Chapter Twenty – Nine “That Woman Deserves Her Revenge.”
Chapter Twenty – Nine
“That Woman Deserves Her Revenge.”
“And we deserve to die.” –– Sidewinder Budd as portrayed by Michael Madsen in Tarantino’s 2003 Kill Bill II
A smidgen of digression near the end of that last, wee chapter perhaps –– a leap of around a decade or so, a leap of not just one extra day as in some Februarys. It did end though. That chapter –– The Opera. It did but not without one last Andrew Lloyd Weber – like pouf. Actually it felt more like a sound fillip to the skull’s temple –– as if it had emanated from the small but malevolent mitts of little bullies on an elementary school’s playground. There was a 13 September 1994 filing –– upwards one more level –– from that Iowa Court of Appeals fiasco wherefrom Judge Pansy Shawshank and her lone cohort in dishing out Truth and Justice, brand newly appointed Judge Barry L. Crowrook, as The Majority who the two of them actually were in their having just decided that I HAD WON MY APPEAL! and should have Herry Edinsmaier's taking stopped, were, on ‘my case’, never to be heard from again! Sent up to the State of Iowa Supreme Court on that date now only two weeks shy of Mirzah Truemaier’s 15th birthday went a document which initially stumbled along as almost all of the gazillions of documents before it had, “COMES NOW … ”
“COMES NOW the Appellant – Respondent, Dr. Legion True, pursuant to the Iowa Rules of Appellate Procedure nos. 16a and 402 and in support of her APPLICATION FOR FURTHER REVIEW BY THE IOWA SUPREME COURT, argues as follows:
1. that in the allotted 20 days in which to request such Application for Further Review, Appellant Dr. True wanted to hire an attorney to represent her in this Argument before the Iowa Supreme Court against the 25 August 1994 Court of Appeals Majority Opinion; but at the requested retainer price of $8,000.00 by the Mot Yelir Law Firm of Cedar Rapids, she not only has no such money, but she knows of no one of her (ordinary) friends or working class parents who would have such money for themselves in such a situation, let alone, be able to loan her such money. Therefore, extremely reluctantly but necessarily, Dr. True appears in this Application and Brief pro se –– again –– realizing that IF she had had the money, then that Firm, which rarely, if ever, loses, would have taken on her struggle. There has to be hope in that message.”
It, the Application to the Supreme and final appellate Court of Iowa, continued through 13 more major points and a total of 17 pages with The (TRUE MAJORITY's, that is, Shawshank's and Crowrook's) Dissent in its six pages appended, word – for – word, as well. At the time of this writing, I had forgotten it all –– until once more rereading that Brief all again! It was fucking damned good in my estimation –– even now! Pro frickin’ se though this last fling, too, had had to be flung by me to ‘the Courts’ full up of all of DaMen! The one sentence out of its entirety that sticks out the most to me now, however? Its last one, the underscored sentence of Point #1 in the above paragraph, “There has to be hope in that message.”
Uh – uh. Now? Now, I am changed. “A changed individual,” Dr Bassenthwaite in her Sixth Floor SpaChezResort's diagnostic analysis had charted regarding so sleep - deprived, then fully rested Legion –– after my ~72 hours' worth of induced and constant slumber. After those three necessary nights and days of uninterrupted somnolence. And I say, “Uh – uh! No mother – fucking way is there any such thing! Hope? HOPE is a woman – killer. The deadliest ever.
File – stamped the 04th day of November 1994, The Opera was all over. Indeed. All over. For good and forever done with. Arriving in that Havencourt mailbox inside the truly skinniest envelope harboring but one single page, if even a whole sheet at that, I pretty much knew it, too, that there was to be … no more.
Acceptance? Well, I didn’t even think on whether or not I had to accept that there was to be no more. No more … hope. Just the knowing of no more was what was fairly deeply settling within.
Again, only the one sentence. The ‘order’ as the lone page was actually and arrogantly entitled might as well have been one mere upswept stroke of then – Chief Justice Arthur MacGyver’s pen marking a little check – off box beside a standard set of responses on some fucking template form! “After consideration by this court en banc, further review of the above – captioned case is hereby denied.” With there to be absolutely no applause, no bows and most certainly no script or score encores … then, the Opera’s … Final Curtain … descended.
NO matter the weally, weally wee thingy –– woman - wise, that is –– that 23 of the 25 guardians of the United States Constitution at Pillar - Kingy Herod Edinsmaier's dictum, at DaMan's patriarchal whininess had just wholly and soooo, so easily and androcentrically mother - fucked over one (more) wild and ... crazy whore. A Majority of these justices had just ruled in the Mama's favor? Two out of the three who had actually 'heard' and 'sort of' slightly ... knew ... 'my case'? Why –– Hell ... daJudge Chieftain Donnellson of Iowa's lower appellate court, ("They ask themselves!" American Gigolo had snidely chortled in response to how it is these pillared men seem to know that they are ... "above the law)" just disguised it all over in to ... A Dissention –– bada bing, bada bang, bada boom! Noooo problem! –– Done. Fuck her. NO matter that.
The woman had simply pissed off all but one of daMen, 'holy' ones and so - otherwise ones, all of 'em ... just oooone too, too many times. NO matter that. She? That Bitch? The Bitch gets it. She gets ... gutted. Fin.
* * * *
Jesse had already scored a touchdown in junior varsity football. And, unfortunately … had already been penalized for it, too. It seems he jumped up and down too much from the glee of it all –– or some such stupid rule violation –– so that the referees put the one – point kick maneuver back another 15 yards more! The homemade videotape from another mother madly cheering alongside me from the Friday evening bleachers whose teammate child of Jesse’s I didn’t even know was such a welcome gift; I have fast – forwarded that tape to his particular play over and over and over just to see Jesse’s reaction after he, with such muscular pins zipping, zoomed into the end zone. His very first time ever! Crossing the bar, crossing the line –– that’s what it’s all about –– after all!
And I, his mama? I actually watched my child. I actually saw all of Jesse's efforts in this endeavor of his. In a game which I rather loathe otherwise, I was from those Friday - night bleachers engaged with all of its players. I was not reading a paperback or the newspaper with my eyeballs averted or else their raptly fixated upon some other man's globes feigning hooking - up - later glances as so, so many times, from the Truemaier Boys' event sidelines of years before, we had all witnessed Sperm - Source Edinsmaier's repeated behaviors. I for my kiddo at such activities? I was there.
Jesse was well – established, too, with Ms. Lee; every Wednesday afternoon for half an hour that almost always ran overtime, she reiterated for Jesse those fingering scales first learned back in Suzuki long, long ago. But in such a fun way that of his own accord entirely, he diligently practiced not only willingly but enthusiastically: Jesse was not always totally prepared for every week’s piano lesson, but he so could have fooled me!
Rex I
had had to bury. And had had to tell
Jesse this. Jesse’s Florida king she –
snake, and so aptly named in Latin if but a wee bit off gender – wise, had passed
just a few months before Jesse had arrived back on Havencourt, never awakening from
another winter at Dr. Legion True’s 37 – degree Fahrenheit indoor temperatures. But grayest Zephyr –– the two of us, Jesse
and I, reverently remembered to always
Frenchily pronounce the tabby’s name only as ‘Zay – fear’ –– seemed to be, now
in his 12th or 13th year, still going strong. No other pets had we. All of the zebra finches of Zane’s, too, long
gone, that last mothering one’s corpse, from when Lady, as had Rex, had frozen
to death on the bottom of her rickety yellow cage, still lay in a plastic
sandwich bag way in the back of the refrigerator’s lower freezer shelf.
With Jesse's sophomore school year came the option for such Iowa students to begin, if afforded and if with a parent's signed waiver of accountability, driver's training classes, a semester's worth. Affordable this speciality was for Jesse only because I ignored almost all of my bills and our condominium's needs in order to necessarily put down, up front as demanded by school administrators, the course's full fee of $285.00 therefor! It is a wonderment to me how single mothers of multiple teenagers, fulltime working ones, for that matter, and those drawing down sort of living - wage paychecks even, manage such extra costs for kiddos' learning desires. 'Cause Jesse so utterly wanted to be learning to drive and I, as eagerly, so did not want, for myself, to ever have to deny him this deal!
A loveliest and unexpected side effect appeared for us both one day at my break time at work. The Forestry Department's Professor Joseph in conversation then centering upon his own daughter's earlier experiences with drivers' ed in high school simply up and offered to take Jesse, inside the Professor's own stick - shift vehicle! mind you, on over to the gargantuan and often deserted Hilton Colesium parking lot and "jump around" the concrete of it all, as Dr. Joseph shrugged, for as many times as the lessons take –– and until such moment as Jesse learns to drive a car powered by a manual transmission! "If you want this for him, Legion? Ya' know –– if he has your permission first, Mama." I was speechless. And thrilled. And now? Now years later? Jesse knows! Because of ... the generosity to me of one Dr. Joseph. Jesse knows of that ... as well.
