I should not have been surprised at how sick I was; I had tonsillitis.  The doctors at the Army Hospital in Oakland decided I should get my tonsils taken out. When you are the single parent of a two year old, you wonder how you will handle it. For a child to get their tonsils out is one thing.  For an adult, even with a few days eating ice cream, things will not be fine. In fact, the longer you wait after childhood, the harder it is to heal and the more time it takes.

What to do? Who could help out?  Mother came to the rescue again, admittedly in a very odd way. She happened to have a friend from the mainland going to Hawaii; she offered to pick up Mike and take him with her.  In truth It seemed a prayer answered. Mom offered to keep him for as long as I needed for her to. I guessed two weeks was a reasonable time for both of us.

I scheduled my surgery (coordinating it with my son’s departure) and looked forward to some time off work not having to be a mother, as well as taking care of everything else. I would let my mother know when she should bring him back—as soon as I recovered.

Having my tonsils out was an outpatient procedure. It was weird. I went to the hospital where they blindfolded me before sitting me in an adjustable chair and sprayed my throat with a numbing agent (cocaine) and snipped them out. I could see the tools (from the space my nose made in the mask) go into my mouth, but I felt no pain. The doctor told me I would have a sore throat for a week or so. That was an understatement.

I turned twenty-one the following day.  Already stocked up on ice cream I found it was difficult to swallow cold food. In fact it hurt more. I was bored yet also not sick enough to stay in bed. Instead, I went out to celebrate my birthday by having a drink in a local bar I passed often on the way to work.

The alcohol burned for a moment on its way down, but numbed my throat.   It also made me realize how much I’d been missing by not having any kind of social life. I overheard people talking about various bands playing at clubs in Jack London Square.  Later in the afternoon, when I was feeling no pain either in my throat or my heart, I stumbled home. It felt good to be numb. 

The same night, once I had napped (sobered up some) I got dressed and drove to Oakland, to Jack London Square to continue my celebration. I saw the clubs I heard about earlier and opted to go to the one named “The Casuals”.

It was an incredible place, dark with flashing strobe lights and throngs of young people crowding the dance floor, all of them pulsating to the loud beat of whatever songs the house band played. I sat at the bar by myself since I did not know a soul, but the bartender was attentive. Soon it was close to two in the morning and the club’s last call. I was feeling so alive; I didn’t want it all to end. There really was not any reason I couldn’t go again the next night or even the next.

The rest of the week I was totally excited and preoccupied with music and what to wear to the club each night. As the week progressed I began to sample the other clubs, where I first saw the groups; Tower of Power, Chicago, Santana and the Righteous Brothers. I was definitely intoxicated by the atmosphere, a world previously oblivious to me.

After a week I went back to work energized by the vitality I absorbed while being around all those people of my own age; people unencumbered by the responsibilities I lived with. Or so I believed anyway.

All too soon the second week’s “vacation” from my normal life had also passed. I spoke to mother every few days, she was enjoying having her first grandson around. “Mom, would you mind keeping him another week?  I still don’t feel good.” I explained. I cannot be sure if it was all about my throat or just the product of a taste of some independence, likely some of both. She said, “We’d love to.” I was relieved.  This meant another week of not worrying about being the responsible person I normally had to be.

I suppose it was inevitable I would become addicted to the newly found freedoms I was experiencing. The drinking was nightly, and heavy. I would make it to work okay the next morning and when the day was finished I would go home and sleep until eight, get up, shower, get dressed and head back out to the clubs. The weekends were my favorite, knowing I could sleep late in mornings.

Obviously, by now I no longer made time to write my husband nightly. The novelty as well as the need had worn off.  I was just too busy catching up with “life”. I was quite literally dancing my heart and its great pain out. I just didn’t give a damn about my marriage anymore. Lubricated by alcohol I let my guard down enough to let a man kiss and grope me. I had yet to climbed into bed with anyone—but secretly knew I wanted to. I was still clinging to an ever-thinning thread of hope our love was not entirely dead, though I was on several levels, killing any vestiges of love remaining.

Mother brought Mike home to me about ten days later. She did not stay, but left to Chicago for a visit,  going on to visit with her sister. I was glad not to have to talk with her about-anything.  I was ashamed, yet not ready to share my inner pain with her.

On the same day she left I received word my husband’s ship was going to be coming back, maybe as soon as next week. The party really was going to be over. I tried coming to grips with it using my old techniques. I tried to imagine how it would be, how I would feel seeing him now. The old techniques were not working. I slept fitfully, even though my son was in his bed, happy to be home. I got up and unscrewed the cap on the big bottle of cheap red wine and drank a few glasses so I could sleep.

What I had not imagined when I finally dozed off was that a stranger would walk through my front door the very next morning. That stranger was my husband, Ed.

