Moving Day

My first reaction was to hit the guy holding her in the face with the broom handle. I hit him right on the nose. He fell backward with blood all over his face.

The second guy had stopped trying to remove her jeans and was trying to stand when I hit him across the side of his head. He started down but struggled to get up again. So I hit him again and again until he stopped moving. Actually, someone pulled me off him or I would have probably killed him.

The bouncers held me until the police arrived. After the police sorted everything out, the two guys were taken to the hospital and once there they were charged with attempted rape. I was interviewed by the detective about my actions. After I told him my story, he chastised me about "getting involved" the "possibility of being hurt," and "letting the police do their jobs."

After he got done reading me the riot act, he put an arm around my shoulders and whispered in my ear, "Good job, Son." I later heard these two were responsible for a couple of other assaults in the area.

After the detective was done with me a patrolman asked me where my car was. It seemed that Mary had gotten a ride to the club with a friend and she had left without Mary. She had accepted a ride back to her apartment from one of those clowns. When they reached the back of the parking lot, Mary realized they were going to ride her instead. She clawed one guys face struggling to get away when his buddy grabbed her from behind. If I hadn't come along they would probably beaten her badly if not fatally because of her resistance to their plans.

A police woman brought a blanket wrapped Mary to me. Mary had a pair of badly torn jeans on and part of her bra to maintain her modesty. She grabbed on to me and started crying her heart out. She wouldn't let go so I had to pick her up and carry her to my vehicle. Yeah you're right, "I'm a softie."

The female cop followed along with Mary's purse. The cop helped me open the passenger door and between the two of us we managed to get Mary in my truck with most of her modesty preserved. I didn't have a clue where Mary lived so I took her to my apartment. I figured that I'd settle her down in my bed and I would sleep on the couch. In the morning we'd address getting her something to wear and home.

We never did address getting her back to her home or even me sleeping on the couch for the next week or two. For the first three nights the only way I could get her to sleep was by holding her in my arms in bed. She had nightmares any time I tried to leave her alone. So I stayed with her.

Ok, it wasn't exactly an unpleasant duty holding a half naked woman in your arms all night. But somehow I was able to be the almost complete gentleman (I did peek).

Six months later the lease on her apartment expired. She didn't renew it. Hell she hadn't slept there since before the attempted rape.

*******

There was a knock on my back door at the farm house. My first thought was, "My coffee's here." Then I remembered that I didn't order any. So there went my sudden good mood.

I suspected that my cab back to my hotel room in the city had arrived. I wasn't spending the night in the old house. All the bedroom furniture, the bedding, the bathroom supplies and such had been packed and shipped to my new place or donated to Goodwill.

I went to the door to tell the driver I'd be right out. When I opened the door I got the surprise of my life. There stood Mary, the mother of my twin children and my ex-wife. This was a woman I hadn't seen in over twenty years.

The years had not been kind to her. She was dressed like a bag lady. She had lost enough weight that I'll bet she wouldn't tip the scales at over 80 lbs with all her clothes soaking wet.

Like I said before, "The years had not been kind to her." Her face and neck were a mass of small scars and other old injuries. Her nose looked as if she had been a losing prize fighter, both broken and flattened across her face/

But the most striking feature was the scar that stared near her right temple and drifted across her face until it reached her mouth. The horrifying part was that the scar crossed under the eye patch she was wearing. With one look at the eye patch I realized that the patch had nothing underneath it.

Her eye was gone.

My mind jumped back in time to that phone call so many years ago.

*******

I was sitting in my little cubical when my supervisor stuck his head in and handed me a telephone message. I must have had a funny look in my face because he said, "It's one of your neighbors. Your kids got off the school bus and your wife isn't home so they are at her house," he said.

I made the phone call to my neighbor. She explained the twins were at her house and I should get home to them right away. They were only 6 years old. Something wasn't right. I left and drove home.

When I got to my neighbor's house, Sue Sharp, my neighbor, met me at the car, "Paul, I'm sorry to tell you this but Mary moved out today. Some guys with a small van pulled up at your house around 10:00 and two guys plus Mary carried all her clothes and stuff out to the truck. When they were done, they just drove away laughing and grabbing at each other. They were going at it so hard that I'm surprised they didn't have sex right on your front lawn."