Rosalind Franklin came to me one day at work, and point – blank flat - out told me, for my own benefit, that it was her supervisory thinking that I should move on to a higher level of university secretary. There had taken place serious discussion amongst the bigger wigs with regard to strategic planning for the full Forestry Department’s next five to ten years; and within those plans, there was not to be, she stated, the inclusion of any change in classification for my particular spot, Secretary I.
Because of the money –– because of the increase in salary involved, I concurred and so, with a shitload of sadness at saying goodbye to such trustworthy and loyal people, accepted the earliest Secretary II opening offered to me –– winding up as graduate advising secretary in charge, administratively, of coordinating all of the pieces and all of the parts connected to the incoming Graduate College admissions’ applications specifically to the Department of Economics at Iowa State University. Money was so not my thing; thinking about money, bottom line or top line or even in between, I managed only to pay my own bills and think not one more iota’s worth about saving it or investing it or maneuvering it or, gaaaawd knows, spending it! But that is the topic of all lines of a department of economics at any university! AmTaham had certainly known this; as a matter of fact, this specific department? This one was, indeed, his! His old alma mater major and department as both an undergrad and as an agricultural business master’s student! And totally why I had no compunction at all about taking the position beginning as I did right after that gaunt and bony envelope with its one Iowa Supreme Court ruling – sentence had arrived in my mailbox.
Wonderful people the ISU Department of Economics presented; I must say that I was surprised. They did, indeed, do an awful lot of thinking and doing and coming and going all surrounding and about money; but they actually also had some substance and depth, many of them did anyhow, besides, and in addition to, the classist technicality that there implicitly seems to be in handling money and its matters –– those which so certainly do gird their little world. I was to learn, in no short order, that their sphere, however, was not so little after all.
I
began work there in early November then and took not one lunch hour’s leave
until my supervisor found out about that and ordered me to do so! By then, since we two were actually officed
on separate floors of a six – story structure with over 30 administrative
personnel on all levels, it was mid – February!
The pieces and the parts of graduate applications? The incoming
What I did as work, essentially, was to collate folks’ admission files. I opened mail, sometimes upwards of four hours’ labor spent in this one maneuver alone –– slicing envelopes and assembling and putting together their contents with the appropriate, hopeful student’s file. Or starting another brand – new one. Any idea how many Wangs and Zhangs and Chous and Zhous and Smiths –– all wanting a thorough education in the use and enjoyment of dollars or other dinero –– have the same first and middle names? How exactly is the receiving and the correctly compiling together all of the required parts of one person's admission file, especially the pieces that were the precise number of different standardized test score results and letters of recommendation necessary? This careful compilation is not as menial nor as easy as some hoity – toities, as some too good, too high and too mighty for such day labors' snots –– such as a certain King and his, O say, elitist Sheriff of Nottingham, er, … his patrolling Sheriff of Grubtrop –– may presume it to be!
But I had Grace and I had László and I so had Jesse to help me get through that particular winter. There was one glitch to it, however, –– in addition to the no – heat scenario again. Yes, again –– even with Jesse now living with me on Havencourt. Jesse rather likened in his mind that living style, that is to say a mother and her son managing indoors without heat, to be as somehow a major kick in his 16 – year – old, progressive sense. A sort of suffering – for – the – cause in that we, his ma and he, were quite the energy – saving, environmentally conscious, socialist Iowans! Or even from the standpoint of the reality that the two of us were ‘just roughin’ it’ –– a type of backwoodsy, pioneer life such as 19th Century teenagers must have experienced –– must have literally survived –– before they and their mothers trudged out of the Sierra Madres on the westerly side of those snow – socked and – blocked mountain passes come springtime 1847, … finally!
I
suppose that he must have, once or twice, –– although I do not remember Jesse
ever performing the actual act of telephoning and talking to Dr. Edinsmaier nor
to his two brothers. Zane and Mirzah, of
course, did not call for social conversing or for any other reason for that
matter. Zane had just entered his senior
year in Grubtrop’s high school, and Mirzah accomplished that other of the two
most major milestones of high school –– entering his freshman year! And still
I, as mother to both, knew of them and of their comings and goings and
thinkings and doings in
I left the condominium at 6:30 a.m. every weekday morning that autumn –– walking over an hour and a quarter into the University –– for exercise and for discipline. Because of those same two matters, especially the workout one, Jesse tossed his bicycle into the back of Ol’ Black’s wagon space, then drove himself, because his learner’s permit now entitled him to do so, into my departmental parking lot with plenty of time left for him to extract his bike and pedal on to the high school from there, a distance of yet another two to three miles actually! He would have wheels by which to get home at the end of his school day, and I would then have the car with which to leave the Econ Department and proceed on to my other jobs. It was a good plan. I liked that Jesse liked it and, without fail, easily participated in it every day. Piano practice in the cold was probably for Jesse the hardest part. Other than for that and because of so much else occurring, Jesse and I were only home on Havencourt Drive long enough to swiftly shower and to fall asleep under electric blankets. Through those couple of functions then we seemed to be succeeding.
Deep
sorrow befell upon us both, however, the morning after Jesse’s Saturday afternoon, 10
December piano recital with Ms. Lee. Her
eldest student, he sat down on the black bench before the grand of the Octagon
Performing Arts concert hall, the last of all of her students to play. Again I don’t even recall the title of his
polished and perfectly performed piece.
And to not only my standing applause, of course, but also to that of
We left the Arts center for home pleased and satisfied –– and Jesse smiled. Not a lot. No, never a lot did I see that on him. Exhausted and now freezing again, off to bed we hibernated until the next morning.
I set out the bowl of fresh victuals for Zephyr and commenced to calling him to it from the front door. When he failed to appear in five minutes’ time, I put on all of those outer duds and walked up and down the hood even traipsing through The Pits, the now leafless and barren, snowy backwoods of Grace’s and Lionel’s condo complex just west of our own Havencourt one.
Two doors down from ours, a neighbor opened his because he had heard me. “You lookin’ for Zephyr, Legion?” he called to me.
“I am, Web.” I yelled just a little in turning around to answer him. “Seen him? I’m sorry if I bothered you. We’ve been busy, Jesse and me; and I’ve just now gotten to tending to him.”
“Well, maybe, … ah, maybe I have,” Web stepped carefully toward me and out into the street to avoid all of the snowbanks in our yards and without putting on any coat for himself. “Legion, yesterday afternoon a lady, well, she didn’t stop in time on the snow, ya’ know. It was packed down so much it was ice –– and she, well, ah, well, she couldn’t stop in time she said. There. See there?” He pointed to one, lone, silver dollar – sized and dirtied blood splatter on the hardened slushiness. I had not noticed this spot before.
“O no, Web. Ya’ think? Ya’ think it was Zephyr, do ya’?!”
“Ya’ know? I do. I’m afraid I do think it was, Legion. I don’t know him that well, o’course. But he’s gray, right? Has tabby stripes, too, right? I called the Animal Shelter people for her. Didn’t get the woman’s name though, Legion.”
“Um – hum. O, god. O, god no. Ah, … um, ah, well, thanks, Web. I’ll a … I’ll give the Shelter a call then. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Thanks again, Web. Okay.” And straightaway we both went inside our condos –– and I did commence to making that most horrible of telephone calls. Or, nearly the saddest. But, of course, not quite. The saddest I have not yet ever, thankfully, sooo, so thankfully, not ever yet had myself to hear nor to make: The call regarding such same news on one's own child, that is.
The worker at the Animal Shelter said she wanted me to be sure, … that I should come on down. And see for myself.
“No. No, no, no. O, no! I don’t want that memory, Ma’am. Just check those ears of his. The ears, Ma’am. If they’re notched, ya’ know, badly like, then that’s him all right." Battered about the ears our sometime - fearsome but O - so family - friendly feline had been from all of the fights he had won. Or lost. Who knows. "Just check those ears. Then come back to the phone. I’ll wait.”
It was so. True it was: Zephyr, too, was dead.
Then the glitch. The one true imperfection of that particular winter with Jesse –– and not because of what he did either. No! It was a problem only because of what would have happened to me and to Jesse if King Herod had learned of it! Then? Then it was to be one mother – fuckingly massive problem for us both!
The very next week –– that is, yet another of the DEhumanizing debacles during Dr. True’s Decembers.
McFarland Clinic threw for all of us employees its annual winter holiday hoo – hah the Saturday following the one of Jesse’s recital and of Zephyr’s death and one day before Liar Edinsmaier and I would have had to have celebrated our … … had we stayed mawwied to each other, of course! … … our 18th wedding anniversary! On the 18th! Instead, that evening's party turned out, also, to be just one day before Grace’s and Lionel’s actual celebration of 23 years of wedded bliss and nearly as many of raising up their three sons, Neil, Nathan and Noel. Coincidentally, the very same December date for a wedding anniversary –– the Portias’ is –– as had been that of the Bitch – Gutter’s and mine!
