Sometimes upon returning home, either late in the afternoon or early evening, I’d find Patsy, seemingly embarrassed, looking as if she had just rolled out of bed. What was it that made her drink to the point of losing control? Something had to be eating at her. I knew part of it was me. As the pattern progressed, I sometimes became so frustrated when Patsy, in all sincerity, tried to make up. I’d retreat inside myself, ignoring her for days at a time. As much as I wanted to believe the line “It won’t happen again,” the act was wearing pretty thin.
Probing only made matters worse. My only concern was to stop the cycle, as I desperately wanted to ease her pain. Having seen my parents deteriorate in front of my eyes, I couldn’t allow it to happen to someone else. No matter what had upset Patsy in the first place, though, her responses were always evasive. “Oh, it was nothing,” “I got into an argument with my mom,” “I met an old friend,” or “Someone just pissed me off. It’s no big deal, it’s all right.”
After months with no change, one evening I lit into Patsy. “Enough! It’s not all right! We live together . . . and when you come home like that and I have to take care of you, it is my business. I feel like, at times, you expect it of me. Okay, I realize I have a few beers, but I know my limit, I don’t lose control. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve broken crew rest before a flight just to take care of you? Do you realize if the air force found out I’ve lost sleep prior to a flight, they could pull my wings? I could be grounded!”
Patsy broke in with a vindictive tone, “Oh, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Control, Mr. Self-righteous—”
“No!” I cut Patsy off, fighting to explain. I was not trying to be overbearing, but after months of closing my eyes to the situation, I had to get my feelings off my chest. “Where do you get that? I am in no way perfect. You know I’m not like that. I just don’t live like this. This whole thing is a problem for me and . . . if that makes me self-righteous . . . well, so be it. I thought you knew: my parents’ drinking destroyed my family.” I was breathing hard as I raised my finger. “I cannot and will not live through that again. For some folks, like your friends, I know it’s okay and a part of their everyday lives. I don’t care. I’m not better than anybody else. It’s simply not for me.” I began to cool down. “That’s not my way of life. You’ve got to get this under control. Please?” I pleaded.
“You’re not my father!” Patsy fired back. “No one, no one tells me what to do! Not you, my mother, my family, no one! All my life everyone’s been bossing me around. You have no idea the shit I’ve been put through! I’ll do what I want, when I want. Why do you care what happens to me? You can’t even say the words. I know you don’t love me.”
I surprised myself by responding, “How can I love you when we live like this? I want to get close to you, but how can I if you don’t tell me what’s eating at you?”
My only hope was if I dug deep enough, or approached the subject in a different way, Patsy and I could find the answers to our problems. I became driven to make things right. Unfortunately, our arguments usually ended with her fleeing from the apartment. At times, late at night, I would still be wide awake when Patsy came in. She would slip into bed beside me and wrap her arms around my chest. Acting as if I were asleep, I’d shrug Patsy off, then roll over to the far side of the bed in the fetal position. I didn’t know why, but whenever she’d reach out to defuse the situation, I always seemed to push her away.
From the bits and pieces Patsy revealed to me, I could relate to her difficult childhood. I truly believed our unfortunate experiences would make us closer; our past would make us appreciate our future. I knew Patsy was in pain, and as much as I was affected, I knew she was battling herself.
For the most part it was Patsy who tried to make amends. At times when flying at twenty-nine thousand feet, I’d open my lunch to find a note she had taken hours to say on paper what she could not tell me in person. Or I’d come home to find the apartment immaculate and an elaborate dinner waiting for me. When things were smooth between us, no one was kinder or sweeter than Patsy. I doubted if she even realized her own potential. Just as Patsy was there for me, during the rough times with Harold, I owed it to her to stick it out. I believed working through the little bumps on the road was exactly what a relationship was all about. I had thought for many years of being alone that I was not good enough to be with anyone, and now I had a chance. If these were the dues I had to pay, then so be it.
