I Am a Simple Man

"I have used this time to try and understand what I foolishly risked losing. I can't believe what I did even though you were unfaithful first. I don't care what was on that tape. Harrison, I love you and always will."

I let Emma cry for a while before I spoke.

"Emma, I never told you about my childhood. It was too difficult to let anyone know. I think now it is necessary to tell you so you can understand why what you have done has hurt me so badly.

"I had a normal childhood until I was fourteen years old. That's when the brakes on my father's car failed to stop in time and he plowed into a tree. My mother believed he was probably swerving to miss some critter that was on the road. That's the kind of man he was. We were both devastated as you can imagine. In one short moment, our lives changed forever."

"Wait a minute. You always told me that your father AND your mother were killed in a car accident."

"I lied. You'll understand why in a moment."

"I couldn't believe how strong my mother was. She had always deferred to my father for decision making. Now she moved into being mother and father like it had been planned in advance. She also told me that I was not going to have a typical childhood anymore and I needed to grow up fast. There was no anger in her tone, just a sober 'matter of fact.'

"The life and car insurance payments were modest. His burial expenses took a big chunk out of that money. With no college degree, my mother was only able to find work as a waitress. Since she was pretty, she took in good tips. My mother told me that as the 'man of the house' I needed to understand how to budget money. She showed me our budget. I came to understand why we could not go out to eat, much less buy the latest, greatest whatever just on a whim. My whining over why I couldn't have because everyone else had one - stopped. I became a coupon hunter with an accordion file folder. Coupons were sorted my product and expiration date. I also learned about unit costs and quality of product. I liked working with numbers. I felt proud when I got a paper route to help out financially.

"After a few months, it was clear she could not earn enough or save enough by careful shopping. In addition, I would be of driving age soon and the cost of car insurance for a teenage boy was astronomical. The life insurance payment was about to run out. We met at the kitchen table for the most heartbreaking talk I have ever had or will ever want to have.

"She was in tears already when we sat down. It was the first time after the funeral that I had seen her cry. I could hear her some nights when she was in her bedroom, but she never did so in front of me. I was scared now. It was obvious she had been crying for a long time. I was primed to join her in crying without knowing for sure what she was going to say.

'Harrison, we're about to be broke. I've tried to find a better paying job without success. No one in my family or your father's family has any money to lend us. I've cut our expenses to the bone. Rent at any smaller place would be about the same as our mortgage payment. I can't afford the repairs we need to make the house salable anyway. I bring home leftovers from the restaurant. We eat rice and beans almost every meal to supplement what I bring home.

Harrison, I've run out of good options. As far as I can see it, there are only two options, and neither are very good. In fact, they are both despicable. Son, you have to help me make the choice because it will greatly change both our lives. I'm sure neither option is one we will like.'

"'Tell me mother, I'll do anything to help.' We both were in tears now.

"'Option One is for me to make sure you are taken care of which is my primary obligation. Please understand how difficult it has been for me to even consider this. Son, even though it would break my heart even more, I could put you up for adoption so you . . . '

"'No, Mom. Anything but that. I would run away to be with you. I would burn down the foster home. I am NOT leaving you. You have to come up with something else.' I was sobbing loudly now.

"'Option Two will be hard for both of us too, but it would keep us together and allow us to continue to lead the life we do.'

"I wondered if there was a way to do what she said why hadn't she brought this up before. I quickly found out why.

"'Evidently, there are quite a few men who think I am attractive. Several men have propositioned me at the restaurant. I always dismissed the flirting as part of what got me decent tips. Along the way, some men have indicated that they would pay to, it's hard to say this, 'date' me.'

"'Mom, what's so bad about dating men? Dad is dead. You can date. I don't mind.'

"'Harrison, the men who want to date me want me to pleasure them -- physically. Do you understand?'

"'You mean have sex with you?'

"'Yes. I'm afraid so.'

"'Mom, that would make you a . . . '

"'Prostitute, hooker, whore . . . '

"'No, Mom, no.'