“Where is da’ rice cooker?”  I had not made rice once since he left.  What a way to greet the woman who you left behind.  I hate rice.  Even nursing a hang over I remembered it was in the underneath cabinet, tucked among the drainpipes and Ajax.  No “Hi, gimme a kiss beautiful.”  Nothing on his mind but the damn rice cooker.  He found it and opened the lid. “Goddam it!”  He slammed the lid back down.  It seems I left the last bits of rice in there, from a lifetime ago when I fixed him his last meal before he left us. It had turned black and moldy and had eaten through his precious cooker like some mad scientist’s experiment. I  committed the worse sin possible it seemed. It was a metaphor of what was happening in our marriage, being eaten from the inside out by insecurities.

We argued the whole morning.  It was like the balloon of happiness suddenly untied and the stale air it contained came streaming out, slowly emptying out in a stream of ugly words.  When we had deflated our vocabulary of hatred I hoarsely barked out, “Go back and live on your ship.”

He refused.  Instead saying, “You go if you want.”  Oh, I wanted. I called up a partying girlfriend, Patty, packed a few things quickly and left Mike at home to reacquaint with his dad. I would stay with her until I could find a place for me and Mike to live, or until the situation had calmed down. 

With no idea of how the repercussions of this exit could haunt me for the rest of my life I drove off in the chilly morning air, still reeling.

Staying with Patty was the easy part. It was obvious we both needed cooler heads. Time to think was needed, just a few days.

What was not so easy was going back home. Ed had sought legal council immediately. I was served with a restraining order, as well as papers notifying me he had filed for divorce along with asking for full custody; on the grounds of abandonment.

How dare he? I was no longer allowed to be alone with my son? This was infuriating like nothing else in my life. I realized this was going to be a nasty battle. I would have to find an attorney. In no way had I abandoned my son, ever.   I never mentioned anything about a divorce to Ed. All I wanted was a cooling down period, a temporary separation. For the three days I stayed with Patty I discovered Ed would not even answer the phone. But for him to  file for a divorce and custody? I quickly understood he was completely serious about not letting me spend anytime with Mike unless another adult was in the room, preferably him.

I had to hire an attorney pronto.   I met with him explaining to him I had not walked away from my marriage and my child. In fact it was Ed who asked that I leave in the heat of the argument.  I complied, doing so because at the time it made sense to me. He needed to spend quality time with his son, and we both needed to cool down.

He was very reassuring, “Mothers always get custody of the children.” In effect he was patting me on the hand saying, “Don’t worry your little mind about such things little lady, he’ll never win.”

All visits with Mike had to be supervised. It was so foreign for to us not to be together, alone.  Most of his young life we spent alone together. These were very emotionally brutal visits for both of us.

Ed would bring Mike over sitting in his car just waiting for the hour visit to be over. Mike would sit on my lap facing me, hugging me so tightly. How do you explain to a child of nearly three why you can’t come home to be with him?

I simply told him, “One day very soon you will come to live with mommy and we will live happily ever after.” His little face looked up at me questioningly, and he said, as only a child would, “And then will we be married?” I fought back the tears and hugged him tightly.

I walked him out to his waiting father.  Mike was clinging to me, his tiny arms and legs wrapped around me tightly. He was screaming, “I don’t wanna go mommy...don’t make me go mommy.” I was crying too, the pain inescapable. Ed would pry him from my arms and put him in the car, get in and leave me standing there alone. (This scene would appear as a recurring nightmare for decades to come.)

This scene was painfully repeated over and over again for the next few weeks.  April 18^th was Mike’s third birthday. Ed told me he was having Mike’s third birthday party at the apartment and I was “invited”.

During the months the restraining order was in place, I had changed jobs. I was now working in an electrical supply business as their receptionist. It paid better than the car dealership and was closer to where Patty and I lived. I was fortunate Patty had a house, and let me rent a bedroom including full use of the house. Recently divorced, she was happy for the help in rent.

Because I had left him our car, I had to buy one. One of the men I met at the club owned body shops; through him I was able to buy a car, a ridiculous looking but cheap, sort of a metallic bronze banged up 1965 Plymouth Fury convertible, with a coat hanger antennae but a working radio.  For the grand sum of $90 I had wheels! I drove out of the garage into the clear cool Oakland afternoon, top down, wind caressing my face. I flipped on the radio, smiled and sang along with the radio, “Like a bridge over troubled waters...”

So it was on the afternoon of Mike’s party I pulled up in front of my old apartment building, feeling sad to be just a guest and not baking his special cake.  Ed told me not to bother, he had it covered.  I parked and tried to control my emotions. I couldn’t go to the door holding a present crying my eyes out in front of whoever he invited.

As I approached the door of our apartment, the very same one I watched the moonwalk from.  I heard men’s voices coming from the apartment. I swallowed, wiped my eyes and knocked. Laughter. I knocked again. Some guy answered the door with a beer in his hand. “Yeah?”

“I’m Mike’s mother.”

“Oh...yeah. Hey Ed.” He opened the door. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

About five or six young guys, obviously his buddies were drinking beers with Ed, watching tv. Not one woman...and worse, no children were in sight. “Ed, where’s Mike?” I was confused. “Where’s the party?”

“Uh, dis is the party.” He obviously had no concept of what a party for a three year old should be. I walked by the men blocking the tv in order to get to Mike’s bedroom and opened his door. He was sitting on the floor playing with a well used  wooden train... alone. My heart simply broke though I had no idea there was any left to break at this point.