When I next saw Alice, I kept replaying everything Patsy and I had been through in my head. Since I had become an air crew member, I had lost my focus. I began to live a little too much. I went out to bars, and I spent, for the first time in my life, rather than saved for my future. I began to throw away years of self-discipline. But I thought that whatever my problems, I should have known better; I had brought them upon myself.
Sadly enough, I also knew I could not leave Patsy.
“Things are fine with you and Patsy?” Alice probed.
Turning away to avoid looking at my foster mother, I paused before nodding yes. “Mind if I spend the night?” I yawned. “It’s a long drive and . . . I just wanted to spend some time together.”
Alice nodded. By the look in her eyes, I sensed she understood.
A weekend with my foster mother gave me a chance to catch up on some badly needed sleep and time to clear my head. But within days of returning home, another problem between Patsy and me surfaced. After living together for nearly a year, the money that had taken me years to save was nearly depleted. Ever since Patsy had moved in, I was spending more than the air force paid me, and I had to draw from my savings to get by. Patsy always claimed she’d help out. I knew she meant it at the time, but the funds never materialized. After wrestling in my mind whether to bring up the subject or not, finally I did, and hell followed. I was not trying to seem like a miser, for I wanted to make Patsy happy, and would have gladly given her anything I could, but even with only rent, groceries, the very basics of utilities, and a car payment, I couldn’t hold out much longer. Once we even squabbled because I could not afford to buy Patsy a television set, let alone cable to keep her company while I was either flying for the day or out of the country for weeks at a time.
By the end of the summer of 1985, when I finally sat her down to thoroughly explain my situation, Patsy became upset. “What’s the deal?” she fumed. “I know you fly boys make a ton of dough.”
“Say again?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Was Patsy totally clueless about how hard it was for me to bring up the subject, let alone, support her for as long as I had? “What are you talking about?” I shook my head. “A ton of money? I’m enlisted! I make seventy-five, maybe one hundred bucks extra a month!”
Confused, Patsy shook her head. “Enlisted, what’s that?”
It was then that I understood the misconception. Patsy must have assumed because I flew for the air force, I was an officer who was paid three to four times more than enlisted personnel, as they rightly deserved for the fact that officers graduated college and had more extensive technical training. But how, I wondered, could she be so naive about such a simple issue, especially since she lived near the air base all her life? How could she not know?
As I began to think this through, I questioned myself. Was I being taken advantage of? Nearly two years ago, when I had first in-processed into the air base, one of the lectures I’d attended warned about the possibility of women in the local community latching on to air force personnel, particularly air crew members. I had actually laughed out loud in total disbelief. But now, as I gazed at Patsy’s hardened stance . . .
I knew she was not that kind of person. She was simply upset because she must have thought I had unlimited funds. Besides, Patsy had mentioned to me before how bad off she and her family had been ever since her father’s death. From our time together, I understood Patsy was an emotional person and had a hard edge whenever she felt backed into a corner. I also knew Patsy was a wonderful woman, and I was grateful for all her kindness she??
?d shown me, especially during Harold’s illness. So, I surmised, if I could relieve whatever strain that had surfaced, we would be that much better off. I wanted, as Patsy did, to work things out. At times I knew it was I, not Patsy, who could be overly petty. I breathed with relief when Patsy assured me she would indeed pitch in. Without hesitation, I accepted her word.
Because we lived in a cramped apartment, with her mother so close by driving Patsy crazy, we decided to move a few miles to a nicer, roomier house. I felt like a heel, but I had to have Patsy’s absolute assurance that she would indeed help with the rent and utilities, since I was now financially way over my head. For a couple of months everything seemed fine. When I was not flying in Asia or Europe, Patsy’s stress evaporated, her drinking stopped, and our arguments were a thing of the past. She landed a job as a waitress, making her feel needed and appreciated, which in turn made her esteem flourish. To top everything, Patsy loved being out from under her mother’s thumb.
