Previously, from Episode 30:

Day 65

A huge storm the day before had washed rocks down the steep mountain, rocks that now filled the already narrow shoulder to my right.

My headlights swept around a curve to reveal that the road was completely gone in front of me, washed out, leaving in its place a gaping hole and a sixty foot drop down the sheer side of a cliff.

“You are going to kill us, mommie!” Diego shouted at me. “Let me drive”

“FINE!” I caved in, wanting to trust him.

Episode 31 – Dangerous Men

I pulled over at the next turnout and we switched seats. He adjusted the mirrors and the seat, and we buckled up as he slowly pulled out. Diego maintained a death grip on the wheel, hands at two and ten o’clock , as we proceeded very slowly and in complete silence. He was driving well under the speed limit, and it seemed like he was swerving slightly. But I was so tired, I considered that maybe I was just imagining things. A two ton truck behind us started to tailgate us, flashing his lights, but Diego continued to drive exquisitely slowly. The truck honked, prompting from Diego, “Why they gonna be in such a hurry to die? I got my baby in the car. I don’t have hurry!”

I wanted to mention that sometimes it can be more dangerous to drive too slowly, and that we were hardly moving, but I kept my mouth shut. The truck found a break in the curves and passed us on a straightaway. It was going on 1:00 am and I hadn’t really slept at all the night before. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, ignoring his bad driving, convincing myself that everything would be fine.

Another truck, this one a semi-truck towing a huge load, became annoyed with our slow progress along the treacherous road and began to tailgate. The rumble from the diesel engine woke me when the truck down shifted and punched the gas. The driver was about to pass us, going uphill, around a curve. I sat up in my seat just in time to spot a pile of dirt and rock spilling into our lane from where it entirely covered the shoulder. The truck was neck and neck with us on a road so narrow that two compact cars would have a hard time driving side by side. As the truck passed, Diego swerved to avoid the rocks, edging just slightly to the left.

The awful sound of smashing metal still rings in my ears. The front driver’s side quarter panel of my Honda SUV crumpled like playdough, no match for the semi truck. The back of my Honda fishtailed to the left. I had a clear view of the front end of my beloved truck heading straight for the mountain on the right. Diego gripped the wheel and corrected. I screamed as the passenger side mirror smashed into the mountain, sparing the rest of the truck by just inches. The semi truck continued on its merry way.

We pulled over as soon as we were able and switched seats. Diego was happy to give over the wheel, but wasn’t about to surrender control. He began a tirade about how the driver had tried to kill us, had tried to kill ME, the person he loved. Diego was furious with the driver for swerving into our lane, endangering me. I mentioned that Diego himself had kinda sorta maybe swerved a little bit too, but Diego reminded me that I had been sleeping and hadn’t seen it, so how would I know. I agreed and shut up. He insisted we find a 24 hour liquor store so he could get a shot of mezcal to calm his nerves. There was way too much Al-Anon going on in my head in that moment for me to agree to that request. So, just as Diego liked to do, I simply did not respond, even after the fourth demand.

Diego stayed with me for the next several days. Although I refused to buy him alcohol, he was more or less drunk the entire time. But he never had money when it came to meal time. I felt so badly when he would tell me he was hungry…what was I supposed to do, let him starve? Principles from Al-Anon resounded in my mind as loudly as the crunching metal of my truck. Each time I got in my car, I had to forcefully yank the door open because the collision jammed it. It opened with the worst nails-on-a-chalkboard sound you’ve ever heard, but all I could hear was the Al-Anon detachment flyer: Our role is not to prevent a crisis if it is in the natural course of events. What I didn’t know is just how rapidly the crisis would present itself.

New Bad Boy, Same Bad Story

Day 79

A few days later, Diego was to give an afternoon surf lesson, and announced that he was going to treat me to dinner with his earnings. Evening approached and I made my preparations. I shaved my legs, found a dress tucked into the bottom of a backpack somewhere, and even dug around in my toiletry bag for lip gloss and eyeliner. My face hadn’t seen makeup in a month. I took my time getting ready, waiting for him to come home. It got dark. The lesson would definitely been over by then, so I texted him. No response. I called him. No answer. I was getting hungry, so I made a snack. An hour later, I made another snack. After a further hour of waiting, I put on my PJ’s and started a movie on my laptop. So much for date night. I feel asleep alone.

