But I am trying to be understanding, so what I thought was that maybe this is just one of those mid-life crisises. Maybe this is just you afraid you’re getting old and the good times are over, and I know what you mean, Ronnie, because some nights when we’re both sitting on the sectional, watching the news and hearing about how the Bengals have screwed up again, and you’re telling me that they’re a damn good team and that they’re going to get it together soon, sometimes then I wonder what happened to us, and how much fun we used to be, and why we aren’t any more, and why you care more about the Bengals than you do about me. Remember how we used to talk all night sometimes, Ronnie? We were so excited about us. And we didn’t always just talk, either. And there was that night we did it in the backyard even though the neighbors could’ve seen if they wanted to, and I don’t care what you say, I think Mr. Armstrong did see because he always winked when he saw me after that. But we haven’t done anything like that for so long that I almost think I might have forgot how to do it any way but flat on my back counting ceiling tiles. And I can see how you might think so, too, even though I was something hot once and I still have everything now that I did then, even if it hasn’t been getting much use lately. And I know Mama would say that isn’t important, but it is if a marriage is going to be strong, and Mama does believe in strong marriages. Sometimes I think Mama believes in marriage more than she believes in God, the way she’s always talking about other people’s lives and saying what a scandal, and I do not want to be a scandal, Ronnie, but here we are, and I’m trying to understand why and how we can fix this.
So anyway, I’m thinking, maybe this is something you need to do to feel young again for a minute. I mean, I’m real happy that Ronnie Junior’s got a baby of his own now, but I’ve got to admit, I’m not sure I’m ready to be a grandma at forty-four, no matter how cute little Cody is. But I never told you that, or that I still think you’re something else even if you are a grandpa, so I’m thinking that maybe that’s what’s wrong, that maybe it would be a good thing if I was to be understanding about this. Darla says that is the biggest load of crap she’s ever heard, but I think that part of what’s wrong with this country today is that people get rid of their marriages too easy. I mean this is a really bad patch we’re going through here, but I’m not going to give up just because you’re having a hot flash, Ronnie, not after twenty-six years, two kids and a grandbaby, I’m not.
So I’m going to pack up your clothes really nice in boxes so you can pick them up a week from Sunday if you still want to. And what I’m hoping is that you’ll realize what you’re missing out on and remember all we’ve been together and how much your family means to you, and then you’ll come on back home where you belong. We can work this out, Ronnie, don’t you think we can’t.
Your loving wife,
Debbie
PS: I wrote you this letter two days ago, Ronnie, but then I had to stop because everything was too awful, and I sat down and cried which is why my name is a little bit blurry there at the end. I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you and being alone, and then I thought of you with that Barbara and I cried harder. And then Becky called from college and said, “Mama, Ronnie Jr. just called and told me Daddy left you, is it true?” and I said, “Yes,” and she said, “This is terrible, this isn’t really Daddy doing this, this is a symptom of the breakdown of society,” which I did not need to hear even if she is taking all those psychology courses, and then she started to cry and said, “Please don’t divorce him, Mama,” which was worse. Then she hung up and I cried again. And then Ronnie Jr. called sounding really miserable and said he had the bowling alley under control and did I want the grass mowed or anything, and that’s when I knew you’d already told him, even before you left, and I hung up and cried some more.
And then Darla called me to check up and heard me crying, and she tried to make me come to her house, and when I wouldn’t, she came over, but she wasn’t much help seeing as when I told her again about how I understood that you had this mid-life crisis to work through, she said that the only thing you had to work through was your dick (excuse the language, you know Darla) which explained your sorry, worthless life. And she said that I should not be understanding about this at all because there was a difference between being understanding and being brain dead dumb. And I said, “I’m thinking that maybe he just needs some time,” and she said, “Debbie, stop telling me what that asshole needs and tell me what you need,” and I said, “I need my husband back.” And she said, “Why?” and I said, “Because he’s my husband, damn it,” and she said, “Well, as much as I hate his sorry ass and hope he dies, if that’s the only reason you need him, I can kind of see why he left,” and that wasn’t a help, Ronnie, it really wasn’t.
