That’s what I told Darla this morning after church when she stopped by to see if I was all right and I showed her this letter. And she said, “Damn right,” even though she was a little upset that I’m drinking so much and writing you at all. But she said if I have to write you like this to put in that she called Lorena Bobbitt and sent her plane fare to Mackinac so you better brace yourself. She also says to tell you that she sent Lorena a magnifying glass to help her work once she finds you, but that’s just Darla for you. She also says that I should write “Ronnie Luterbein, I hope the world screws you good because I sure as hell never will again,” but I don’t know about that. She also said some other stuff, but then Darrin Mueller came over to mow the grass before football practice even though you just mowed it last week before you left, but I said, “That’s sweet, Darrin,” because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And he said, “Glad to do it for you, Debbie,” and Darla sort of snorted but he didn’t hear.
And then Darrin went out to get the mower, and Darla said, “That man is after your butt, which normally I would be against but considering the sorry mess your life is in, I might be for it after all.” And I said, “Don’t be ridiculous, Darla, he’s just being nice,” but then Darrin came out with the mower, and he took his Tibbett High School Football Coach shirt off, and Darla said, “Well, he is something to look at, isn’t he?” And then Darrin sort of flexed his muscles pulling on the mower cord, and Darla said, “Merciful heavens, Debbie, this is all for you, although why he doesn’t just take it out and wave it around is beyond me. It’d be a lot quicker.”
Then Mama drove up with a tuna surprise casserole, the kind she keeps telling me that if I’d been making them for you regular would have kept you home where you belonged, and she said, “Deborah Jo, what is that naked man doing in your front yard?” And Darla said, “Warming up, Mama, warming up.” Then she told Mama that potato chips on a casserole were unhealthy because of the high fat content, and Mama said without the potato chips there wouldn’t be any surprise, and Darla said potato chips on a casserole hadn’t been a surprise since 1952, and Mama got so het up, she left. I do love Darla. And then we both got beers and stood at the window and watched Darrin mow the grass. There’s something very attractive about a man mowing grass, Ronnie. I must say that. And Darla said, “Debbie Jo, it’s time to forget that worthless skunk you married and move on,” and I said, “Darla Jean, I am thinking about it.” But I really wasn’t because I am married to you, Ronnie. Even if you are on vacation with a flat-chested bank teller, I am still married to you. But I did feed Darrin that casserole later, and he did remark on the potato chip topping so I guess Mama was right again. She does have a way of being right, damn it all anyway.
And then Darrin left, and about an hour ago Max called and said, “Debbie, Darla told me Darrin Mueller was over there trying to mow more than your grass, and I want you to know that you’ve got a brother over here so you don’t need that unless you want it. You need help, you call me.” And I said thank you and hung up and sat down and started to think. You know, Mama always liked you better than Max, but now here we are and look at us. Darla never had to get married, and Darla sure as hell isn’t sitting home right now with a beer in her hand wondering what Max is doing in another state, and you sure as hell would never have called her and told her you’d take care of her if she was. And I thought about their marriage, like how when Max gets out of hand, Darla tells him that if he doesn’t shape up, Mama will find out and they’ll never inherit her Hummels, and then Max tells her something awful he’s going to have to do to Mama because he hates those Hummels, and then they laugh. And I thought about how long it had been since we laughed like that, and I truly did wonder how they managed it, to still be laughing about those Hummels after twenty-eight years because to tell you the truth, that whole dumb Hummel joke stopped being funny to me a long time ago, but they still think it’s a stitch. And I’m thinking that maybe it’s not the joke, that maybe they just like making it together, and you know, we haven’t been making anything together, Ronnie, not for the longest time, and I think that’s sad when I’m not thinking about what a rat bastard you are. I mean, I’m really happy for Darla, but I’m really jealous, too. So I called Darla and told her that, and she said, “Hell, Debbie, Max isn’t perfect, the other day he brought home a damn motorcycle, can you believe it?” and I said, “Well, it could have been a lot worse, he could have brought home a damn bank teller,” and she said, “I hope Ronnie dies,” and I hung up and had another beer.