"They left the doors to the house wide open. So after they drove around the corner I went over to your house to lock up."

"It was a mess. All your clothes were thrown around and dresser drawers were pulled out and dumped out on the floor. Jill Daily and I spent the rest of the day cleaning up your house so that the kids wouldn't be panicked by mess."

"Thank you," was all I could reply.

The next few days were hectic. There were lawyer meetings, bank account closings, credit card freezings, and all the things I needed to do to protect myself. The worst part was explaining where Mommy was. I had no idea of her whereabouts so I lied to the twins. I hated lying to them, but I was trying to protect them from the hurt I was feeling. My daughter just cried worrying that her mother was hurt, her brother just sat there stoically with his arms around his twin. I guess that's how twins coped.

It took almost a year, but finally I was divorced. My lawyer could never find Mary to serve her, so we used desertion as a reason for the divorce. There would never be any child support, alimony, asset splitting or visitation rights. As far as the judge was concerned she was dead to us.

I know it takes 7 years to declare a person legally dead. But she was dead as far as our marriage and the children were concerned. That was all that was really important to me.

To pass the lonely hours after I had Jackie and Paul Jr. all snug in their beds, I started playing around with my music again. I started composing and writing lyrics in various styles. I'd sit there in front of my organ and imagine various artists performing and tailor my song to their style.

Over the next six years I got very good. I would play for some of my neighbors and they would claim the song was a Beatles, or Blood, Sweat, and Tears, or some other group but they just couldn't remember the name of that particle song. Internally I would smile knowing that I had created this musical piece of work. And yes, I got very good.

One day I ran into one of my old classmates from the Eastman School. Sam had a few hit albums and a minor amount of celebratory. At the point in time when we became reacquainted, he was in a musical slump. We talked about old times, but the conversation kept coming around to his slump. He just couldn't create anything saleable.

I began to feel sorry for him. We started discussing his "style" and finally went to my house on the pretense of seeing my children. He played his guitar for my kids and I played my organ. We both sang. When I felt that I had his style down fairly well, I played him one of my songs. We then played it a couple of more times until he was comfortable with it.

The next day was a Saturday and I found him in his car in my driveway at 7:00 am. He was as excited as kids at Christmas about the song. He had stayed up half the night and re-wrote some lyrics for it. As I made coffee for me and breakfast for everyone else, he sang "his" song for us.

My kids were impressed. They knew they were watching what was going to be a hit song being created. Sam and I stayed by my organ the rest of the day. If it wasn't for the kids getting hungry, I don't think we would have ever stopped jamming.

By the time Sunday evening rolled around Sam had 10 songs to take back with him. He was on his cell phone with his band setting up practice sessions for the next two weeks as he walked from my house.

It was about a month later that Jackie came running into the house yelling for me to turn on the radio. It seems that she recognized one of the songs Sam and I played that weekend a month ago. The song was climbing the charts. Sam's career was climbing with it.

It was kind of nice hearing my music on the radio even if no one but my kids, Sam, and I knew who wrote them. I must admit that I did get an ego burst out of hearing them.

One night several days later Jackie answered the phone (well it was usually for her anyway) and yelled down from her bedroom to me that the call was for me.

I picked up the extension, "Hello?"

"Hi Paul, it's Sam, Your song is going all the way to the top! I just got a call from our label and they want to do an album based around that new sound. What do you think about that?

"Sam, it's the best news I've had. I'm glad to see that you are on your way back to the top with your new music."

"No you idiot, it's your music! And that's what I'm calling about. I set you up with an agent and he'll be calling you tomorrow. I want to be sure that you receive all the royalties you are due."

"But Sam, those songs were my gift to you, my friend. I don't want to profit off your success."

"Bullshit buddy. This is my gift to you," said Sam.

To make a long story short, it took about three months before the checks started arriving. At first it was like having a 2nd job that paid very well, but they started becoming smaller after about ten months.