Then yesterday, I went into work, and people were starting to know and it was hell. Verna Wachtell sat right there in my chair, and said, “Well, Debbie, now that your family’s left home, you really don’t need that big place any more, why don’t you let me sell it for you?” And I stopped right in the middle of her back comb and stared her down, and she said, “Well, with Ronnie Jr. married off and Becky in college, you don’t need that location so near the school.” But you know she wasn’t talking about Ronnie Jr. and Becky. Then she said, “I can get you a real good deal on one of those condos down by the river,” and I said, “Well, Verna, I appreciate it, but I think we’ll stay right where we are for awhile.” Even though where you are is Lake Huron. And then I got to wondering if you ever would be back home and if there ever would be a we again, and I almost cried again, right there in front of Verna, but I didn’t, and then last night I was alone again and up all night, staring at the ceiling tiles, thinking about this, but I am not getting any answers at all.
And then today I went in to work, and it was worse because this time, on top of all the whispering, I had to put up with Lori Schmidt and her damn spiral perm. I couldn’t believe it, she came in looking like three kinds of hell and said, “Oh, Debbie, you got to help me, I went to this place in the mall and got a spiral perm on sale, and it looks godawful.” And I wanted to say, “You bet your butt it looks godawful, and you deserve it because you fell for a big shiny sign that said “New!” and “Different!” and you took your sorry little head in there, and they screwed you up good which is what you deserve for going to another hairdresser.” I wanted to say that, but I didn’t. I said, “Lori, honey, your hair’s too long for a spiral perm, it just won’t work.” And she said, “I know that now, Debbie, I truly do, but what are we going to do about it?” And I said, “I’ll fix it, Lori. We’ll do a piggy back perm and you’ll be right as rain.” And she said, “I should never have gone to anybody but you, Debbie, and I never will again, I swear.” And she looked real good when she walked out of there, and she even tipped me better than usual, so I think she knows what she’s got in me now. And I do understand about her being tempted by those shiny signs, and I forgive her because she did the right thing and came back in the end. And I will never throw it up to her because everybody makes mistakes, and as long as they are truly sorry everything can be just fine again. That’s what I truly believe, Ronnie, and not just about spiral perms, either.
Then I got home, and Mama was parked in the driveway. I bet that looked real good to the neighbors. And she got out of the car and said, “I heard it, Debbie, but I don’t believe it. You tell me it’s a lie.” But I couldn’t, although you don’t know how much I wanted to. Then she started in on how no Headapohl woman had ever been divorced, and they sure weren’t going to start with me, and how happy she’d been when Darla and I had both gotten married right away after high school (although she wasn’t all that happy with you and me, Ronnie, as you may remember; in fact she was downright nasty about my empire wedding dress). And then she said I was just going to have to get you back one way or another because she was not going to be the mother of a scandal, and that it was important for a woman to be married because that was security, and that being alone would be a terrible t
hing, and that I wasn’t young any more, and good men didn’t grow on trees, and I should be sensible and hold onto what I had. She said, “You just made some mistakes, that’s all, Debbie,” and I said it wasn’t exactly my idea for you to go north with a bank teller, and she said that didn’t matter because it was my fault for going to work and having a career instead of staying home and fixing you hot dinners like she’d told me to. And I said, “Mama, I don’t think he’s up in Michigan with Barbara Niedemeyer because she’s fixing him hot dinners, I truly don’t,” and she said, “Debbie Jo Headapohl, it is that kind of mouthy attitude that makes a man leave home.” And what I want to know, Ronnie, is why is it my fault you went to Lake Huron?