Always with quite fine food, plenty of it, and free, the Clinic’s yearly gala had been; but I had, before, simply always typed through it or just been too exhausted from other jobs’ hours and duties as to actually attend. In late 1994, I did decide to go! Instead of working for child – support bucks that late afternoon, I set to work on myself: Outfit, shoes, properly accessorized, indeed, couldn’t forget the accessories, hair, make – up, perfected colors' coordination, scent and aroma notes to match, the whole enchilada. I “wooked mahvelwous,” to quote Billy Crystal in his cutesy wizardry of The Princess Bride! One woman very well put together –– I!
I had a lot of fun that night. Ate and drank and danced and ... looked hot. And did all of that all over again.
And then came home –– all by myself, alone … –– at a most reasonable hour, I am thinking, arriving back on Havencourt Drive a few minutes shy of 12:30 a.m. on the mighty early morning of my 18th wedding anniversary. Well, … ... NOT! Not that last lit'l' thingy there!
I tossed the car keys onto the kitchen table and, bracing myself with arms stretched down upon it, did what every sensible, dancing woman does when she’s done: Kicked off my snow – caked stilettos immediately right there onto the bare linoleum. When I regained my balance and lifted my hands, a piece of scratch paper from the table, one ripped from a lined notebook, stuck to my left palm. Scrawled in so, so lightened pencil lead hardly legible were the following words, “Jesse’s on the couch. He isn’t in too good a shape. Guess he’s had a little bit too much to drink. We brought him home. Jesse’s friends”
To this day, I have no idea who of nor how many of ‘Jesse’s friends’ carried him to the sofa; but I flew around the corner into the black living room and threw on a lamp.
“O, O, … O!”
Jesse looked dead.
Vomitus was everywhere. And he, inside all of his clothes, even his bulky winter coat, was supine! Any of the emesis could have aspirated into his lungs and maybe some already had! The inside ambient temperature, of course, hovered at not much higher than around 40 degrees that night, I am estimating. Frantically, I tried to rouse him as I quite literally heaved him onto his right side, shaking him and nearly yelling, “Jesse! Jesse! Wake up, Jesse! Jesse! O my god, wake up, Jesse! Wake up! Now!” From him? From Jesse there was absolutely no outward physical response.
He had a carotid pulse. I could even see –– but barely –– constricted pupils under manually uplifted eyelids. His cheeks, his fingers ... ice – like.
“He is alive so … so … aaah, ah,” I am desperately trying to bring to bear inside my forehead from long – ago recesses absolutely all of the apropos emergency veterinary and nursing knowledge. The furnace pilot I had no true idea of how to light! Safely and immediately –– at least. So, it’d have to remain off. And I would have to do this thing –– this rescue –– without heat at all.
Jesse had one friend, Rufus Adegboi from the neighborhood actually, with whom I knew he had been practicing the Terpsichore dance theater production to be presented up at the high school in the upcoming February. Rufus’s mama was also a nurse, a currently working one; but I thought she actually did private night duty! Plus she had other kids, two or three more, but none tiny anymore. I dialed her and Rufus’s home desperately wanting her to be there this night and at this time of night. She was. In four minutes’ flat, Paula Adegboi had driven right over. I am thinking Rufus hadn’t been there when my call came in to her. I’ve never known: maybe he was one of ‘Jesse’s friends’ of the scratched note and maybe Rufus was still out on the town when his ma entered our living room and was immediately greeted there with the frigid and fetid stench and squalor from Jesse’s puke.
“No! I can’t call Mary Greeley!” I had had to answer her in that telephone call. “I’ll tell you why not when you get here.” Not its emergency room, not its paramedics and not 911. I could not.
Bitch – Gutting Herry would find out.
Utterly surprised I was when Paula Adegboi just accepted that. Right off she simply did not press me one time more in the next ensuing several hours’ expanse for explanation of why First – Do – No – Harm (Ha!) Herry’s knowing would be a bad thing. When reminded that he would find out, then she already knew why. Nurse Adegboi’s only initial reply to me was, “O, Yeah. That’s right. He would, wouldn’t he?”
Both of us recognized alcohol poisoning, and both of us also knew The Great and Wonderful Doctor Edinsmaier would either himself hightail it straight the hell out to Iowa that very 18 December day –– paradoxically our non – anniversary, our non – commemoration of mawwying each other at one time! Or, he would hire someone else to instantly come! To collect Jesse. And … to initiate legal proceedings against me! For child endangerment or neglect or some such other phony and trumped - up mother – fuck.
The two of us, Dr. True and Nurse Adegboi, most of these massive moments wordless, vigiled all night long.
With Jesse’s mouth cleared of that foul fuck when he went to his side at the first, I repeatedly placed warm, moist washcloths to Jesse’s fingers and toes which Paula constantly reheated in the microwave. Not one time did Paula complain about the cold after initially asking me why I “just” didn’t turn up the heat. She blew on her hands from time to time and, for the most part, remained entirely enveloped inside more blankets and the winter toggery which I summoned forth for her; but she prevailed. Around 5 in the a.m. Paula Adegboi left when it became apparent to us both that stabilized Jesse should be coming around in the next couple of hours or so.
The liver is a wondrous organ: a master detoxifier! I have, as a scientist and as a student of science, always loved it the most of all of the viscera –– physiologically and, most certainly now, pathophysiologically! Structurally absolute the deoxyribonucleic acid of it is to its mammalian cells; none of it and its endeavors is either ethereal or magical or ever operationally responsive to the patriarchally and prayerfully invisible! None of that 2,870 - some godsy - fuck here, the liver is its own master! Thankfully!
At 7 a.m. –– almost right on the hour –– Jesse coughed, and coughed again, and opened his eyelids –– blinking several times slowly; I would describe this act of his as more of a slobbery sputter than as a full – fledged hawk. That came a little bit later, though! I immediately telephoned Paula as I had previously promised to do. “Of course, he did! Of course, he did!” she exclaimed. She said she was going off to bed then and that, in fairly short order, perhaps I could do that, too.
* *
* *
Nothing short of spectacular, Jesse and the whole posse of troupe performers shined in the dance theater’s February production of Grease! Flaming red programs with the splash of valentines and smiles all around, I couldn’t stop grinning, he was so damned cute! In his pure white, muscle tee with the faded, dark blue dungarees cuffed so neatly at the bottoms! The equally bright white socks and shiny, black patent greaser oxfords! Then there was that hairdo, too, of course! Fabulously stunning Jesse was, just awesome! Made me wish I was 16 again! And I hadn’t wanted that awful time of teenaged turmoil and angst back as my life –– in decades … We captured that Ames High School Terpsichore memory on tape, too.
I am sitting in the audience entirely in the moment. When the curtain fell that night, I had not had one thought all evening long on just how terribly, terribly close I had come to receiving two months’ time previously the next, full blast of Hating Herry’s fiery, gut – ripping and – wrenching wrath for Dr. Legion True. It is so that I, for sure, have never blabbed to King Herod. There has not been even one thought that I have wanted to wag the entire True doctoring – and – rescuing – from – poisoning – inebriation episode as some sort of a healing / medical victory exploit in front of the Good and Wonderful (and "Real" … of course, daMan would so have us all to believe this about only MDs and so not at all re mere veterinarians ... ) ... in front of the Real Doctor’s royally evil schnoz. It is also quite my thinking that … Jesse never has either.
March and April approached with still such icy fury. Branches broke and whole limbs crashed down upon parked automobiles during one of that spring’s storms. But not crushing on my Ol’ Black –– and I knew we, Jesse and me, finally for one more year at the least, were on the backside of cold. Warm was in the upcoming picture –– if not exactly immediately, then soon and very soon! I had thoughts of 18 – year – old Zane graduating. These came regularly; and, every time, … I forced them gone. My eldest child, my most amazing firstborn babe, was leaving high school, and I hadn’t even known him … in it! It was just as clear to me that Mirzah Truemaier, my most tender, was now more a stranger to me than I had ever envisaged would happen to us both. “He was the one, Legion, with you the least amount of time. Even though it was always, always you in their littlest years, this was bound to happen with Mirzah, Woman,” Grace in her homespun practicality, acknowledged. Then under her so proper breath in the next moment, she quietly spewed forth, “Fuck ‘im!” And Grace Portia quite certainly had not meant Mirzah, of course.
No
news was ever forthcoming from
For Zane’s celebratory event then, I imagined that the 77 – year – old Gran’ Matron – of – Only – Men herself would be, again, stylishly chauffeured out to Information – Withholding Herry’s by Sterling in my brother’s crimson ‘Vette, one of those midlife crises’ have – to – have boy toys, which exactly matched in its color Zane’s and the Grubtrop senior class’s graduation robes. This little ‘coordinating’ fact, of course, I would not come to know till years after Zane’s commencement. Maybe all of that clandestine travel and behind – the – True – Mama’s – back scenario for Z’s big deal did not take place, but Mehitable’s betrayals of my trust were now so entrenched in me that I could not have begun to believe any of her whiny denials of its not happening anyhow.