So now I am going to have one more beer and then go to bed because I have a full day tomorrow making the women of Tibbet feel good about themselves, and then I have to fix Darrin dinner because he’s going to take care of that leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom after practice. I’m making green beans with mushroom soup and stuffed pork chops, which I suppose is the least I can do for him since he says he loves home cooking and he isn’t getting any. So I’m giving him home cooking, but he isn’t getting anything else because I am still your wife, even if you don’t deserve somebody as good as me.
Your wife who you don’t deserve,
Debbie Luterbein
PPPS. I got your letter yesterday, Ronnie. It was thoughtful of you to say you hoped I was doing fine, and that you hoped I’d understand that you just couldn’t face all the hoo-rah when everybody found out, especially Mama and Darla. I have to admit, I did get a little put out because I am the one stuck dealing with the hoo-rah, and I really did not need to know that you loved Barbara so much you just couldn’t help yourself, and I also could have done without the “PS” from Barbara saying she hoped we could still be friends. That woman must be dumb as a box of rocks if she thinks we can be friends, and where she got the “still” part I will never know because I have never been friends with anyone who wears that color of eye shadow that Darla has taken to calling “Bank Slut Blue” because a woman who’ll wear a color like that has no taste at all. Women who wear eye shadow like that look like they do it for nickels, that’s all there is to it.
Since you asked, Ronnie Jr. is doing fine at the alley, and Becky seems to be doing pretty good, too. She sent me some books yesterday, How To Love a Difficult Man, The Angry Marriage: Overcoming the Rage and Reclaiming the Love, Ten Stupid Things Women Do To Mess Up Their Lives, and Sex for One. I’m sure she meant well. I am also doing pretty good, although I would be a lot better if Mama would get off my case. She called yesterday and said she just wanted to remind me about how a woman needed to be married to be secure, and that you were a good provider and the father of my children, and that you and I had been together for twenty-six years, and we’d be together another twenty-six if I played my cards right. She also said I should remember that I was still married no matter if Darrin Mueller was hoping otherwise. I told that to Darla, and she said, “You should have told her that at least Ronnie stuck it out for twenty-six years; Daddy left her after only nineteen, hot dinners and all,” and I said, “Darla, what are you talking about? Daddy didn’t leave Mama, he died,” and she said, “Debbie, death is the only way any of us are ever going to get away from Mama.” And I said, “Well, maybe now that I’ve gone and lost my husband, Mama will stop speaking to me from the shame.” And Darla said, “If that happens, you let me know, because Max will be history.” And I laughed. First time I’d really laughed in ten days, but I laughed at that. And then she said, “You make sure that Ronnie gets custody of Mama in the divorce settlement, and he can have the Hummels, too,” and I laughed again.
But I guess it was sort of sweet of you to ask if I am okay, and I am. Darrin Mueller’s been taking real good care of me, and I’ve gotten a whole lot done, Ronnie. Like yesterday morning, after I got your letter, I took all your boxes of clothes out to put them in the garage so you could pick them up easier and I wouldn’t have to look at you when you did, but while I was stacking them beside the garage, this woman pulled up in a Bonneville and she said, “You having a garage sale?” And Ronnie, I looked that
woman right in the eye and I said, “Yes.” And she said, “Is that men’s clothes?” And I said, “Well, I guess he’s a man,” and she said, “What size?” and I said, “Extra large and stupid,” and she said, “I’ve got one of those. What’s in there and how much?” And I looked in the window of her car and her little boy was holding a McDonald’s bag, and I felt really hungry for the first time since you left, so I said, “I’ll trade you all of it for that McDonald’s.” And she ripped that bag away from that little boy, and he started to yell, and she said, “Shut up, Jason, I’ll get you another Happy Meal in a minute.”
Then we loaded up the car, and she took off with all your things, and I sat on the curb and ate that Happy Meal, and it was the best thing I’d eaten in years, although I must say I was disappointed to find out that Happy Meals don’t come with cookies or any dessert at all. It did have a Spiderman Action Figure which I put out in the middle of the street and then watched until that Kincaid boy drove by going ninety miles an hour and flattened it good. So anyway, I’m sorry about your clothes and the bowling trophies and the other stuff in the boxes, but since you’re starting a new life, you probably didn’t want any of that stuff anyway.
