There are Endless Possibilities in this Game called Life

Would I ever be known as just Cindy Henshaw? Not Killer's wife. Could I ever escape that identity of belonging to someone? I was standing on my own two feet and yet I was not recognized for my contributions, I was recognized as someones wife. I realized I had to change this but I had no idea how to accomplish some thing that had been set in stone with the good ole boys.  It wasn't just them, everyone knew me as Killer's wife.

It didn't take long for Killer to realize I went to Florida with Michael.  I had told him I was going, he assumed by myself to visit my parents. He thought that when I lost my job, Michael would back off and look at me as less desirable opening the door to fly back into Killer's web.  He still banked on the fact that I would come to my senses and realize no one would love me as much as he did and that I'd be a lost lamb in a world that I would find over whelming and cruel. I certainly was getting a large does of the cruelty of life, that was for sure.

The fact that I went to Florida with  Michael, took Killer to another level. He felt betrayed.  I could not understand why.  I walked away from him. We were separated and I did not feel obligated to inform him of my every movement, decision or thought.  Nor did I feel I needed to inform him of my  itinerary and whom I chose to spend time with.

The true Killer appeared shortly after he discovered I had gone to Florida with Michael. He would call my little piece of heaven telephone several times a day while I was at work and leave the most hateful messages.  Accusing me of being a whore, cheap white trash, unworthy of carrying the Henshaw name. I was disgracing his name and he continued to belittle me in these messages that were left daily, multiple times, over and over.

Hidden between these messages of hate, he'd call and beg for my forgiveness and plead for my return, emphasizing how very much he loved me and could not live without me. I kept each of those messages and replaced the tape in my answering machine time and time again.  I don't know why I kept them, but whenever my heart would soften toward Killer's pleas, I'd take out the tapes and play them. My heart would harden as they exposed the man that lived behind the walls of the Henshaw Homestead that no one knew except Worm and I.

Meanwhile, Michael continued to try and win my heart over.  He would spend hours trying to persuade me to marry him and ignore Killer's pleas of reconciliation.  Neither would leave me alone.  All I wanted was time for me, to think, feel, grieve and decide if either of them were in the running of winning my heart, but every day they worked my heart, pulling, turning, twisting and tugging on its heart strings. 

I hated my new job. I hated working with these good ole boys.  I was the only woman adjuster and this was a man's world at the time. Women were not adjusters, they were the clerical support, receptionist or file clerk, but they were not equals to a male adjuster. No matter where I was, I struggled with my inner self over my self worth. Men looked at me as this pretty little thing that was hired to meet the equal opportunity employer requirements. Someone that they could treat with disrespect as I was not their equal, not in the work force.  They tried to embarrass me with their dirty little jokes, making snide remarks under their breath that could be heard by me about my physique and what they wanted to do with it. Did they honestly think that I would break?  They had no idea how I could ignore their pathetic behavior and act like nothing was wrong.  Killer had trained me well.  Walk out that door and never let a soul  know what you are feeling on the inside, act like you own the world! And that is just what I did.

Within weeks, I started sending out my resume. This was not for me. I had a hard time billing hours for more than the time I had invested in the task.  That was how you billed sixty hours in a forty hour week.  If you had to take the statement of a claimant and because of your expertise you could take the statement in twenty minutes because you knew exactly where to drill down on the facts of the claim, you billed an hour because that is what the "average" adjuster would spend completing this task.  If it took you one minute to call a phone number and the phone was busy, you billed six minutes as that was the minimal billing charge.  

I hated the small office atmosphere.  I hated the good ole boys and their small minded ways.  It was time to move on and it is always easier to find a job when you have one, so the resume started flying out in the mail everyday.

It was December 1986, Worm called me to inform me that she was being discharged from the service. She was eighteen now and while I was disappointed that her discharge was not her decision, I was happy that she was free from Killer.  She was in Alabama at the time so she wasn't far from her Mother's family and I knew she'd have the support she needed to survive.

Christmas was approaching and I was indifferent about this holiday.  My parents were in Florida. Michael and I went to celebrate with his family.  It was my first time to meet them all.  

He came from a large family and they all loved life.  I remember standing in the kitchen, the children all excited about the wonder of the moment and the arrival of Santa.  The lights were dimmed as the cake was lit and we sang Happy Birthday.  The cake was decorated like any birthday cake should be with the lettering so carefully printed  across the sheet top, "Happy Birthday, Jesus."

I was taken back for a brief moment.  I had never celebrated this blessed holiday with a birthday cake. Another new experience was being laid out in front of me.  Look closer at what occurs every day in everyone's life and see that no two people are alike. The world held so many possibilities for me, I just had to carve out my own little piece of it.