While Jesse had reconnected with Nathan Portia, his finest friend from Kate Mitchell School’s elementary days during Jesse’s first week back from West Virginia, that middle son of Grace’s and Lionel’s kept even crazier work hours as McDonald’s manager than did most teenagers who also worked so the two of them, Jesse and Nathan, hung out together less and less. In early March, Jesse came to me with a sweet request –– and by the end of its very first week, had himself after school and on weekends, too, a merry little job at the newly opening Red Lobster Restaurant franchise! Washing dishes. “No shame in that at all, Jesse!” I told him inside Ol’ Black as I dropped him off for his first day at work. “It is a most honorable thing –– to wash dishes. Ask just, O, … any mother.” I think he got it. At his age of 16, Jesse's employer stated that Iowa law prevented restaurant management from allowing him to serve patrons alcohol; therefore, Jesse could not be a waiter and, as such, would be unable to bring in the tip money which he would rather have liked more than bussing tables or to spend a lot of his work time in the changing social view of folks out front. Still Jesse stuck it out. And began saving –– almost all of what his paycheck did bring in to him.
By
early May of 1995, Mehitable began again in earnest her telephoning attempts,
“Zane is graduating, isn’t he?!” As if
my Boys' maternal grandmother did not know! As if ,,, Me hit able ... weren’t instead truly recounting and soloing again her 17 October 1992 stanza of, “Nah, nah, nah,
naaaah … nah!” with each call into
Jesse
had another thought which amounted to a request as well: He wanted to invite a fellow bicycling
enthusiast, one from Zane’s and Mirzah’s high school however, to join him the
last full week of July on the entire course of the Des Moines Register’s Annual Great Bike Ride Across Iowa, its 23rd
yearly occurrence! I must’ve been nuts;
but so huge in Iowa, and all over the Midwest really, is the event of RAGBRAI
that a mere mama would have to come up with a lengthy and liturgical laundry
list of really compelling reasons why mighty fine cyclists such as Jesse and
his amigo should not test themselves. Sleeplessness
and the near – incessant flow of hooch over the course of at least 168 hours’
worth were, well, … two! Were, at the
least, two such reasons of which I could, indeed, come up!
But Jesse, as a matter of fact for his lifetime I am thinking, remembered the relatively recent night of the 17th and 18th of December just passed –– and had even experienced, since, the same, very real prospect for doom and death in other of his intoxicated high school friends. Alcohol would not be the problem; Herry Edinsmaier … would be. Web Will, our neighbor who had seen to Zephyr’s proper and permanent placement, was the University biking club’s trainer anyhow. Web so kindly volunteered to accommodate any needs during the RAGBRAI week which Jesse and Mateo may encounter which they could not themselves handle. Still it would be a long shot as far as Pissed - Off Herry was concerned –– but only because I had approved of the adventure first. Not … because of Herry’s harboring any perceived danger or physical impossibility for the two boys.
After all, I Legion True, am the evil – intentioned parent. Almost (but noooot quite all! … of course, Jury!) every American court’s judge had said so –– and written so –– and ruled so –– through years’ and years’ worth of his so - sexist, precedent - setting decisions: about this lone woman's hysterically males' - threatening mental state, thus therefore "by extension" then too, her incapacitating custodial capabilities for my own sons, ... these 23! adjudicating men not bothering to remember! to mention amongst them all! one blasting, lambasting word, let alone, any ruling ever at all with regard to the very same thingy on me relative to ... other people’s children!
But that? That King Herod had, when it so conveniently suited him, solitarily decided for himself, and his patriarchally dictatorial witch - hunt went on unabated without ever having to be monitored or curtailed one whit: that was a fucking given! DaJudge Butcher's Beknighted Doctor, Herod Edinsmaier, took every opportunity to tell
me so himself as often as he cared to communicate with me and including as
recently as that epistolizing harangue of his just the previous July 1994 –– literally only
moments before! his then subsequently mailed, befuddling, very next letter arrived … "asking" me if
I wanted to take on … Jesse! Teenaged!
Jesse –– just freshly released from Blue Ridge Hazelnut Psych! Hospital!
First, Legion's not good enough to just be even Dr. Chesler's - characterized, "good - enough" mother. And not just for undertaking her Truemaier Boys' primary custodial care but the Pussy isn't good enough even to have one iota of contact! –– ever –– with any one of her three male children. Not just in - person visitation can she not have, the Boys cannot have any verbal contact with her at all. Of not one birthday card ever arriving from her can Zane, Jesse or Mirzah Truemaier see or know! Not ever! Decider Herry ... decides. He tells himself.
After all, from that Final Act did not we all, Jury, hear back from Those Concurring Most High Men that the Crazed Twat, DEhuman Legion True, the Bitch Who Should Be Gutted, also required for said whore cleansing - gutting, to complete a planned program of "mental therapy" –– both designed by! and signed off on by! all of daJudges' - appointed Knight himself, ... King Herod?!
Then –– suddenly –– suddenly –– suddenly –– just whenever - the - fuck Crazy - Making Herry "feels" like it, ... I am! I AM ... GOOD ENOUGH! Bada bing, bada bang, bada boom. I am!
"What is that, Jury?"
O, JYeah, allweall well know what this patriarchal whimsy - "deciding" is: just a whole 'nother mother - fucking. Ancient, literally ages - old ... this androcentric woman - loathing is, Jury.
So you can imagine my further befuddlement when, upon Herry’s being asked about Jesse's RAGBRAI proposal, Daddee Herry had one of his own on the tip of his tongue with which to fire right back at me. But by way of through Jesse, of course, though. Regal Herod Edinsmaier did not deign to talk to me on the telephone; that would have been so imperially wrong of the Entry - Level Monarch: to have lowered himself by speaking directly to The Pain in his wee royal ass. Actually, the calculated make - the - pussy - invisible, shunning – of – the – cunt technique which Herry had so well – polished at our family’s kitchen table on Othello Drive and throughout all of the years of mawwiage before that specific starter - castle in Ames, Commander Edinsmaier routinely continued to practice in front of, and therefore, to instruct the Truemaier Boys in its mastery from the first moment he chose to strut out of his bachelor pad’s brown front door. “Always the teacher, huh, Herry?!” I am thinking. “Just like you always used to say about yourself?!” How presumptuous. My teenagers are so thoroughly schooled on just exactly how to eschew anything resembling respect and honor of us DEhumans of any age or station.
Decider Herod brushed aside Jesse’s plan with a whimsy, “Ah, O? O yeah, go for it, Jesse. Hey, ah, glad ya’ called. Mirzah wants to come out ‘nd live there, too. How soon d’ya’ think that can get arranged?
“Ya’ mean for school, too? No, you mean just the summer, right, Herry?” Jesse conformed, too, just like both of his brothers always, always obeyed as well. Complied with the King’s dictum and only addressed his biological male parent –– ever –– by the man’s first name and never by any parenting – like title. Never. Since infancy with any one of the three Boys’ first vocalizing “dah – dah”s, the Great and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier had –– instantly –– dissed any sort of that parental commission’s identification. It was crystal clear now as to why the Slacker had done so! Someone responding to the call of another claiming him to be ‘Daddy’, to be ‘Father’, to be his ‘Dad’? Even ‘Pa’ or ‘Pop’? Well, that respondent would …, well, he would have … to parent … then, wouldn’t he?! Work! The man could not get away with just acting like a 17 – year – old, older brother all of the time, let alone, as a frolicking, jolly Joy Toy Boy! And now that not only Zane was even older than Herry’s desired age of arrested development but also the other two Boys were almost there to Herry’s exact, day – to – day behavioral status as well … Mirzah and Jesse each nearly 17 years old themselves … why, the palsey – walsey, laissez – faire nature of Lazy Adolescent Herry and the Boys’ interrelating most definitely needed to be maintained.
I could not actually hear the words of Herod Edinsmaier in the telephone receiver, of course; but I knew! Parenting for him? It so sucked! The Slacker had had all of ‘it’ that he could stand. Plus he sooo had not at all learned –– apparently –– about the dark and stormy night of maternal doctoring borne on the shoulders of Rufus’ and Jesse’s other parents of just a few months earlier. The money Herry stood to lose from me by Mirzah’s leaving him, too? Not nearly as much, if any, as compared to that former amount once upon a long time ago after Act One concluded! After all, Zane was 18 already! Jesse had been talking to Mirzah about how great things in Ames still were; it had not taken Mirzah long at all to want to change his own address away from Grubtrop’s and back to his previous Havencourt one with Jesse and his mother.