And of course I didn’t give away the Mustang, Ronnie. I know how you feel about that car. I remember you telling me once that the only thing you loved as much as me in the whole world was that Mustang. I told Darla that yesterday after work when I showed her the letter, and she said, “Well, I guess that means he’s sweating inside a Chevy now, swearing he never loved a Ford. Let’s drive the damn thing off a cliff.” But I couldn’t do that to you, I know how you love that car, so the Mustang’s waiting for you in the driveway with the key in the ignition so it’ll be convenient for you to pick up just in case I’m not here when you drop by which I probably won’t be. I was a little worried about leaving the key in the car, but this isn’t a bad neighborhood, so it’ll probably still be here when you get home. And like Darla said, even if it’s gone, it’s not going to be hard to find. You just tell the police that it’s a cherry condition, 1975 baby blue Mustang convertible with “Bengals Suck” spray-painted on one side in my handwriting and “Barbara Is A Lousy Lay” on the other in Darla’s. I bet they find it in a minute, and I did call Stan’s You-Paint-It, and he said he thought he could probably get the paint off if you got it in fast. I know it was a terrible thing to do, Ronnie, but we’d had quite a few beers by then and I did enjoy it, I must say. Not as much as Darla did, but quite a lot. And I have stopped drinking now, so it won’t happen again.
There is just one more thing I’ve got to tell you, Ronnie, for your own good and for Barbara’s. And I think you should know that I did share this with Darrin Mueller last night. “Darrin,” I said to him, right before I gave him what he told me later was the finest blow job in the history of the Western Ohio Buckeye League, “Darrin,” I said to him, “No matter how much I loved him, and I did love him, sincerely I did, I have to say that for the past several years or so, Ronnie Luterbein has not been very good in bed, if you know what I mean.” “I hear you, Debbie,” Darrin said, but then he didn’t have much choice, being tied to my headboard like he was with that cotton cord from JoAnn Fabrics. So I slid myself down his extremely well-built body, and I said, “Darrin, I suppose since you are drinking buddies that Ronnie told you about all those orgasms where I came moaning and screaming and shaking?” And Darrin just nodded, being speechless with anticipation by then. “Well, Darrin,” I said, “I’ve been faking almost every single one of them, and the ones I did get I had to work for, and without much help from Ronnie, let me tell you. The fact is, Darrin, Ronnie Luterbein couldn’t make summer come in June, that’s how bad he is in bed.” Now I know this is painful for you to hear, Ronnie, but I’m telling you this for your own good, so that when Barbara starts moaning and shaking like I did, you’ll know that she’s just doing it out of the goodness of her heart. And then you can try harder. And now that I’ve let Darrin Mueller do some of those things with me that he wanted to, I can tell you that longer would be good, too.
So I’m feeling pretty good right now, especially since Darrin’s asked me to marry him. I told him I’d have to think about it, but I think I’m going to because I’m not getting any younger, and Darrin is a good man with a good imagination, if you know what I mean, and like Mama says, women are meant to be married, although thinking about you does sometimes make me wonder why. Which reminds me, I filed for divorce today, and I put the house on the market, seeing as how it’s in my name so the creditors couldn’t take it away from you if the bowling alley folded. Remember when you did that, back when we were first married? You said it didn’t matter whose name the house was in because we were going to be together forever, Ronnie and Debbie until the end of time.
I’ll make sure you get half.
Your soon to be ex-wife,
Debbie Headapohl
PPPPS: Well, Ronnie, I’m about to leave for church, and then I’m having lunch with Mama, and then Darla and I are going to the movies, and then she’s going to drop me at Darrin’s where he’s going to barbecue me a steak for supper. I figure that should give you enough time to pick up the car and find this letter taped to the windshield and then go on over to Barbara’s to spend the rest of your life. I know this letter has some harsh things in it, and I thought about tearing it up, but then I thought, “No” because those things are also true things, some of the truest things I’ve ever said about us and especially about me, and I think you should see how I got to where I am now so you won’t make any dumb mistakes like trying to come back when you change your mind. Because the thing is, Ronnie, you can’t come back. I’m really different now. I didn’t know how different until Darrin was over here last night.
