Poutine

You're Probably Wondering When the Story AcTuALLy Starts

Truthfully, so am I, and truthfully- all of this is the story. If one never went through hell, how could they have a story to tell? Each part of my ultimate demise- that sounds morbid- obviously I haven't actually died, pushes the story forward. 

It snowballed from the last chapter. Somehow I was coerced into letting my sixteen year old get not one- but three tattoos. I regret that. I'm all for freedom of expression, believe me. By then, I had died half my hair brilliant purple and let me tell you- I looked great! But she was just so young. And spiralling. 

As you can imagine- this is when I met my new man, Gerry. I thought he was the hottest thing this side of the equator. Maybe it was because Billiam was- you know what? I'm gonna say it. He was hideous. Billiam was about to turn 50 on his next birthday- so inevitable aging came with a shit ton of grey hair, even more wrinkles- and the four teeth he had had long since eroded. I wish I was kidding. So believe me when I say Gerry was like a model in my eyes. He always wore a baseball cap- Under Armour. He lowered his eyes when he walked and I was like Boom Baby, I got a winner- he won't be eyeing up all the girls that go around. I was half right, half wrong. And for your sake I will shorten my relationship with him to a couple paragraphs. 

Gerry was diabetic- and barely worked. So I paid the rent, I paid his vehicle fees, I paid for the food, I paid for cigarettes, I paid for his insulin. On my minimum wage salary. Being the shit mom I am, I told my girl to pack up her shit, I couldn't afford two rents- we'd just move in with Gerry. So we did. Gerry treated me fairly well, but was jealous of my daughter and I. Shit mom I may be but we always stayed close. Though she began drifting- and God knows I don't blame her. Mom was preoccupied with a new guy. 

With Gerry, I began smoking and drinking again- after six years clean from both. I even smoked a few joints (I hate weed- always have the worst trips). Don't ask how I could afford it. Life was great- the family didn't talk to us, so I adopted Gerry's dad like my own. Stark differences in between them. Billiam was so far out of my mind. I got my divorce and told myself I'd marry Gerry. And that's when his past begin surfacing.

He was also married. Separated for over three years. 

We wouldn't get married anytime soon.

Gerry had a three year old girl. She loathed me. Which is odd because children in general like me. I spent more money on her than on my own daughter. I put myself into massive debt on Christmas for my new family.

But Gerry was good to me. THough we lived just five minutes from the gas station where I worked- especially during the winter months- he would roll his SUV through the drive- always park in front of the air pumps (much to the dismay of several customers) to visit me on a break, or to come pick me up. I appreciated that. My daughter didn't come as often now, between her homeschooling and having to help babysit the little girl. I thought it was odd because Gerry pampered his own daughter so much- and on top of that had lost a baby when she wasn't even one years old yet- and yet he was really lousy at parenting Ruby. I only lost it a few times with Gerry. Twice he called me by his exes name. That was a first for me- in all my relationships. But the main snap was when I caught him texting "I miss you...I'll always love you" to his ex, while waiting for me at my work. Didn't I do enough for the guy? Unfortunantly this wasn't enough- between his discrepancies and my shouldering all the financial responsibility- for me to leave him. Truth be told, I didn't have anywhere to go. So I'll claim that. 

Then came the missed period. I took no less than 10 pregnancy tests to reconfirm what was already there- two lines. As you know, I thought I was unable to have children. But there it was. A miracle baby. And I adored it. 

My mind told me if I left the Island, we would start fresh- have a better chance of bringing up our child, and there were more opportunities for my now seventeen year old daughter, Emmaline. 

I was wrong. But I had no way of knowing that until we packed our shit, got rid of more of our shit than we brought- and toted our butts to Moncton.