"'I don't see any other choice for us to be able to stay together. I promise I will stop as soon as we can afford it. I need to do this before I get too old and unable to attract men. Although I would be discreet, there is no way to keep it secret. Your friends will find out and you will be teased at school. You must learn to ignore their taunts. It will be as difficult for you as it will be for me. That is your price for us being able to stay together.'

"After we both cried for a long time, we talked about how it would work. She would only set aside a couple of nights a week. The men would come to our house for a maximum of one hour. I would be gone or go to somewhere in the house I couldn't see or hear what was going on. She would try it for a couple of months and then decide what to do from there.

"She had a lot of requests from men to date her once she let it be known she would be available. When it came time for her first date, I couldn't stand being hidden away. When I saw her before the first man arrived, I was shocked to see her with makeup and clothes that showed a lot more of her breasts and legs than normal. She was incredibly sexy looking. I understood why men would pay to be with her. A few minutes after the man had arrived and went in her bedroom, I snuck in closer to hear them. I was surprised how pleasant my mother seemed to greet the man who came. Her moans and squeals seemed to indicate she enjoyed her time with him. I was sick but stayed where I was. She praised his sexual skills and his size. The man told her something like she was the best he had ever had.

"As soon as the man left, my mother raced to the bathroom and threw up. She gargled with mouthwash and then took a shower. When she cried out, I thought she was hurt so I ran in. I saw her naked. Mom was scrubbing her private parts as hard as possible to erase any trace of the encounter with the man. Her face was already rubbed raw from trying to remove the makeup. She didn't try to hide her body or her tears from me. She was too numb to be modest. I eased my way out of the bathroom. I ran to my room, and I cried too. I felt so guilty because she was doing this to support me.

"When she came out, she came to my room and hugged me. We talked openly about what had happened. Mom explained to me that her being nice to the man and her exclamations of joy was an act. She needed them to be satisfied in order to keep them coming back and paying her. The more they paid her, the faster she could stop prostituting.

"In about three months, she decided to change up things. She had enough regulars who were willing to pay extra for her services rather than be cut off. There was a rotation settled on and no new men came by unless one dropped out. Her actions of displeasure after a visit, were less and less. She and I both developed a defense attitude towards what she was doing -- we acted like it was nothing unusual or important. We didn't cry anymore.

She was right in her prediction about the insults I would receive from my classmates. Girls would have nothing to do with me, many were forbidden by their parents. Boys tried to find an insult that would get a reaction from me. They would always approach me in small groups, in case I did try to fight them. I tried my best not to react, but when someone calls your mother the names they did . . . I finally decided what to do. I would fight -- one time -- one boy. I thought that if I fought the toughest boy in school who was taunting me and gave a good account of myself, that might give the other boys pause. The opportunity came my way one day.

Todd was the toughest kid in school. He and others were talking about how good a cocksucker my mother was. Instead of walking away, I stood my ground. I challenged Todd to a fight and said he probably wouldn't fight me by himself because he was too big of a coward. He couldn't turn down the challenge. It was obvious when we met after school that he thought I would be easy to defeat. He was taller and stronger than me by a longshot. What he didn't have was an overwhelming, over-the-top motivation to protect his mother. When we started, I ran to him and started punching and kicking non-stop. Most of my punches and kicks did not connect or do much damage. My constant attack, however, caused him to be almost totally on defense. A few of his punches did connect and do some damage to me. In my state of mind, I honestly did not feel them.

Enough of my punches and kicks did get through and he went down. He was crying. I turned to the crowd and asked who was next. It was a bluff. I had spent so much energy I could barely hold my arms up. Luckily, no one wanted to confront me. Derogatory comments about my mother from then on were whispered out of my hearing. My mother fussed at me for fighting, treated my 'badges of courage,' and took me out for ice cream -- a huge treat in those days.