What I feared throughout all of this ecstasy, and with great reason to be alarmed, is Thuggish Herry’s bait – ‘nd – switch, give, give ... – and – then – yank – ‘em – like – hell control … juuuust when The Bitch is getting used to things lovely! Like having at least two of her Boys back living with her! History is such a fine educator that way –– extremely more excellent and a far more superior one than Always – a – Teacher Edinsmaier ever was alongside Cleveland's Edwina inside their actual middle - school classrooms there. History had proven so, so correct my ability to predict Gutting Herry’s future behavior –– and, most especially true, when anything went a bit awry. Anything at all. And it was soooo about to! Even if Dr. Herod Edinsmaier desired to stop dawdling around at the work of daddee – ing –– as some time ago Attorney Jazzy Jinx had quite wisely counseled me about him … and as the Good and Wonderful Doctor’s former Supervisor Shark and the White Firm’s lawyers for the Downshim Laboratories had denounced and condemned this derelict man due to Slacker Herry’s utter absence of … any genre of recognizable, not to mention accountable, sustainable and, O say, sustained! work ethic.
My fear is infinitesimal compared to that which
MaryBeth Longdottir, Jesse’s and my neighbor directly across our
* * * *
Mirzah did come. I don’t recall how –– not by bus and not by airplane, I am thinking, so it may have been by way of one of Herry’s many, many mooching roadtrips out from West Virginia to sponge off of his Midwest relatives, also an imposing behavior of his which old acquaintances and central Iowans who knew him (‘member Jury, Abby and Devin and their two little girls?) had experienced firsthand from Herod Edinsmaier multiple times in the past. Freeloaderer Herry had been rather infamous for some time in regard to … his blatantly massive buggery of aprovechar - taking.
It seems to me that the only way a person, to himself or to herself, could get away with this conduct over and over and for such a long, long time would have to be by simple self – justification; ya’ know –– denial. Denial to yourself of who you truly are.
But not in the case of the superior Dr. Herod Edinsmaier.
Even though the justification to himself –– of why so much taking is mightily A – okay –– is the same as anyone else’s who has countenanced themselves in this narcissistic fashion year after adult year, that is by the self – centered egotism of, “My presence in your space is thanks enough from me! If I deign to grace you with My Self, then that is my gratefulness to you aplenty, Cunt!” Then Aprovechar – Herry would simply proceed to take: food, lodging, another's labors and preparations, fawning over, booze, O JYeah … lots and lots of others’ hooch back in the day when I’m – Entitled – to – Drive – Drunk Herod Edinsmaier still drank –– and, most especially, Vulvae – Sniffing Herry took for himself from any and all vulvae – harboring hostesses what he considers his kingly right of enslaving DEhuman ownership, “DO for me, Pussy. I AM The Exalted One. Now you DO for ME. Got that, Twat?”
So … Herry knew! Corrupt Herry always knew that he was taking; it was never a matter of his having to deny to himself his greed, his arrogance and that sicko sense of daMan’s total entitlement. Dr. Herod Edinsmaier merely and quite consciously made it His Choice to take –– without reciprocal remuneration, without so much as the work of any thinking even given over to any reciprocity forthcoming from him –– just any ol’ friggin’ time that it pleased him to do so.
No matter how wonderful for children Ames is –– including and, most especially, for teenagers –– and no matter how much Mirzah and Jesse wanted to be together again, Mirzah’s coming to live with me, Legion True, would not have happened anywhere unless Herry hadn’t, first, found in its occurrence something in it for himself. After all, this, remember, is the same guy who along with Shyster Shindy Scheisser’s ‘legal aid’ less than just three to four years earlier, had taken it upon themselves to try to vengefully fling and flail –– as well as to quite handsomely profit monetarily from flapping –– Herry’s side of the story out there to Hollywood in the form of that made – to – TV film which Violent, Violating, Passive Aggressor Herry had wanted to sell. Jesse had actually seen, as you know Jury, the tentative contract with the television company and its producers, “ … for $100,000 plus 5% I saw, Ma,” Jesse had related to me. “What’s the ‘5 percent’ part mean, Mom?”
Zane
had seen it, too, the movie's draft contract, “ … where you're gonna be made out to
be … ah, um, ya’ know, to look like ‘the murderer’ in it, Ma. In the movie it's gonna be you, Mama, who’ll be seen as … as … the bad guy, ya’ know.”
“But you stopped it, didn’t ya’, Mama? It didn’t happen cuz of you, right? You wouldn’t sign with the film guys. You wouldn’t even speak to ‘em, would ya’, Ma?” Jesse had been fishing from me –– as my knuckles gripped the wee white rental’s steering wheel back inside that 1993 April afternoon of the clandestine Montclank park to where Jesse and I had driven off –– to be safe while we talked. To be away from any central West Virginia public who might get a notion that this concrete truck – driving Sam – ‘man’ … with Jesse … just didn’t quite act ‘right’ after all –– like a manly man, like a true fatherly dude. That he was, instead, a she trying to disguise herself into looking like the teenaged kiddo’s daddy!
I hearkened back to the lesson, the one made more emphatic and memorable for me by his air – thumping gesturing during it, the lesson from my attorney of the Opera’s Act One, Mr. Jazzy Jinx, who had felt compelled to leave it with me: In his experience by then of 20 years’ practicing general law including family matters, he had never –– not one time –– seen a father press for custody of children who had actually truly wanted … to parent them. Daddee wanted legal custody for three reasons only, none of which reasons had been for exactly that –– that long, long effort of disciplining and sustained … woooork!
Mostly daddee wanted (the nightmarish battling fights over) custody because of the vengeance of it all that his then having all control over her children afforded to him against the bitch. Secondly, Mr. Jinx divulged, had been because of the money –– of course, the child support bucks. That third reason, though, was a bit more elusive. Daddee wanted the children to somehow flee the work of it all: to get someone else in there, such as a barely fuckable and cuntly Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive, to do the routine, continual daily work of engagedly true parenting which that mean ol’ battleax - ex of his, the kiddos’ actual mama, had seemed to have to keep after him, their father, to do when they were married –– and that he soooo was not about to even start thinking on doing ... after ... the two of them had gotten divorced!
“Fathers,” Mr. Jinx was certain in his tone, “just want to look good in front of the kids and the folks at work and around town. Dad also wants to look good to the other people in his family who think that he should ‘want’ his kids. But but but,” Mr. Jinx carefully pounded an invisible wall with his right palm and fingers fully extended with each ‘but’, “believe me, I’ve seen it a long, long time –– and it never changes. He wants her to suffer –– sure; that is why he initially goes after custody, but he also doesn’t want the work of it –– ever! So that’s why, if the judge ends up giving him custody, why, that's why he marries! Right away! Or at least he gets himself coupled with somebody else, a surrogate mommy, a proxy … And right away. Trust me!”
In this specific divorcing father's case then, the summer of 1995, and Jesse’s and Mirzah’s both coming back to me in Ames provided for Herry Edinsmaier –– finally in that former and flamboyant Family – Deconstruction Project of Herry’s more – or – less hatched to fruition back here in his house – of – cards’ bachelor pad on Ames’ Othello Drive –– his very own … Escape From Accountability! Cuz quite apparent by now, it was evidentiarily and testimonially a total certainty that the particular next 'official' Mrs. Herod Edinsmaier, Ninny Fannie Issicran McLive –– as the King – Daddee's nanny –– was not at all turning out to be what she had initially cracked herself all up to be at succeeding in ... the actual - work – of – parenting – His Majesty’s – descendents’ department!
There had been then, right off, with Ninnie Nannie Fannie that grand and old, old patriarchal mawwiage thingy of “one flesh” wherein she, the woman of said mawwiage, stands as not a thing more really than a collection of additional organs of his, of the husband’s! Of daMan’s! And since Ms Fannie Issicran McLive’s functioning in such a union within the masquerade of a separate human – like structure for the purposes of procreation was soooo not needed, then her operating as a home – and – hearth keeper along with her handling of other incidentals such as the keeping aaaaaway of the Ex Pussy –– way away from King Herod as well as altogether away from his West Virginia Territory –– why, His Added Organs had performed at all of these matters quite dismally, quite diss – functionally! Utterly abysmally! Subsequently, King Herod, as such the prescribed owner of the “one flesh” and, thus, of her ... had had for himself a most disturbed pattern to trying to live his androcentric adult life … as He, The Human Being, wished!
Thus: “ … the something in it for himself” finally became most clear: The Last Fleshy, Organismic Mother – Fuck, Legion, can soooo be kept waaaay away along with that added, major bonus of the Slacker's 'sorta' workload reality even more than halved! if … if …. if Mirzah and Jesse are simply sent away –– back to her!
Mirzah smiled a lot and read as much, too, up in his very own, old room. About two weeks into his late May arrival, Mirzah came to me with what had been Jesse’s recent request as well: Mirzah, not then yet until late September to turn 16, wanted a job for something else to do and to earn money as well, of course. And before we both knew it, that very next week my boss came to me asking if I knew of any high schoolers who might want to do odd jobs for the Economics Department, a sort of Kid Friday – type of deal. Carrying parcels, delivering items across Campus, anything from one envelope to several packages’ worth, filing, copying, bulk mailings, that sort of thing; she or he didn’t even need to be old enough to drive. “Kinda late to be lookin, I know,” she had apologized, “Most everyone’s got a job for the summer by now. But if you hear of someone, let me know, would ya’ please?”