But upon returning home from another overseas assignment, I discovered, after nearly interrogating Patsy to get some answer, not one but several bills now months overdue. “What happened to the money?”
“Well . . .” Patsy hesitated. “I spent some of it.”
“Some of it? That money was specifically for—”
Patsy deflected, “Take a chill pill, I’ll pay you back. What’s the deal? Everyone gets a few months behind.”
“No,” I exploded, “not me, not now, not ever! I gave my word!”
“Words . . . ? You can’t even say it!” Patsy huffed while raising her eyebrows as if giving me a message.
What? I said to myself. My feelings toward her had nothing to do with our latest crisis.
“I really don’t see why you’re having such a shit fit. What’s the big deal, just take care of it. You always do. I know you’ve got the money, just make a withdrawal. I bet lots of your air force buddies get behind. Get over it, it’s a fact of life.”
“It’s called financial obligations. ‘They’ can get drummed out of the service, and if I don’t meet my obligations, I can lose my clearance. Without my clearance, I can’t fly, which means I can be kicked out. I don’t care what happens to they, them, or anybody else. Don’t you get it? I meet my commitments. Always have, always will.”
“Really? We’ll just see about that.”
I felt I was being led down another twisted path rather than dealing with the root of the problem . . . again. My brain was spinning with emotions. I had to constantly pry everything from Patsy, figure out what had happened to our funds. I felt manipulated, as if my trust was a welcome mat she could stomp on whenever she felt the need.
Patsy continued to stand with her hands on her hips. “You’re too hard. You think you’re so perfect. You’re . . . you’re not my father!”
I knew that last statement was coming. Whenever she became irate, she always seemed to bring up her father. I tried to calm myself and her down. “Listen, please, I’m not trying to be your father. I’m not trying to boss you around or control you. If I have, I’m wrong. I’m sorry. I truly am. All I’m trying to do is—”
“You act as if I’m some, some leech. . . . I give, too! I’m here for you. I take care of your things, feed your stupid little turtle. I cook for you, pack your lunch, write you letters. I love you. And you . . . Mr. Perfect, Mr. ‘what happened to my money’ . . . you can’t even say the words. Just three fuckin’ words!” Patsy stepped forward, waving three fingers in my face.
“It’s not like you have women beating down your door. When I met you, you were just a skinny bookworm geek, reading at the pool.” Patsy stopped for a moment. “I’m with a geek. Me, with a geek,” she announced, as if she had discovered a revelation. “I can be with anyone, you know. I was with someone before you, and I can be with someone else in a heartbeat! I see your fly boy buddies lookin’ at me, I know what they want. You take good care of me, but why can’t you say the words?”
“Why can’t you be responsible?” I fired back. To me, everything was either right or wrong. To me life was not that complicated. If I saw a problem, rather than brush it aside, hoping it would simply disappear, I addressed the situation head-on. At the same time I’d make sure I did all that I could to prevent the problem from occurring again. To me, those who kept sweeping their problems under the rug were fooling themselves. A serious, unsolved issue would sooner or later suck a person into a black hole. That was one of the many lessons I had learned from living with Mother.
Battling Patsy whenever I was home, I came to believe that she thought it was all simply about money and all I had to do was “take care of it.” But our core problem was that I didn’t trust her as much as I wanted. At times, in the middle of a heated argument, I wanted nothing to do with her. But while alone overseas, I’d miss Patsy dearly and felt I was being too hard on her. I knew I drove her crazy with my idiosyncrasies. Maybe, I thought when I played back the arguments in my head, my standards were too high. After all I had been through, Patsy was the only person who had ever shown me any affection. Deep inside, I knew I didn’t deserve any better.
But as much as I wanted to, as deceptions and confrontations continued to mount up, I could never trust the one person I wanted to love.
