots. I guess in the back of my mind I thought that if cops asked how many shots I heard I could report on it. Or maybe I wanted to know how many shots might be left in case the shooter got closer. Like an idiot, when the shots finished I went to the front of the house. That was the direction where I had heard the shots. I called out to the “ass”. He did not answer. Very frightened, I called out several more times. Still he did not answer. Had he been shot? After a few minutes he responded and walked into the living room where I was.
I asked him where he had been, he said he went OUTSIDE to check “things” out. He left me ALONE in that house. What if the shooter was looking for an open door to find refuge in some home? And decided to take a lone woman hostage. When I told him how upset I was, particularly that I had experienced this at all AND that he had left me alone, he minimized the incident, his behavior, his careless decision, and raised his voice saying that I was alright. Later I found out that it was a drive by shooting catty corner across the street. The people moved out. Did I go back? Not for a couple of weeks. And only because I could park in his garage on the back side of the home.
Although we had been dating for about five months at that point, needless to say, the mantra, “I deserve better,” was getting stronger every day. His insensitive and uncaring response to how I felt about this incident was strike two.
Research for thought: “The Relationship You Are Searching For” (Nov 2009)