Equipped with a map plus legend of the Campus, Mirzah set out upon his first delivery assignment –– a way, too, to smell the freshness of the day besides learning the setup of much of the physicality of Iowa State University, one of the most gorgeous university campuses nationwide. Repeatedly a prize – charmer with its vast lawn expanses, flowerbed gardens and stately Ivory Tower architecture –– actually, winning in academies’ landscaping contests for that very beautification category from time to time. When Mirzah came to my workstation to announce his success, I recalled being a high school teen in Ames –– as well as accomplishing all three years of my junior high time here before that one sophomore year. Seventh, eighth and ninth grades of my public education had all been entirely spent just one block south of this specific University campus! It was wild to be an adolescent with all of these college - like matters around one all of the time; we all thought that we were such hot shit –– to exist so closely to so much grownup stuff going on. I had loved school every day because of that part of it particularly. Slut – Slamming and – Shaming Mehitable, you can imagine Jury, so loathed that I –– physically –– dwelled in such proximity to it all! And most regularly humiliated and harangued on me, then in my early teenage years … the same age as Mirzah now was, about this very fact, too.
A first paycheck is something else for an adolescent –– especially when it comes to her or him from folks not their mom or dad or aunt or uncle or from any family member nor for labors done for a relative’s company, business or agenda. A rite of passage it certainly is, yes; but I find it to be much more than that: it is a statement of approval. Of validation. “You work,” it says. Of course, it means, “Sure, you worked; therefore, you get paid.” But that paycheck represents more than that: more like, “You work out. We think you work out for this department, this company, this job. You work out in the exact endeavor and in the precise manner that we’d hoped that you would! This is why we hired you so … so here’s a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work,” these earnings state. AmTaham would agree with me; rather, from him I probably learned to believe this axiom, I am thinking! And so Mirzah succeeded day after day –– enough so as to receive that very first paycheck –– ever! And then subsequently, through multiple two – week pay periods thereafter –– to secure for himself this summer of 1995, … several more of the same!
A formal business curriculum and a financier’s practice, principles and the discipline of investing possibly existed for Mirzah in his future. Now? Now I just loved to see him smile and to hear his voice; every day at his job Mirzah came to my job! Breathing down and exhaling out finally began occurring deep within my chest –– in the whole of my carcass truly –– in such a "formerly normal" fashion that I barely recognized just how relaxed I was becoming!
Along
with his working and reading and lounging around our itty bitty condo complex
swimming pool –– again –– with new friends from the hood and those old ones from
his previous Kate Mitchell Elementary School days, Mirzah three times
weekly took off on CyRide, Ames’ public transportation system –– also an award
– winning bussing service! or by way of my chauffeuring him there –– for Tae
Kwon Do and found himself the youngest participant in the University –
sponsored martial arts class for around its 30th year instructed by
Master Pak, a world – renowned guru of the discipline. I was again astonished both at Mirzah’s
initiative and at the opportunity afforded him, a mere 15 – year – old, by such
programs of this University's community. I
so enjoyed watching this instruction and even received advances from Master Pak
as to my joining Mirzah in
class. I did not. I did not, and still
do not, feel worthy enough. I do not
believe Mirzah missed one session of workouts and practice –– ever; he embraced
this cultivation wholly. And before I
knew it Mirzah contested for –– his yellow belt!
Then one day in early July in to that raven –
colored mailbox of ours on
So … loaded down in the wagon portion of Ol’ Black, off we three sped then, probably at the earliest hour ever for Jesse and me on a Sunday morning, –– in order to arrive two hours’ driving time away on federal Highway #30 at Onawa, the westernmost point on RAGBRAI’s itinerary across Iowa, by … its 6 a.m. sendoff time. Mirzah, new as he was to this weekday, working – stiff undertaking, stayed in bed! I briefly spoke with Web, then patted Mateo’s shoulder and kissed and hugged Jesse. With the ceremonial back – tire dip into the Missouri River waters then, all of the cyclists –– more than 8,000 of them in total –– were, indeed, off! Including its Saggy Thursday, like horseflies on a stable’s sticky paper, when riders dropped out in droves because of the worst 79 – mile stretch of hills, 95 – degree heat and 35 mile – per – hour headwinds into Sigourney from Tama – Toledo, neither Jesse nor Mateo broke during any of that summer’s annual RAGBRAI –– its 23rd … beginning, as it had, on the 23rd of July! Without so much as a broken limb or even broken skin such as from a fall off the saddle had they; only one, lone flat tire sustained between the two of them –– along all 493 miles of that particular RAGBRAI’S entire route! Through eastern Iowa’s refreshing Coralville then and finally finishing in Muscatine, one of Iowa’s oldest riverbank towns, Ol’ Black and I were there, 3½ hours’ driving time east of Ames, having arrived around 2 p.m. on Saturday, the 29th, awaiting the dynamic duo’s ending and their traditional, ritual dip of the bikes’ front tires into the trickling puddle that is the Mississippi River! With exhalation heaves, grins, high – fives and backslaps all around! What a deal for Jesse and his friend! Even today I am stunned by their fantastic feat.
Dog
days exist as the essence of Augusts in
Along around 13 years old and, almost always by age 14, a person residing in almost all of the United States is required by secondary school policy and such administrations to have received a second measles, mumps, rubella immunization, the last needed MMR for one’s supposed lifetime protection against these three viruses. Mirzah’s daddee, the Good and Wonderful Doctor, had been derelict in this medical duty of his and had failed in this particular parental matter regarding Mirzah’s health. And, of course as well, so had for the three Truemaier Boys altogether King Herod's 'Step'ping Nowhere Adequately –– Ninny Nanny!
Perhaps
Furthermore, as a person whose own mother had progressed through a pregnancy wherein she had simultaneously contracted and suffered through the actual disease of the German measles –– rubella ––and then given birth to a bambina entirely absent the sense of hearing in her left ear because of the virally induced agenesis of its eighth cranial nerve, a person whom Mehitable named Legion, I was livid upon ‘hearing’ (in my one, good, right ear!) that my Boy, Mirzah, was himself, because of Doctor Daddee Herry, because of his negligence and his laziness and his failings and ... ... because of his utter Fear of Real Work, ... that Mirzah was, indeed as of yet, unprotected.
I
could not help Eldest Son Zane prepare as he entered his first year of college at the
So it was entirely possible that Zane, for that matter, was all set to reside with Dr. Freddie Goldstein, yet another pathologic pathologist and the one under whom Slacker Herry had finally finished this specialty's residency. About Dr. Snobbie Goldstein’s own family which included his wife, Ella, and their three children? Those four persons were of no consequence to User Herry; daMan needn’t concern himself with extra bootlicking nor any brown – nosing on these folks' accounts. Aprovechar - Taker Edinsmaier certainly did not need to even ask them for their opinions on any matter related to his future filching functions. Such as Zane’s possibly living with all of them ... indefinitely.
* * * *
I could do something, however, about the
remainder of Youngest Son Mirzah’s high school experience.
Immediately I made an appointment for the 22nd of
August, with Mirzah’s former pediatrician’s office to have done for him that very
vaccination pronto: the MMR. School –
Mirzah’s sophomore year at Ames High – could commence then ... unobstructed. As the two of us inside the beater - wagon turned the Teacup's corner onto
Ol’ Black crept closer and closer to our driveway, and the smile vanished from my mouth. I cast a jerked and frightened gawk at Mirzah who exclaimed as he leaned forward toward the dashboard, “It’s Herry!”
“O m’god! A truck just like when he first took you all away, Mirzah!” Immediately thrown back into hypervigilance mode, I remembered out loud that horrible Saturday morning of the 13th day of October almost five years previously! “What’s he doing here?! What’s he doing here with a truck, for chris’sake!?”
“I called him.”
“You called him?!”
“Wull, yeah. But. Um.”
“You called him an', and ... an' right away out he comes?! But why?!” I was stunned. “What’s he gonna do?! He’s got a truck, for chris’sake! What does that mean, Mirzah?!
“Well, ah, I … I, um, I think it means I’m going
back to
I was sick! Literally ... sick. Nauseated and throat - choked, my breathing ceased again! Sure enough. “In and out in about an hour,” just like that television commercial beckons a viewer to go get herself fixed up with a pair of new eyeglasses of that hawking store's particular brands. “In and out in about an hour,” my whole life was stolen from me ... yet once AGAIN!