Well it was fun while it lasted. Sam and his guys got their mojo back and started creating new music themselves. My help was no longer required.

Early one evening almost two years later my phone rang. This time the phone answering service was at the mall with a couple of her girl friends so I was forced to answer it myself. I suspected it would be a "boy" calling and answered the phone with a message pad in hand.

Imagine my surprise when it was Sam calling for me. "Hi buddy, how's the new house? Have you gotten settled into that new to you "old" farm house? "

"Yes, a little."

"Are you set up for writing new stuff?"

"Almost."

"Good because I have a friend that could use your help."

"What kind of help, "I asked.

"She wants to make a comeback, but needs some music in her old style. She's been trying for the past year but keeps coming up dry. She needs your help buddy."

"Sam, I don't know if I even can work in her style, who ever she is"

Sam told me her name and it was the name of a multi gold and platinum award winner. I was awed.

"Sam, I'd love to help, but remember that you and I sat in my living room and hashed out the songs? She's famous! I don't know how we'll get together to do the work."

"Paul, I discussed all this with her. If you'll help, she'll move in your house for a couple of weeks and the two of you can create beautiful music," and then he laughed a dirty laugh.

"Asshole, my kids will be home. There's "no beautiful music" for me. Only good old fashioned song writing."

Well I did have an extra bedroom.

Sam promised to work out the logistics with her and let me know what was decided.

It wasn't even a week when my daughter handed me a telephone message, "Sam called, and he said to be at the airport at 7:00 am Saturday to meet our house guest. What's up Dad?"

I explained that I had another friend coming to stay and we'd work on some music.

Saturday morning the three of us, me, Jackie, and Paul Jr. were standing outside of the security area at the airport waiting for Sam's buddy.

The kids were both looking over the arriving passengers trying to spot someone who looked like a friend of Sam's when a rather plain looking housewife type walked up to me and said, "Are you Paul KohlerKohler?"

I recognized the voice immediately. You can hide the physical features in baggy clothes, the face behind dark glasses, but you can't hide that beautiful voice from me.

I nodded my head and said to the kids, "Ok guys, She's here. Let's go."

"She" smiled at the kids and said, "My name's Ann. Please call me that."

I watched as my daughter's eyes got wider and wider as her brain processed the voice she was hearing and compared it to what her eyes were seeing. I just managed to get my hand over her mouth before she blurted out a name.

"Ann" this is my daughter Jackie and my son Paul Jr. Welcome to our city. Let's get your luggage and go have breakfast."

My son, a new driver, volunteered to get the car and pick up us at the terminal. That way we wouldn't need to walk "all that way" to the parking garage with "Ann's" luggage, or so his reasoning went. A teenage boy with a new driver's license will agree to do anything he could to drive.

There was one time he wanted to drive to the next door neighbor's house to borrow some milk. His logic, "But Dad, I'll be able to get there and back faster and the milk won't spoil!"

It was a nice try, but I made him walk.

It's no wonder that I'm starting to get a few gray hairs so early in my life.

My advice to you is to move when your kids enter those teenage years and not give them your forwarding address. Trust me, it will be worth it. Well maybe not. But the thought offers some humor at times of severe stress.

Anyway the three of us stood as a little family group while we waited for my son to drive up. Naturally he took the long way around. My daughter and "Ann" stood whispering and giggling together. You would have thought they were old friends the way they carried on.

I had begun to notice over the past few months that my daughter Jackie was hanging around with older women. I would see her walking with the neighbors or talking to her teachers. She was at that age when she needed a woman's touch. As I watched this interaction, I felt a renewed hatred for my ex deserting our children.

I can see where a woman might want to leave a husband, but I could never rationalize why she would ever leave her children. Something must be lacking in Mary. Maybe it was the "Mother" gene.

My son snapped me out of my thoughts by pulling up the curb in front of us and scrapping the right side tires. Oh well he was still learning and tires were cheaper to replace than having human or car body damage repaired. I just wished that he'd learn a little faster. He was hard on cars and my wallet.