T Minus 16 Months

It had been six weeks since Kurt had relapsed for the first time in almost seven years. Maybe his relapse was just a slip and would soon be a thing of the past. Two weeks before his relapse, when Kurt said I was too fat for him to be sexualy attacted to me, I had asserted that if he didn’t start treating me with respect, I would leave. Then, when he relapsed, I reluctantly gave him thirty more days to prove it was just a slip. If it was more than a slip, I would leave, just as he had told me to do when we were dating:

“If I ever relapse, promise me you will leave me. It won’t be quick and it won’t be easy.”

Six weeks after the relapse, I was still with him. He appeared to be clean, but he also hadn’t changed. He was aggressive, blaming me for not appreciating him when he financially supported me, giving me the opportunity to pursue my dreams. He wasn’t interested in sex, or working more than half a day, or conversation (unless it was to pass judgment on his friends, claiming his program of recovery was much better than theirs). He wasn’t interested in getting off the couch, for that matter. I would later find out that he had been lying to me about his sobriety for those six weeks. But I was still new at living with an active addict, so I didn’t catch it.

I was surprised when I came home to a dark house one evening, after a late night at the yoga studio. I felt a little relief that I didn’t have to walk on eggshells while I prepared my dinner. And a little more relief that I wouldn’t have to ignore the TV while I ate, while Kurt ignored me and watched his shows. After I had showered, eaten and cleaned up dinner, I was ready for bed but he still wasn’t home. I texted him a message.

Hey, did you go to a meeting or something?

No response. My first thoughts shot up from the worst place, but I reined them in. I grabbed a bowl of ice cream, since he wasn’t there to judge me for eating it when he already thought I was a fatty. For a few moments I drowned my anxiety in sweet cold cream. After another hour, I decided to call. Straight to voicemail.

I grabbed the laptop and typed in “Find My iPhone”. Heart pounding, I entered Kurt’s iTunes password–which I had memorized. The system was unable to locate the phone. It had been turned off or had a dead battery.

I sent one more text.

Please, if you get this, can you please just let me know you are okay? Come home whenever but please just let me know you are alive. I love you.

After forty-eight hours, he finally texted to let me know he felt miserable and had been up for two days straight.

Ditto, I texted back.

____________________

Back in my Mexican Apartment,

I had been sleeping for several hours when I awoke to pounding on the door. I flipped on the lights and opened the door to face a strange man. The man was worked up, speaking quickly, and I couldn’t understand what he was telling me. Asking him to slow down, I was able to make out the words “Diego” and “jail” and “money”. My Al-Anon programming kicked in full blast, and I absolutely refused. No way in hell was I going to bail Diego’s little ass out of jail! The man explained to me that Diego had told him where some money was stashed, and asked me to go retrieve it. I went looking and, sure enough, I found six American twenty dollar bills, enough money to buy food for 3 weeks for both of us. You little bastard! I thought as I handed over the money. The strange man left, and I went back to sleep. But my night wasn’t over.

A couple of hours later, I awoke again, this time to hear Diego fumbling with the lock. I got up to let him in. He looked like hell and smelled worse. When I demanded an explanation, he started crying. He caved and admitted to me that he was employed as a personal bodyguard to a member of the Mexican Cartel. They had been drinking together that afternoon and, from what I could understand, they had crashed their car into a liquor store while driving drunk. The police where nearby at the time of the incident and, when they tried to arrest the man whom Diego was sworn to protect, Diego did his job. He disarmed the the nearest cop, gained control of the cop’s assault rifle, and with the weapon pointed at the cop’s head, he ordered the rest of the officers to drop their weapons and get on the ground. The scuffle continued for several minutes until the national guard showed up, and Diego was forced to surrender. Both Diego and his protectee went to jail and were released hours later with a $60 USD fine. Friends in high places.

I said nothing while he told his story, my mind replaying images from Mexican movies we had watched together, about cartel girlfriends getting kidnapped and held for ransom. Part of me still wonders if Diego had made it up, trying to sound more important than he was. I wasn’t really in danger danger, was I? I remembered the look on one kind Al-Anon woman’s face, when she told me, Be sure you leave him when he’s not home. I had brushed off her warning.

As soon as I could tell he was passed out, I packed my things in the dark. By 6:00 am, my truck was loaded and I was on my way to find a new place to call home. But something was different. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t mad. I was laughing. The Voice told me that I was a total idiot, and making all the same mistakes again.

Yup, I was. This shit is too funny. Oh well. I turned up my tunes and drove into the sunrise to find a fresh start. I had no idea that I would soon be actively searching out even more dangerous situations.