As much as my remembering that so twisted whirlwind of those 60 - some minutes' worth of both of these Truemaier Boys' last moments beside me there on Havencourt Drive, I recall Herod Edinsmaier's ... signature snide smirkface. The Good and Wonderful Doctor - Daddee was on ... The Take again! From specifically me –– on the prowl and on His Take ... AGAIN! Taking back –– from me, the Kiddos' mama –– both Mirzah and Jesse! "SONS, YOU HAVE NO MOTHER! MOTHER, YOU HAVE NO SONS! I say so! Therefore, Pussy, it is so!"
As with very many a hating and violent man, I am thinking, now as I type, Jury, that if joy ever comes to this guy from anywhere or from anything, – ever, truly – then its emergence for him must almost always be tied to: how great is the pain and the grief and the sorrow – how great is the vengeance – that Dr. Herod Edinsmaier can manage to rein in and to rain down upon Legion True. What an insecure man! Dry - Drunk and Addict Herry’s happiness depends, daily, upon taking –––– upon his taking away … mine.
Pretty much the exact same assessment of and sentiment expressed about Herry –– precisely as a father –– by Iowa Court of Appeals Appellate Judge Pansy Shawshank –––– within her six - page majority decision! ... ... ah, er, that is, inside the one which, of course, became ... because of sexism and chicanery by that Court's Chiefy Donnellson plus a couple other of his specific judiciary's hench –– ah, er, um, ... bench - men ... that woman's dissent, instead! She, naturally its one and only token DEhuman jurist, so saw Hardhearted Herry for who he was, too –– and she did so in far less time and scope than most other folks who come into Dr. Edinsmaier’s sphere have had at their disposals in order "to measure" him. Him ... daMan. A destroyer doctor. “First, do no harm?” As so decrees the very first dictum to which all health care providers pledge themselves? This one also an alleged daddee, granted the M.D. degree in March of 1980, when Mirzah Truemaier was but a wee six months of age and Brother Jesse a 19 – month – old, is not an honorable and healing lifter – up of humankind but, instead, an insecure, ruthless –– and measurable –– rot who denies, ruptures and annihilates.
I had already forgotten about the disagreement Mirzah and I had had sometime during the previous week. And, now, I cannot even remember the cause at that time of my vexation with my so soon – to – be sophomore Son nor the scrape in which the two of us must have earlier engaged. I am said to have been so ireful at whatever it was that Mirzah did or said or wanted or decided on his own that I locked him out of the condominium declaring as I did so, the directive, “My house. My rules.” I don’t believe the squabble could have been focused on something Mirzah said and certainly nothing that he did to people whom he considers his friends and acquaintances. He is just too sweet – natured a human being, then and now, to have purposefully and calculatingly with nefarious motive, hurt any one of his contemporaries intentionally.
Except for one matter –––– pornography. What hath Herry Edinsmaier wrought?
With his gonzo mind and his snide mouth and Corrupt Herry’s dastardly deeds against women, I suddenly remembered about, as Ol’ Black inched into the condo’s driveway, those two DEhumans whom Dr. Herod Edinsmaier had not even cared enough about to have bothered himself to get out of bed in time to show up for the women’s breast biopsies as their frozen – section pathologist whom he had been hired by Kansas City’s Downshim Laboratories to be! With Herry’s bestial (literally, –– Jury, remember the cows - / dogs - / pigs - / chickens - / and cunt models - fucking) view of womankind –– that same contaminating contagion which he had inherited from Detanimod's Grand - Dominating Poker Patriarch Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier and the one which both That Old Mother - Fucker and the soooo, so christianizingly DEhuman - fucking Martin Luther King, Jr. held about aaaall of us females, –– why, Daddee Herry had easily, readily –– and happily –– passed woman - loathing and his concerted DEhumanization of well over half of the World's populations anywhere on ... to all of his sons. And, most especially, Model Parent Edinsmaier, relying upon for his "excuse" to do so the Truemaier Boys' and his most entitled of "cultural" speech freedoms, could voluminously secure as he so desired to procure for his own addicted neediness then, more and more and more pornography. "Stupid - Ass Heifer, now doncha' be a - messin- with my and m'boys' First Amendment Right, You Whore!"
Exactly the very escape from accountability –– this paternal - filial pornography - 'sharing' experience is –– as that of the alcoholic father who purposefully places himself in situations in order to be able to drink with his kiddo. And jokingly but yet loudly terms it to them and to all the World as ... "bonding" –– instead of as the addiction it actually is! "How can ya' come between a man and his dad when they're just out enjoyin' a coupla' brews together at the ballpark, Bitch?" Pops gets what he wants, doesn't he, Jury? More and more and more booze. And the adult child? Why, the kid also gets what Bucko - Pappy –– and Attorney Jazzy Jinx some time back had counseled that Slacker - Slick Daddee –– always wants: Father as the picture - perfect "parent who just likes to have some fun, ya' know. To show 'his good, good buddy' a mighty fine time, that's all!" But it –– the sham –– is soooo not all –– at all, is it, Jury?
The one child likely most influenced by the twisted yet so "commonly" accepted recesses of Dr. Herod Edinsmaer's deviance was the one child actually with his mama the least amount of time – Mirzah. If the quarrel had been about print pornography or videotape pornography run and viewed upon my condominium's VCR machine or if I had come across other formats of woman – loathing, then I certainly can see where I would have acted on the “my house / my rules” declaration. I had explained –– repeatedly and try to do so to this day –– how the production and consumption of pornography by any person is the purposeful and intentional harm and destruction and loathing of female human beings –– 53 percent of and, therefore, the majority of the entire Earth. A DEhumanization with proportions not equaled by any other matter in the whole wide World; but I was with Mirzah and, therefore, to date his maternally parental influencer, ... the least amount within his lifetime.
And
Herry? Herry, as husband and as ex - spouse, has plied his addiction
and purposefully involved his minor children with it in quite the silenced and secretive way that that alcoholic daddee carries on with his hooch,
“The more my sons drink with me, the more I can, too!” Whether that juicing jag takes place at home
or in bars, in cars or during a day at the beach. Anywhere.
“The more my kids use porn and think it fun, humorous and entertainment,
then the more of it my brain gets to have? Well,
that’s just A – okay, too! After all,
we’re bonding! Me an’ m'boys! Father and son – we’re buds! Jus’ engagin’ in a … 'bonding' … activity
together, for chris’sake, Twat!”
When those 12 issues of Playboy had, regular as the moon’s cycles, crept into his Othello Drive bachelor - pad starter castle under the subscription Daddee - Herry had corrected for nine – year – old Zane Truemaier’s ordering of it and all four of its household’s males had retired together to King Herod's den with any one of the particular, newly arrived issues of it … “to check on the Boys’ development,” Mirzah and Mirzah's brain had been only six years old. When the separation and divorce was pending and Addicted Herry, right straightaway, ‘chose’ Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive with whom to start keeping company, it was Mirzah, barely seven and eight years of age, whom Herry took with him when he went to buy for her a gem – studded condom and a “hormones are raging” greeting card. All three Truemaier Boys were present during a mandatory visitation (Of course! Of course, these sojourning soirées were androcentrically and sperm - exaltingly ... daddee - mandatory!) with Herry when Daddee Dearest, smirkingly I am sure, told Ms. McLive a three ducks’ anuses’ joke inside a booth at a Fatlantic café –– that particular tarriance of the Wooing and Courting King Herod's having been the Boys’ –– any of my three Truemaier Boys’ –– very first time meeting The Other Snide Person who in such short order was to become their … so, so unwilling to - step - back - from and to - step - out - of - the - Real - Mama - position's step - mother.
And through the years, there had been more. So much, much more. The Boys had been inundated when they were still in and then, even more frequently, just passed the primary grades and going, going, going, … then finally altogether … gone from me. Gone –– Zane, Jesse and Mirzah –– from me, their mama.
All crimes, of course. Every instance a crime. All of it criminal and perpetrated by one abusing, violent and violent man, their own biological father, that Great and Wonderful Healer, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier. With Mirzah always then the youngest – both in terms of the Daddee Herry - "approved" and - facilitated exposure to and use of pornography and of a child’s perception with regard to the whole and utterly complete disappearance so fashioned and brought about by that same father of the kiddo's own mother –– there came into existence then the altogether determined wiping - out, the absolute erasure and deletion of a so inconveniently protecting mama who would have tried, had she physically been around, to put a stop to Daddee - Herry's (and, generationally, to Juggern Aut Misein Edinsmaier's) insidious inculcation and passing on of woman - hating to her children, all of them happening to be, of course, in Dr. Legion True's case, ... male children. That is, the World’s women’s worth of at least three of its very next generation of marrying and / or fathering and / or ancestoring … men.
