Monday Memoir Dec 4, 1965

 As I said last time, a lot happened between November 27 and December 4. I suggest readers scan The Week that Almost Wasn't first if you have not. Then this will make sense. Looking back, I shake my head over the drama and feel a twinge of shame for using the sort of emotional blackmail I so despise--I was desperate but do not fully excuse myself on that count..  Anyway... 

Dec 4,1965 Sat

I stayed awake late last night, long enough to see Moonspinner slip down the street about 10:00. This morning I ran over to check and he really was gone. I could not wait to get out the road but was scared to open the can. “You be here Monday. I love you.” That’s the note I found. So I did my chores and headed home. Lyno was better. And so we talked. I made a few complaints but small good it will do. Finally we went up on the mountain with the pickup and chain saw. Meanwhile the local had put the new cook car in place and took the old one. We had a time getting wood, ugh. I got sick going up. Of course if I had caught I would not feel it yet, would I? And it isn’t possible --I should try again about Friday or early next week if that is what I want. And even then I might not. But I’ve just about had it. They convince me to stay for a few minutes but the grief is just too much. We got our chores done by moonlight again. I’ve got to wait and see what Dusty has to say now but I think I will go. They will be mad but I don’t care. I’ve got to escape; I’ve got to.

I am 90% sure Mom and Dad never knew I had slipped out that night and they certainly had no idea how close they had come to being victims. Death had been even closer to me, right up to this day I'm speaking of. I don't think I was play-acting. I was 'dead' serious to make a black humor pun. Suicide was not a threat or a game; death really looked better than life in these days.  For a bit I saw no good ways out. 

My mind was whirling like a hamster on a wheel, still struggling in an alien and little understood situation. I used the familiar term with which I spoke of the mares after being bred--they 'caught' or they did not. At that point I had no way to know that pregnancy would be very unlikely for me then or ever due to some physical issues,  but even being naive, I knew it was possible. No, I would never have agreed to abort this child had it come to be but that never arose. At that point it was still illegal, anyway. But in some ways, I truly wanted to have that much of Dusty regardless of what came later though I still hoped for a shared future.

Leaving was really the only possible alternative besides suicide or murder, neither of which I truly wanted to accomplish, however distraught I was. Even that was going to be difficult. At this point I did not really include Charlie Mike in my plans; too much had changed too fast and I did not want to be responsible for his welfare along with my own. Before long Dad's sly new and mean divide-and-conquer efforts also sprouted and for a time drove us apart. The man was a virtual Svengali, twisting people's emotions, gaslighting until sanity became doubtful and one could perceive white as black and vice versa. In my spare time--there were still constant chores, tasks and urgent necessities to deal with--I continued to sort and pack my stuff. Yes, I was going to go.

A few slightly relevant photos:  The first a repeat from last week: the river was about 25 yards past the bridge and on Nov 30, I stood  under that bridge and asked myself to be or not to be... The next photo is of the B&B 6 work train with the new cook car, the long shiny one, in place. Dusty's car is just left of it and the structure I crawled under dimly visible below them. Last illustrates the blouse or shirt I wore that night.  I had made it earlier in the summer and really liked it. Another pose from this session is the one I photo-shopped with one of Dusty to have us together.