He was sitting on the sectional, watching the Bengals get creamed again, and he was screaming, “No, no, no,” and I thought about how happy Mama would be to see me watching TV with a man and a wedding ring, and how much more kindly disposed she is to Darrin now that she’s seen your letter. She read the part about how you couldn’t stand looking in her mean little eyes when she found out, and she said, “A second husband is no sin, Debbie Jo,” and I thought, “All right, it’ll have to be Darrin.” And I felt sad for a minute about us being over, and I wished we could be like Darla and Max together for twenty-eight years with all the time they’ve spent knowing and loving each other, and how sweet Max was to Darla at the wedding when Daddy wasn’t there to give her away, and he told her that the only one who could give her to him was her anyway, and how twenty-eight years later, he’s still being sweet. And I almost cried, Ronnie, because I would have liked for us to be together like that forever.
But I didn’t cry because that’s when it hit me. Max and Darla have been married for twenty-eight years, which means that Daddy has been gone that long, which means Mama hasn’t been married for that long. That woman who has been nagging me to be married and telling me my life is over if I’m not and bitching at me to get you back, that woman has been single for twenty-eight years, and in all that time, she’s never even gone to so much as a church mixer. And I realized then that the reason she’s so hot to have me married is so she can hold her head up high in public and then go home and eat Cheetos and watch Harrison Ford at three o’clock in the morning. And I sat up and said, “Goddamn,” and Darrin said, “I know, aren’t they pitiful?” thinking I was talking about the Bengals, and I looked at him sitting on the sectional, and he looked just like you, Ronnie. He doesn’t look anything at all like you, but he looked just like you. And all of a sudden, I knew that if I married Darrin, a couple of years down the road, I’d be counting ceiling tiles again. And I thought, “Debbie Headapohl, you have been given a gift here. Ronnie Luterbein just handed you back the rest of your life. Don’t screw up.”
So I’m not going to, Ronnie. I’m taking my half of the house money (Verna Wachtell says it’ll sell in a minute, no problem, she’s got a couple of live ones already, and you know Verna, never missed a sale yet
), and I’m putting a down payment on one of those little condos down by the river (Verna’s getting me a real good deal) and they mow the grass for you there so it’s not a problem. And I imagine Darrin will be dropping by regular to develop my imagination, but he’s not moving in. I’ve been there and done that now, and I don’t see any point in doing it again, no matter what Mama says. Darla said it’s such a good idea that she’s thinking about getting a condo next to mine just to keep Max on his toes, but she won’t. Some women are made to be married, and she’s one of them, and that’s all there is to it.
So anyway, while I’m not exactly grateful to you for running off like a coward and leaving me to handle this mess, I do think I’m almost glad it happened. And I do think as time goes on I’ll get gladder, only don’t even think about us having one of those friendly divorces where Barbara and I smile and wave on the street because it is not happening. Which reminds me, Ronnie Jr. is still pretty mad at you, but he’s liking running the bowling alley, and he’ll get over it. Becky says she’s coming home and taking all her money out of the First National and telling the manager why, but she’ll get over it, too. Darla won’t, she’s still hoping you’ll die, but then the two of you weren’t ever close anyway. Even Mama’s mad at you now that I showed her your letter, but you probably won’t be running into her much, so I wouldn’t let it bother you. And as for me, well, I don’t like you much, but you are the father of my children, so I guess I don’t hate you. But I have cut you loose from my list of troubles, since I have more than enough without you, the latest one being Mama, who thinks maybe she’d like to move into one of those condos, too, since I’ll be feeling lonely unmarried and all. I told Verna that I’d have to kill Mama if she bought one of those condos, and then Mama’s blood would be on her hands, so Verna told her they were all sold out and is trying to steer her up north to those Tibbett Village apartments, but you know Mama, she usually gets what she wants. Of course, from now on, I’m thinking I’m going to get what I want, too, so we’ll just have to see what happens.