The Little House That Hell Built - Part 2

Dear Readers,

Let me take you on a journey fit only for fiction. Let me take you back...

To the second encounter with my Horror-In-Law. Charles and I were living in Clarksville, TN at the time, both of us being in the military and being stationed out that way. I was somewhat nervous about seeing the old bag again, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. I had more important things to think about. I was pregnant.

Yes my dear innocents, I had been having pre-marital relations and had gotten myself in the family way. (I'm a bad, bad girl) I can hear you. "Nikki, you went to see this woman? Were you out of you mind? I thought you said that she was a strict Southern Baptist?" I did say that gentle reader, and to say the visit was interesting goes beyond understatement.

Now, let me give you a little more background. I was still married to my first husband. Is your mouth agape? Shocking isn't it. It's not as bad as all that. I had left him quite a while before. Our marriage was not harmonious to say the least, so I left. Simple. He eventually found me a couple of years later, but wouldn't give me a divorce. (He know a good thing when he had it)

So there I was, in the house filled to the brim with heavenly retribution,

pregnant with Charles' baby and still married to my first husband. Judge Superior would have fallen dead on the floor had she know all of this. (I like to tease myself with this thought from time to time) Looking back, had I known all the grief this woman would cause me, I would have told her and saved myself a lot of trouble and heart ache, but I didn't. I kept my little mouth shut. My line of thinking being that I was with her youngest son, the one whom she favored and was naturally a little guarded. OH, how little I knew.

We arrived and everything went quite pleasant on the first day, we hardly spoke. I had taken a book and absorbed myself in it's pages to prevent being included in any conversation. Rude? Yes. Wrong? Yes. Was I ashamed - even a little bit? HELL NO! I was determined not to speak any unnecessary words to this woman. I knew what was expected of me for the most part. Nod my head and agree with her - that was it. Simple enough for someone who doesn't have a brain. Unfortunately for me, I had already gone to see the Wizard of Oz, so there was nothing simple about it for me. Disagreeing or correction was simply not allowed, that had already been made painfully clear to me.

I was raised in the South, I knew that any women visitors are expected to help with dinner and the dishes. My help was not needed for dinner, she made Charles help her. I don't know if she just wanted to spend a little time with him or if she just didn't want me to screw up her dinner, I was just grateful I wasn't in there with her no matter what the reason was. Oh, I showed token resistance, but that was it. I could let it be said that I hadn't offered to help. I mean, I wouldn't have had any problem getting the Pam out of the cabinet for her and then go back to reading my book.

Now, I'm sure you have all heard of the traditional southern fare, everything fried and over cooked. Well, it's true. I don't remeber what she cooked, I just remember looking into a bowl of home made gravy with grease pooled at the top and had the sudden urge to decorate her table with my lunch. You see, I suffered quite severely from morning sickness (or rather Entire Day sickness) the whole of my pregnancy. Have you ever tried to not vomit? Just makes you even sicker doesn't it. I was in absolute misery. I had green beans for dinner and somehow managed to not produce them for show and tell. Score one for me. HA HA

The dishes on the other hand, were another matter all together. After dinner, I helped clear the table and ran a sink full of water and did her dishes. (Personally, I hate it when someone does this when they are a guest at my house. I feel like you are a guest, you should enjoy yourself with company and the good time and leave the chores to me. If I didn't want to do them, I would've used paper plates, or not invited you at all. But I digest)

The entire time I was washing her damn dishes, she hovered over my left shoulder and watched me do them. She did not join in to dry them or put them away. She watched and gave instructions (like I had never done dishes before) to make sure I did her dishes to her satisfaction. "Oh, You warsh your silverware firs. I don do mine like 'aaat. Take 'em out and warsh the glasses firs, then the plates, then the silverware, the the pots and pans... Yeah, 'at's how I do 'em." I couldn't believe that shit. I could feel my face getting hot. I was in immediate need of a cigarette. I bit my tongue. I didn't say anything. Score one, and two, for her.

I went to bed early, pleading exhaustion from the drive, but you and I know that pregnant women know how to sleep, and I was going to brush up on some of the finer points of that particular activity. I snuggled down and was out like the proverbial light. I awoke promptly at zero dark thirty and had to go to the bathroom. I didn't have to go tinkle, I had to puke, and there was to be no swallowing it down this time. As the fates would have it, the bathroom is right beside the master bedroom.

Yes dear reader, I woke Judge Superior while I was hurling. Have you ever tried to be quite while puking? I have. I didn't work. On the good side, I had only green beans for dinner so there wasn't much to throw up, on the other hand, I did more than my normal amount of dry heaving. Ever noticed how it echoes in the bowl? (Don't act like you don't know what I talking about. We have all worshiped the porcelain god at one time or another) I got up, wiping my mouth, and there she stood at the door. I froze. I had taken the time to close that damn thing, but it stood open, and so did her mouth. I never said she was a stupid woman, just a great big pain in the ass and the biggest judgmental bitch I have ever run across.

"Green beans must not have set right on my stomach." said I. It sounded hollow even to me.

She watched me brush my teeth. She didn't move. Her mouth eventually closed and she shot the depths of hell at me through her eyes. She never said a word. She walked back into her room, I walked back down the hall and right before I stepped in my room, I looked back and she was watching me, her body filled the doorway, arms crossed, mouth set.

She had it. Proof. I was leading her baby boy into the depths of hell with my wicked ways.

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My thanks to Wendy's Wizard of Oz web page for allowing me to use their great pictures. You can visit the site by clicking here.