"Several years later we had reached the point where enough bills and loans were paid off that we could make it with just her waitressing tips and my part-time jobs. I was happy, but my joy was short-lived. 'Harrison, I am pleased our finances have gotten to this point. I am not, however, going to completely stop what I'm doing yet.'

"'Why mother? Don't you hate what you are doing?'

"'Yes, but what I would hate more is for you to be stuck in poverty like we have been. I am starting a college fund for you. You have a new job to do now. You must make as good grades as possible so you will have solid college choices.'

"'But college could cost over $100,000. You would have to be a prostitute for a long time to raise that amount of money. I don't want you to have to do that for me."

"'It may not take as long as you think. I have been contacted by an escort agency who has opened an office here. Several of my clients have told them about me. Evidently, they think I am pretty enough and good enough at pleasuring men that I would be a popular choice. I would be making a lot more than I am now. It does mean that I would have to increase the nights of the week and, in some cases, the amount of time I am gone at night. I wouldn't be able to do this unless I thought you would be able to care for yourself when I wasn't home. Will you agree for us to do this?'

"'Mom, I can skip college and go right to full-time work. In a few years, I could . .'

"'No. Please, son. I need to do this for you. Your father and I had planned to be around for many years. We did not take in account one of us dying so early. I promised him one thing after he died: His son would not do the same thing as we did. You will go to college. You will get a good job. You will get married and start a family. You must promise me that you will plan for the worst and make sure your wife and children can survive without having to make the choice I did. Son, I will not welch on that promise. It would kill me to face your father in heaven and say I couldn't give you a good start in life. A college degree is essential to a good life. End of discussion." She went to her room crying.'

"So, technically, you heard right. I was often in the company of a 'prostitute,' my mother. Actually, she is an ex-prostitute. Last year, she married one of the men who hired her as an escort but then fell in love with her. He is well-known in the town. His first wife had died. When he asked my mother to marry him, she refused at first because of the shame she would bring to him. He said she would never be ashamed. If people didn't like his choice of a wife, screw them. He said he would never let her former profession influence a decision of where they might be seen together or what to do.

She was the one who told me when I went to college to tell people that I had lost both parents in a car accident. Mom did not want the stigma of her profession to negatively affect my life. I kept my promise to her until I went home to open the new office.

"I called her husband and told him I wanted to re-establish contact with my mother. He said he did not think she would agree because she still wanted to protect me. Then he thought of a possible way. He convinced her that it would be kinky to pretend he was a 'John' again and meet her in a hotel room. My mother refused to agree for a long time. Finally, she gave in. She came to the hotel room and broke down crying when she saw me. We spent the night talking and crying. I convinced her that I, like her husband, was proud to be seen with her. By the end of the night, we agreed to keep up with each other's lives. The time I spent in my hometown gave us time to catch up.

"Whoever told you about me being seen with a prostitute either was ignorant of the other facts or had something against me. I suspect that some of the people transferred here was not happy with me telling them what to do."

Emma cried through most of my story.

"Emma, I cannot forgive or forget you not talking to me about my assumed infidelity. I might be able to in the future, but not in time to stop the divorce. I am willing to be friendly towards you because I will always love you to some degree, but I do not see us being a couple again. And, no, I do not mean Friends With Benefits."

"Harrison, where will you be? What will you do?"

"I grew up being used to a simple life. I plan to do nothing much for a while except survive as simply as possible. I need a 'spiritual' cleansing of sorts."

*****

We went our separate ways. We exchanged Christmas cards. No annual review of our lives. Occasionally, we would run into each other. She usually cried. I assumed it was because I looked so bad. How bad did I look? People gave me money on the street without me having a sign or tin cup. I took the money and laughed.

Living as simply as possible was like a sabbatical for me. I had a chance to work out and get in the best physical shape of my life. It helped whenever someone tried to mug me which happened rather frequently in the homeless camps I slept in. I enjoyed reading and used the books and computer at the library. What l liked most was to talk to people who were down and out on their luck. There were a lot of reasons people were there. Finding a job they qualified for but having no transportation was a frequent theme. In addition, I found: Some beggars were swindlers. Some homeless could have gone home but they just chose not to go back and hassle with their family. Some were drug addicts. Some were mentally ill.