Because Patsy and I were so far behind in our rent, I moved from the condominium and into a smaller apartment that was closer to the base. I tried to break up with Patsy, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Whenever I came close to explaining that we were just two different people, Patsy and I would both cry and make up, promising each other we would indeed, this time, work things out.
By Christmas of 1985, as I drove Patsy to the house of Alice’s daughter’s, the feeling from the year before had completely evaporated. On the way to the Bay Area, I yelled at her until she cried all over her new dress just moments before I pulled up to Mary’s home. Recently I had found myself becoming petty, cold, and resentful. My feelings came from how I felt about myself, but I had begun to take them out on Patsy. Even after I erupted on her, blaming her for all my problems, she didn’t say a word. After I parked the car, she took my hand, saying I worried too much and assuring me everything would work out. Of all the things I disliked about Patsy, at times she carried me when I fought myself.
Hours later, as I hugged Alice good-bye, Patsy leaned close, whispering, “Oh I forgot to tell you, Alice is coming with us. She’s gonna spend a few days with my mom. Alice has been looking forward to this for a while now.”
By the look on Alice’s face, I knew it was another lie. For some reason I could not understand, I felt Patsy was beginning to manipulate, of all people, my foster mother. But after blowing up at Patsy just hours ago, I thought maybe once again I was being overly paranoid. After all, Alice and Patsy’s mother Dottie Mae had been friends for some time, taking trips to Reno, and Alice had stayed at Dottie Mae’s apartment for weeks at a time. My only fear was having Alice sucked into Patsy’s and my bizarre world.
“My mom doesn’t even have an overnight bag,” I quietly stated to Patsy while trying to read her true intentions.
“Loosen up, you worry too much. If you must know,” Patsy said, smiling, “I’ve been planning a surprise birthday party for you, and, well, Alice wanted to come.” I felt like a complete idiot. Suddenly everything made sense. The last couple of weeks I had known Patsy was up to something, to the point that some of my friends at the squadron were acting strange. Now more than ever, I knew I needed to let down my guard. “I’m gonna gain your trust,” Patsy said as she kissed me.
“You’ll see.”
Two mornings later I awoke to a ringing phone. I shot up, thinking it was an emergency squadron recall. That meant I had to report to the base as soon as possible. I was relieved to discover Patsy’s chipper voice on the other line. “David,” she shouted, “I’m at the hospital!”
“Oh, my God!” I said. “Are you okay?” Not fully awake yet, I wasn’t even aware that Patsy had left that early in the morning.
&n
bsp; “Chill out, I’m fine. Listen,” she said with glee, “my mom and Alice are with me. . . . I’ve got great news. . . .” In the background I could hear Alice and Dottie Mae trying to speak over Patsy. “They’re so happy to be grandparents!”
“What?” I cried, trying to shake my head clear, “Say again!”
“David,” Patsy announced, “I’m going to have your baby!”
CHAPTER
9
HEAVEN SENT
There was no romantic proposal. Patsy and I became “engaged” at a local Mexican restaurant. While there, because I felt overwhelmed with shame about the pregnancy, I spilled over with apologizes to Alice at one table while Patsy chatted away with her mother, Dottie Mae, at another. After an hour of sulking in front of my foster mother, the four of us ate dinner, followed by Dottie Mae and Alice springing up and announcing our imminent marriage to strangers enjoying their dinners, who clapped feverishly while I squirmed in my seat. Since I soon was leaving to fly overseas for over a month, Patsy and I set the date for the second week in February.
Days later, on New Year’s Eve, I was still consumed with a combination of guilt and rage—not against Patsy but myself. After years of self-discipline and going to great lengths to build a good life, I had thrown caution to the wind. I never had the guts to confront Patsy and sever our ties once and for all. And yet part of me began to feel maybe I had led her on. As unnerving and irresponsible as Patsy was, it was I who had held on.
It didn’t really matter what I thought, how I felt, or how I analyzed the situation. The bottom line was Patsy and I—who had similar childhoods but at the same time as adults saw the world in different ways—were to become parents.