“Mommy!” He ran into my now opened arms. The feeling of your child’s arms around your neck is like no other. We held onto each other for a few minutes, oblivious to the noise in the adjacent room.

“Happy Birthday!” I handed him the one brightly wrapped gift I brought. He was giggling as he tore it open to reveal the shiny red fire-truck.

“Sheila...” I heard Ed call out. With Mike’s tiny hand clasped inside of my own, we walked together into the living room.

Ed disgusted me, this was a party for his friends, not an appropriate party for Mike. “Hey, can I take Mike outside to play with his truck?”

“Uhhh, you aren’t supposed to be alone together.” 

“It’s his birthday, he wants to go out and play with the truck I gave him, come on...” I begged. “We’ll just be downstairs where he can play with it in the dirt.”

He reluctantly relented and we walked out of the door. We calmly went down the stairs, and with a purpose-driven walk I went to my car with him in tow. I opened the passenger door and lifted him inside placing his truck next to him.  I closed the door and went around to the driver’s side got in and closed the door. I started the car and drove off. I had no idea where we were going, but I had to go. I just kidnapped my own son.

“Okay now what...think...where can I go that Ed won’t find us...not to Patty’s. Oh God, what am I going to do?” 

I drove around for a couple of hours, finally deciding I could not be found if I went to visit Stan, one of the owners of The Casuals, I knew he lived alone on a houseboat in the marina.  Besides I needed to talk this out with someone who could give me some objective advice. I needed clarity as well as some time to think.

Some eight hours later I pulled back up in front of my old apartment building under the cover of night.  Stan was right, I had to take him back. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and no real viable plan as a kidnapper on the run. I prayed Ed had not called the police. Inside of my gut I understood he would never let Mike and I out of his sight again. I made a huge, impulsive mistake and I had to face the music.

Fortunately, he had not called the police, he was visibly angry but I suspect he actually did understand my frustration with our situation. Of course we had a court date soon, and this would look a whole lot better for him than me.

On the appointed day for court I met my attorney in the hallway, prior to going inside of the courtroom to face the judge. “There are some things we need to go over.”   He said.

He pointed to the bench just outside the courtroom where I sat down. I was nervous I was nauseous but what he told said was a blow to the stomach, “I just found out Ed has five men lined up to testify they had sex with you while he was at sea.”

“What?” The room began spinning.  I was stunned silent for a moment before I could say, “I never had sex with anyone. Who are these men?”

“From what I gather they are Navy guys, probably his buddies he knows are willing to go to the mat for him in there.”

“B-b-but....” He raised his hand to interrupt me.  “Look Sheila, you need to get up on the stand and deny it then. I still think you will win.“

My brain was reeling. Win?   How could anyone win in this situation?  I knew in my heart Ed truly wanted custody of his son, but so much so he would have people lie about me? This was mind-boggling.   So many thoughts were running through my brain; could I go in there and stand being humiliated with these accusations? Was it worth it?  I began to doubt myself, whether I wanted Mike just to spite Ed, or did I have my son’s best interest at heart by taking him away from his father?  Was it worth it having to work two jobs to support both of us, while having him in childcare while I did? Was I in fact such a poor mother? Sure, I went out, but never until I knew he was asleep and with a babysitter I would call several times to check on him.  I had so many things to consider and so little time to do it.

“What if I give Ed custody? What if I believe it is in my son’s best interest to stay with his father?” I asked.

The courtroom was starting to fill up.  I saw former friends filing in, no doubt to testify against my fitness as a mother.  I was starting to come to the full realization; perhaps he would be better off with his father. Even in anger and shock I knew in my heart Ed must love his son very much to go to these length to get custody.  Right or wrong he felt desperate also.  Just knowing he was an only child and had very strong ties to his son, especially now I had been pretty much out of the picture for some time.

People were willing to lie for him in order to get custody of his son. That was powerful and humiliating at the same time.

“Are you thinking this?”  The attorney asked.  His eyes darted to the filling  courtroom. “You would sign over custody?”

Quietly I answered.  “Yes, with some conditions.”

“Like?” He pulled out a legal pad and began to write.

“If he moves out of the state he must pay for a round trip airline ticket for me to visit, or to get Mike to me for a visit, twice a year. I want visitation with absolutely no restrictions on being alone with him. I want him every other Christmas and Easter.....”  Tears streamed down my cheeks.

When I had finished, he stood up and went over to Ed’s attorney to confer. Together they walked into the courtroom and approached the bailiff with a request to be heard privately by the judge. They told the judge we had come to a custody arrangement on our own, acceptable to both parties. The divorce was granted,  the custody agreement was approved.

I walked out of court that day, stunned, but feeling like I had just done the best thing I could for my son, yet unsure how it was going to affect my life here on out. I think it is fair to say I made that decision under extreme duress, like so many more I would make, continuing to alter the course of my life.

I quit my job soon after that day in court, no longer able to get to work on time. I was going out every night drinking, trying to numb the pain of my losses. Sure I had visitation, but a piece of me died on that day outside the courtroom.

 To be continued...