Then the phone rang, and we went inside, and it was Darla, and she was starting to tell me what a dumbass Lori Schmidt was and how good she looked after I’d fixed her perm, and I said, “Darla, I can’t talk now, Mama’s here,” and she said, “Sweet Christ,” and hung up. And then Mama went on about how you were a good provider, and that you’d surely come to your senses once you got a good look at Barbara in the daylight because her pores were a disgrace, and on and on until Darla drove up and came in wearing her T-shirt that says “Jesus is Coming, Look Busy.” She said, “Hi, Mama, I was just going to Big Bear and stopped to see if Debbie was needing anything, like maybe some rat poison for that faithless, sorry skunk she married.” And Mama said, “Now, Darla, Ronnie’s just going through a stage here,” and then she got a good look at Darla’s T-shirt and said, “You are not going to the grocery in that shirt, Darla Jean Headapohl, what would the neighbors think?” And Darla said, “Well, I am going to,” and Mama followed her out to the car, and they had a good five minute argument, and then Darla got in her car, and Mama got in hers to follow her home and yell at her some more. I’m telling you, Ronnie, I know you don’t like Darla much, but there are times when I purely love her. Even if she wasn’t my sister, I’d love her, even though she tells me I’m a dumbass when I say that I’m understanding why you’re doing this.
But the thing is, I lied, Ronnie, because I am really not understanding this at all. I do not understand how you can leave a wife who’s been good to you for twenty-six years for some bank teller you can’t hardly know unless you’ve been seeing her awhile, which is what Darla says that people are saying now, but then she never did like you. And I cannot understand how you can cheat on me because I was always true to you, Ronnie, even that time last year when Darrin Mueller—yes, your best friend Darrin Mueller, the one who beat you out for MVP on the football team senior year in high school but I didn’t care because I loved you, the one who got picked for the Western Ohio Buckeye League All-Star team and you didn’t but I loved you best anyway, that Darrin Mueller—put his hand on my knee and told me what he’d like to do with me if you ever went out of town. Darrin told me that I was the kind of wife every man dreamed of having, and that you were the luckiest son of a bitch in the world, and that you didn’t appreciate me. And then he told me he had ways of appreciating a woman like me, and he told me some of them, and they were interesting, I must say, and as you know, Darrin’s been lifting weights down at the high school while you’ve been lifting beers down at the alley, and he is looking good for a man of our age. But I was strong, Ronnie. I said, “Darrin, you are one fine-looking man, and I appreciate the suggestions and the imagination it took to come up with them, but I belong to Ronnie Luterbein and will until the stars run out of shine.” That’s what I said, Ronnie. That’s how much I love you. And then you go to Michigan with Barbara Niedemeyer, of all people.
And then I started to think, you probably figure you’re moving up, Barbara wearing suits and all since she’s a teller with her own window. And that makes me a little mad, Ronnie, because I’d like to remind you that she’s got nothing but high school, while I am a licensed cosmetologist by the state of Ohio and a D-cup, a little lower than it used to be but still a D-cup, and that’s a combination that’s hard to find. And it certainly beats somebody with no higher education stuck behind Plexiglas sporting an A-cup, if you can call that a cup. I don’t know where your mind was when you went with her, I truly don’t.
I really worry about you with Barbara, Ronnie. She’s got that skinny pinched look that says she doesn’t know much about making a man happy. Like if you asked her to tie you to the headboard the way we used to do way back in the beginning, she’d probably use clothesline instead of that cotton piping cord for seventy-nine cents a yard at JoAnn Fabrics that doesn’t bind or cut off the circulation. And she’d probably tie that clothesline too tight, and all the blood would leave your hands, and they’d turn white and blue and black and fall right off at the wrists, and she wouldn’t even notice when they plopped down there on the percale because she’d have her eyes shut tight since she probably doesn’t like to look at naked men like I do. That would be a terrible thing to have happen to you, Ronnie. It pains me to think about it. And I really can’t leave you to suffer like that with Barbara, even if, as Darla says, you are a son of a bitch to have moved in with her in the first place. You’re my husband, after all.
So I’ve been sitting here, thinking about how you need rescued, and I picked up my Victoria’s Secret sale catalog, and right now I am looking at the Lara demi-bra in black scalloped lace on page thirty-two, along with the matching black lace bikini and the black lace garter belt and the black spandex stockings, seeing as how I can get them all for only $39.45 plus shipping and handling. And I think Mama’s wrong about those hot lunches, but I think she might be right about you not getting what you need at home because I haven’t been getting it, either. So what I think I’m going to do is, I’m going to show up at the bowling alley at closing time a week from Monday when you’ve got back from Mackinac and you’re all alone doing the receipts in the office, and I’m going to be wearing that black lace and my Spiegel’s trench coat, and then I’m going to open my coat and show you my Lara demi-bra and garter belt. I know I’ve put on a few pounds over the years, but I still have one of the finest butts in Tibbett, Ohio, and I am a D-cup, as you well know. And I know what you’re going to do when you see that demi-bra with me in it, Ronnie, because I have known you for a long time, and I don’t care how old I am, I can still make you come crawling to me any time I want, don’t you think I can’t. And then later on, when we’re back together, and I know we will be, Ronnie Luterbein, I’m going to show you this letter just so you know I always had you the whole time no matter what you thought.