That night "Ann" and I sat the kids down and explained why she was here. I made it clear to both of them that no one, "And I mean no one" could learn of her presence at our house. She was just my cousin "Ann" from the west coast to all their friends. I promised them with years of being confined to their rooms (no phone for my daughter and no car for my son).

I guess the penalty threats worked because they were unusually quiet when they went off to bed.

"Ann" watched them trudge off to their rooms and waited for until they were out of hearing range,

"Paul, don't you think you were a little hard on them"

"No!" I declared. "Kids talk first and think later. I don't want your visit here being on the evening news."

"I can see your point and respect it, but I hate to see the kids threatened when they haven't done anything. You appear have done an excellent job of raising them. I saw this after only spending one day with them. "

"Thank you, it's been hard. But I never gave up on them like their mother did."

We switched subjects to music and later adjourned to my music room. That first night we worked on her stuff until the sun was breaking over the horizon before calling it quits and turning in to our respective rooms.

One of the fortunate things about teenagers is that they sleep in whenever the chance presents itself. My two were no exception. It was 10:00 am before they started making noise. I got up, partially dressed and went down to attempt to quiet them down a notch. "Ann" needed her sleep. Besides our late night writing session, she was still on West Coast time and probably needs the extra sleep.

I promised I'd cook their favorite breakfast after I took a shower and dressed. A little bribery never hurt. I headed back up to my room.

Thirty minutes later I walked out of my bedroom and into some of the greatest smells I had smelled in this old house. When I walked into the kitchen I found "Ann" cooking breakfast. While it was a bit of a shock seeing her cooking that wasn't the biggest one. My daughter Jackie was helping cook!

Now Jackie never showed any interest in anything related to the kitchen. Hell, I had a hard time getting her to help load the dishwasher. So I almost had as Fred Sanford used to say with hand over heart, "The big one," when I saw this.

"Hi Dad, I'm helping "Ann" make breakfast. The eggs and bacon are almost ready. Do you want a couple of pancakes too? "Ann" taught me how to make the batter from scratch and everything." "Ann" just stood in the background and beamed.

I damn near cried because I was so proud of my daughter's accomplishments and I could hear the happiness in her voice

"I'll have some of everything," I answered.

It was a perfect breakfast if you don't mind extra crunchy pancakes. I ate them with a smile on my face. And you know teenage boys, they'll eat anything.

My daughter was one proud girl. "Ann" and I cleaned up the kitchen while Jackie basked in her newfound glory. I had forgotten how messy new cooks were. It must have taken "Ann" and me an extra half hour to restore the kitchen to some state of cleanliness.

Later in the afternoon when "Ann" and I were taking a break from our composing she said, "Jackie needs a female role model in her life at this point. I'd like to apply for the job if you'll let me."

"Wow! I never even thought about it before. I'd like you to be her mentor but there are problems. First you are only here for two or three weeks, we need to consider her feelings when you leave."

Before I could continue she interrupted me, "Paul, I thought all about those road blocks. First there's the telephone. Jackie and I can talk daily. Second you and I are creating beautiful music here, after I get back home I still need to do a little studio time to clean them up and record them.

Then I will be back here to work with you. You might not realize it but you do write some fantastic music and I'm going to need a lot of your stuff."

"But I..."

"Be quiet and let me finish. When it's summer vacation for the kids, I'd like Jackie to spend some quality time with me on the West coast. You know she needs a woman's touch now and I promise I'll return her to you unharmed."

At that point, Jackie returned home and entered my studio. "Why are you guys taking a break? I want to hear what you two have written so far. You know "Ann"; my Dad is just about the greatest song writer in the world."

The tears started forming in my eyes. "Ann" reached over and squeezed my hand in hers.

Ann softly said, "Do we have a deal?"

I just sat there like a bobble head doll nodding yes.

"Why don't you put the tea kettle on for your father and me," suggested "Ann."

The song writing took almost two months. Part of that was I still had my regular job to visit every day. We put together almost enough music for two albums. Jackie and "Ann" were joined at the hip during this period. Where "Ann" went Jackie was not far away. As "Ann's" time with us was drawing to a close, Jackie started to become quiet.