I began to feel like a fraud whenever I took a meal or other type of handout. I knew I could support myself and then my portion could be available for those who really needed it. I gave up my new life and went to see how much of my old life I could recover.

I shaved and got a haircut, keeping a short beard. My suit came from Goodwill, but it was first class. Used but first class. The job training class at the Salvation Army helped me update my resume. I claimed the last few years as a religious sabbatical. My first outreach was to my old company. When I filled out the application at Human Resources, the clerk remembered me and call my old boss. He told them to send me up as soon as I finished the paperwork.

I was greeted warmly. We gave each other updates on what had happened since I had left. He told me that it took him a while to get over my leaving abruptly. I had done such a good job, he felt I must have thought he was a terrible, non-supportive boss. Then he finally accepted that my choice was based on personal, family issues. The word about Emma, Tom and Jane had gotten around. Everyone was shocked about their behavior and felt sympathy for me.

After we finished catching up, he told me there was no immediate job opening he wanted to consider me for. He did say that the manager of the office in my hometown was being transferred in the near future. I would be recommended to take that position if I was interested. I said yes.

I called my mother up to tell her the news. She did not seem very excited about the news. I asked her why. She said her husband had been diagnosed with cancer in several of his internal organs and lymph nodes. He was a large man and it was physically difficult for her to manage him on her own. She had hired someone to help her with him and to help her keep house. The helper was a live-in staying in the guest bedroom. I couldn't believe she felt badly about not being able to offer me a place to stay while I was moving there.

Once my employment was made official, I began searching for a small house in my hometown near my office. Luckily, small starter homes were readily available. Perfect for a single bachelor -- two bedrooms and a bath and a half. Mom insisted in helping me move in. I let her.

In a few days, I got moved in and Mom brought me up to date on what had transpired since the last time I had seen her husband. It was a sad story and we both cried. She invited me to come over for dinner and see him. She would not take no for an answer. I waited a week or so to give me time to settle into the new house and new job. I threatened not to come if she did not allow me to bring some wine and at least one of the main dishes. She let me bring Kentucky Fried Chicken.

When I arrived, I left the wine and chicken off in the kitchen and went with my mother to visit her husband. He made a gallant effort to welcome me and discount his need for assistance. There were tears in his eyes when he thanked God for the time he had had with my mother. He ended with stressing the need for family. A lot of facial tissues were used all around.

I poured a glass of wine for myself and sat in the living room while Mom finished getting dinner on the table. I came to the table when called and noticed the extra place setting. I asked if the extra place was set in honor of her husband. She said no, I had forgotten the live-in assistant. She was right. I had forgotten.

I was already seated when my mother called out that dinner was ready. In she came. It was Emma. Talk about mixed feelings. Anger came first, but luckily the remnants of the love I had for her overcame the hatred. She looked like she was terrified to see my reaction.

"Emma, it's good to see you. You look great."

She melted and came to me crying. "I was so afraid you would get mad and leave. Please tell me you'll stay and talk to me. I want to know how you are and what you've been doing."

I told her I would be glad to stay and talk to her. Then my mother said I should take her to see my new house. My mother had become a match maker.

"Somehow I think I have been ambushed by you two. What gives?"

My mother explained that my ex-wife was having trouble after the divorce and her being fired at work. She could not go to Tom and Jane for help since they left town after they had gotten fired. Emma had called my mother to tell her that I had only told her the truth about her at the divorce decree signing. She said she wanted to get to know me even though you and she were not married anymore. It was a part of her life with her ex-husband that had been hidden from her. In addition, she felt that I was the one person who could keep her up to date on your situation. In my mother's eyes, Emma made it clear she still wanted to be part of your life.