Still your wife,
Debbie Luterbein
PPS: I didn’t order that demi-bra, Ronnie.
I almost did, my hand was right there on the phone Wednesday night, getting ready to dial, but then I thought about you and that Barbara, and I started to cry again, and I couldn’t see to dial, so I got myself a couple of beers out of the fridge (and you know I don’t drink so you know how upset I was), and I took those beers into the bedroom, and I crawled into bed, and I decided I’d drink until I couldn’t see anything anymore.
But the thing is, Ronnie, after a couple of beers, instead of not seeing anything, I could see a lot of things. Yes, I could. I fell asleep seeing a whole lot of things, and I kept on drinking and thinking the rest of the week and the weekend, and now it’s Sunday night, and I’ve had a couple of beers for dinner, and I am seeing a whole hell of a lot more things, Ronnie.
For one thing, I do not deserve this. I am a good woman and a damn fine hairdresser, the only hairdresser in the tri-county area who can use a marcelle iron which is why Elizabeth Crider comes all the way in from Celina to have me do her hair once a week. That’s how good I am. And last week at the salon, seven different clients said, “Don’t you leave us and move away just because that rat skunk Ronnie ran out on you, Debbie.” They all said that because they need me to do their hair, and that’s important, don’t you think it isn’t, don’t you go making fun of me because I’m just a hairdresser because there’s no such thing as just a hairdresser, Ronnie. I listen to my clients, an
d I help them work out their problems, and I send them out of the shop looking real good, and there’s nothing better for a woman’s soul than looking real good. I do a hell of a lot more for people than any damn bank teller, I can tell you that.
And that’s not the only thing I can see now because now I can also see what a son of a bitch you are for leaving me. I’m middle-aged, too, damn it, and I’m not going around Lake Huron with bank tellers, am I? No, I am not. I am doing my job as your wife, which I have to tell you for the past couple of years has not been that much of a picnic, Ronnie, and if you had any kind of human being in you, you wouldn’t be doing that either. You think it’s tough being a middle-aged man? You try being a middle-aged woman who’s a D-cup. Gravity is a sin, Ronnie, it really is. I look in the mirror, and it’s like my whole body’s melting right off my bones. I can’t hardly believe it because I sure don’t feel old, but there it is in the mirror. And you’re no picture yourself, Ronnie, but all you do is slap your flab and say, “Just that much more of me to love, Debbie, honey,” and I swear, sometimes I just want to say, “I don’t need any more of you to love, Ronnie. I’ve got more of you to love than I want right now.”
But I never say that, Ronnie, because you’re my goddamned husband, and it’s till death do us part even if it means I probably never will find out about some of that stuff Darrin was talking about, and even if I have been sort of enjoying myself since you left. I got up about three one night when I couldn’t sleep and turned on the TV and watched Harrison Ford blow something up, and it was really nice, not having to listen to you explain things. And I had Cheetos and Diet Coke for dinner two nights ago, which is not something I want to do a lot, but it was pretty good just the same. And I’m liking not listening to you snort all night and not having to hear about how the Bengals are a great team every blessed minute. In fact, if it wasn’t for Barbara, I’d be glad you were in Lake Huron. But I don’t want to talk about that now because mostly I want to talk about what a son of a bitch you are. Which reminds me, I want you to stop calling me a dumb bitch. I know you think it’s cute or something, slapping me on the butt and telling me I’m a dumb bitch when I make a mistake, and I used to think it was cute, too, but I don’t anymore, and to tell you the truth, Ronnie, I don’t know why I ever did. So don’t do that anymore, goddammit. I am not a dumb bitch.