The Devil Does Not Negotiate

I loved Killer.  But as our life began it became very apparent to me that a person could actually be a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.  He made it very clear as he laid the laws of the land out that what happened inside the Henshaw Homestead stayed inside the Homestead.  No matter what occurred inside the confines of those walls, when you stepped outside, you put on a happy face and acted like you were living in paradise.

The dress code was set. No pants, no jeans, dresses, skirts and heels.  Worm turned eleven two days after we were married.  She had to abide by this same dress code, only she was not allowed to wear heels, she was not allowed to wear jeans to school.  Killer made it known that he despised fat people and if I were to gain weight, he’d leave me. I had seen his late wife, I knew she struggled with her weight, but he spoke so highly of her and loved her so very much.  I had no intentions of gaining weight, but this was presented as a deal breaker.

Killer expected his clothes to be picked out the night before for work the next day and I was not allowed to lift my feet off the floor onto the mattress until this task was completed.  Worm on the other hand was responsible for hanging up his clothes when he came home.  He’d start to undress as he came in the back door and she followed him as he walked through the house picking up his clothes to hang them up properly for him.

I was no longer able to visit my parents as he felt I needed to cut the apron strings to that relationship. Apron strings? He did not know that those strings were severed several years ago.  Meals were to be prepared and presented to him in the third bedroom that he had converted to the “library.” Worm ate in her room behind closed doors.  Children were to be seen, not heard in his book.

Once dinner was served, she was to retrieve our dishes and proceed to the kitchen and clean up. There were days that I saw myself in that child, lollygagging as she took her time to complete her chore. She was not allowed to have friends over to play. She was not allowed to play with other children unless her chores were done and her chores were never done.  In fact, I was not allowed to have anyone over to the house.  The inside of the house was not for sharing.

Clothes were to be hung outside instead of using the dryer in the summer time.  Shirts were to be ironed and hung each week. I was not to have any contact with friends nor was I allowed to keep in touch with anyone. We would go to my parent’s home at Houghton Lake for the weekend some time, but again, we were to remain silent about anything that happened within the confines of the homestead.

Catalogs were delivered back in the early 1980’s.  J. C. Penney and Company as well as Sears had catalogs that were published twice a year, summer and fall. When the catalog was delivered, Killer would immediately open it to the under garments and circle his selection, requesting that I order them immediately and as they were secured, each was baptized with a name that he had selected.  When he felt the need, he would inform me of what booby basket to put on by referring to it by its name.  Each undergarment was photographed and cataloged over the years. It was my “wifely duty” as Killer told me so often.

I was Killer’s project.  I didn’t speak English properly.  If my grammar was not proper, he’d stop me in mid-sentence and correct me.  I did not walk tall enough.  Whenever he saw that I had the slightest slouch in my posture, he’d run his fingers up my spine to remind me that I needed to walk tall and act like I owned the world.  If I spoke back to him in anger, he would leave the room and inform me to seek him out when I could talk to him like a lady.

He reminded me that his given name stood for King and he expected to be treated as such.  Now, I have never been a princess, but I was not the Queen in this Kingdom.  I worked and in this new position, I worked for a group of young, good looking Arab men who sold life insurance.  The lack of equality slapped me in the face again. Women are not equal in this culture and it was made very clear that I was to “motivate” these men to sell! The other woman in this office was very attractive, but she was older and she directed me as to what the expectations were.  I could not work here.  It was not in me to be a servant to men and I was already married to a man who treated me as his servant. I refused to perform the requirements necessary to maintain this position and was fired. I didn’t care, I’d find another job. Killer would have removed these men from Earth if he had ever known what was expected of me. 

I wanted to be a claims adjuster. It is where my passion remained.  Killer told me that I was a woman and no one would hire me as an adjuster.  He was a claims adjuster and back in the 80’s this was a man’s world.  No one tells me that I can’t do something, if you do, you best step aside as I will crush you proving you are sadly mistaken.

I had  learned so many lessons in such a short time of being married and every day a new lesson would be presented whether I was looking for it or not. I learned that my shiny pride and joy, the 1978 Chevy Monza was not a car that I should be driving.  Mind you, I did the math one day and in Killer’s life time of driving, he bought a new car on the average of every 3.5 months. He sold the Corvette, he sold the Cadillac, he had a 1965 MG in the garage that had been disassembled years prior and his plan was to rebuild it at its 20^th anniversary. He had bought a Chevy Vega (pronounced Vay Ga) that he stripped and dropped more money in to fund a small country.  He drove a car for work, but he always had at least two expensive toys sitting in the driveway.

One particular day, he informed me that he was going to take my car to Owosso. He stated to  me that I needed new tires and he would take my car to get them installed.  There was a body shop there that he visited a lot for work to adjust a claim for cars that were victims of crashes and needed to be repaired or totaled. Upon his return home, he presented me with my next gift.  He did not feel that a married woman should drive a sports car.  I had just finished paying my Father off who had struck a deal with me to finance this so that I could remain in my apartment without struggling.

In the driveway he had parked my new present. I appointed this new possession, the Suburban Housewife car.  I was twenty two years old and driving a boat.  The Devil was slowly stripping me of my identity that I had fought so hard to achieve.