Right in line soooo Catholic Edinsmaier's christianizing of my three Sons is –– exactly as had been the schooling of Ms Soraya Manutchehri's two eldest boys (out of her nine - born children in 14 years' time ... rather precise shades, not so Jury? Anyone? of Juggern Aut's perpetual poking of Detanimod ... ) by the woman's sharia "law" - spewing Sperm Source, Ghorban - Ali Manutchehri. Wanting to mawwy another much, much younger DEhuman, a teenaged schoolgirl actually, and to support only one wife, Mr Manutchehri, the mama's two eldest sons and her very own father –– in full and hooting view of the entire town and right alongside all of those 'educated' males of 'The Court' which had just condemned Ms. Soraya, falsely accused of infidelity but such for that specific daddee ... The Inconvenient Wife so by its islamic "law" on "these matters" so, so easily manmade now "no longer a human being" –– "freely" set about murdering her, this suddenly made Non Human, by hurling stones aimed in 1986, right at and striking her head, throat and thorax until this battered, eviscerated and unrecognizable cur –– "That Bitch!" –– she, the mother, altogether stopped breathing, Gutted. Made gone ... she. In and out with 'The Court' 's ruling on the woman in about a dusty and bloodied hour's time –– is all.
In an' out –– literally, –– in and altogether out of life –– in abour an hour!
'Member, Jury, how it is that Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, had, as well, wanted quite dead ... Dr. Legion True? Only difference? Offing the True Twat himself –– in this christianizingly patriarchal country –– may have cost him his doctoring position and, thus, his money. So Daddee - Herry –– as have as well so many, many spousal daddees including Ghorban - Ali - Daddee –– simply "used" the most willing men of 'The Court' ... 'alone' ... to kill her off. Apparently ... "quite constitutional" –– and within aaaall of their very, very manmade / "We tell ourselves thus and so –– cuz, we, DaMen, soooo can" 'laws,' too!
It would be of no wonderment to me at all that a clash which the now nearly 16 – year – old Mirzah and I evidently had had … may have centered around something woman – loathing such as pornography. Mirzah had plenty of friends, of course, as agreeable, as kind and as amiable as he always, always appeared to me to be with other guys his own age. But it was also true that for almost seven preteen and adolescent years' worth I had not a physical clue – I hadn’t been (allowed !!!! to be) around him since he was nine! – about his dealings, about Mirzah's… comings, goings, thinkings and doings … with that same age group of girls. And I do recall, with both Jesse and Mirzah back in Ames and Jesse’s so recent threat of alcohol toxicity, having laid down some parameters about the perimeter of 6143 Havencourt, one of which –– for a fact –– I know, would have been that no pornography of any kind exist on those premises for any reason nor possessed under its roof by anybody.
That summer of 1995, in Ames the Truemaier Boys and I certainly had had no home computer and, therefore, no easy internet access. The passageway, that is, to web – based pornography. It was not until the next February’s Leap Day as I cleaned out the Havencourt condominium in my preparation for altogether leaving behind our Teacup subdivision that I came across, wedged down behind what had been Mirzah’s mattress, a computer – produced ‘business card’ done up on cardstock – quality paper and sized appropriately to any general ones I have ever seen. On white in simple, black - inked font were the words, “Your Friendly Neighborhood Ho Service. Dial 666 – 5678 for a really, really good time. –– Signed, Mirzah and Matt, Pimps. Confidentiality GUARANTEED.”
By 5 o'clock that hot and humid August afternoon, Mirzah and Jesse –– again ... viciously made no longer Iowans –– vanished. The yellow truck pulled away; and with its doing so, I remember most ... Herry’s smirkface. I also know that the pillared Dr. Edinsmaier took away with him more, however, –– that aprovechar of his again! –– ... more that late afternoon than my two Truemaier Boys.
As I had scurried around the condominium, to its three bedrooms upstairs and down to the basement, rounding up every bit of clothing and equipment and treasures I guessed –– in my concurrent and profound sorrow! –– that the two Boys would want with them when back in West Virginia, my one – vehicle garage went ... ... ‘unguarded.’
And, a couple of days later, when I needed that pliers? The one in the vessel resting upon Mirzah’s wooden changing dais painted bronze with its so easy - to - clean Formica tabletop, the sturdiest ever with baby supplies’ drawers built in underneath, the table which AmTaham True had, just 16 years earlier, constructed from leftover scraps of remodeling materials when he first learned I had become pregnant for the third time and Mirzah’s Grandpa had not wanted his Legion's backbone to ache anymore from my repeatedly crouching down on the floor multiple times a day to change his grandbambino’s diapers!
Well, my pliers? All of my tools had gone missing, too suddenly, as suddenly and at exactly when as had Jesse and Mirzah! Including the galvanitzed metal, standard – sized toolbox in which Grandpa AmTaham had collected them all for me, the general genre of receptacle which any respectable repairperson owns!
This man was not done with that particular day’s worth of taking. Still. Of Herod Edinsmaier's taking away from Legion True. With my Boys' taking and with my tools' taking, the man still had more –– much, much more of aprovechar –– on His Agenda to accomplish.
Here I had been left thinking that the Good and Wonderful Healer had swung my
two Boys right out onto Interstate – 35 and was spiriting them out of
Dr Herod Edinsmaier, Mirzah and Jesse Truemaier –– my Boys –– and his Ryder took a wide, wide detour –––– one so wide its width matched that of my mouth’s gaping. And of both Grace’s and Lynda’s, too.
What bulk, what mass of
unmitigated effrontery, insolent entitlement and flippant, filliping arrogance
the entire bunkum of Dr. Herod Edinsmaier is – especially when it comes to us … DEhumans. Lynda Kincaid lived approximately five miles
from me on Havencourt –– through some of the most tangled web of streets and tortuous thoroughfares
“I can’t believe it,” I gasped. “You have to be kidding, Woman. Are you sure, Lynda?!”
I am still incredulous as I am thinking on it right now. All –– absolutely all –– of my girlfriends remain so to this day ... as well. It was a stunning performance by Herod Edinsmaier. Positively utterly staggering.
We –– my friends and I –– we were never "used" to his taking, to Pillared Father's Rightster Herry's snatching up of my Boys whenever and wherever the time and the venue seemed to suit him; but we women, at the least, knew that So Predictable Herod Edinsmaier was entirely capable of this androcentric egregiousness, this patriarchal cruelty. We just never expected, although so very well – trained all of us should have been by now! we just never expected Exalted Sperm Source Edinsmaier’s next fucking flagrancy. Let alone, so very very mother – fucking soon! Within this very same –– "in - 'nd - out - in - about - an" –– hour! that "Fuck you, Bitches" –– hour!
“O, JYeah, Legion, I am sure!” Lynda Kincaid exploded. “They’re gone. They’re all gone. The guns. They are gone from the basement, Legion. Every last one of ‘em. Outta there! All of them! Taken.”
Months later, Jesse himself confirmed this home - invasion crime for all of us women: That Herry
had actually driven up and out of his own gettin' - outta - the - Gutted - Bitch's - town route is one thing in and of itself. But Dr. Edinsmaier had done so ... for forbidden guns that he did not even own.
As soon as Absconder Edinsmaier pulled his rented transport, UNconstitutionally yet domineeringly –– and criminally –– loaded up both with Legion True's two younger Boys and all of Legion's garaged toolbox's contents, out of my driveway and back on to Havencourt's street headed, I had so incorrectly presumed, immediately on out to the interstate's entrance quite proximally nearby and bound, yet again, through those same five states on back to Grubport, West Virginia, I had telephoned Lynda at her National Animal Disease Center desk. She had been the first friend to know –– to know of DaMan's same - style abduction ... yet again! And ... yet again! ... of another of Legion's ripping heartbreaks. Lynda left work to come to my side straightaway and, after cups of late - afternoon, hot sage tea and as much head - banging truisms together about our passions and our struggles as could be emotionally borne, had driven not back to work since it was now eventide but directly on over to her own home on Douglas Avenue.
I had not asked her to –– to do so; Friend Lynda Kincaid had thought all on her own to check. She told me on her commute on over to her street, a revelation had come in to her brain, "This is Herod Edinsmaier Legion's dealing with. Of course, he just might do this. He just might! I'd better check the shelves downstairs. Just in case."
My telephone rang not more than 20 minutes after Lynda had exited my condominium's front door.
These were all of the guns given over to Jesse after ... after ... the divorce and, more importantly, given over to him by his Grandpa AmTaham but ... but ... but with one huge caveat: Given over from Grandpa AmTaham to Jesse by way of me ... first! That is to say, Jesse's grandfather had made crystal clear to Jesse that his mother's rules ruled ... first! First and foremost. "Only when Legion says you may, can you have any access for any reason, for hunting or for target practice that is, at all, Jesse! You must obey your mother on this, Jesse. Verstehen? Verstehen, Young Man? I mean it. Do you understand me, Jesse?"
AmTaham True, as a matter of fact for years before this date of 22 August 1995, and when quite the Cinqué - of - the - Amistad style Ancestor - in - Training, that is, when the man was alive, and for years before Jesse's freshest - ever 17th year (since his latest 15 August birthday had just passed) had tried and tried and tried to have all three Boys understand that the ownership and the use of any gun was far, far unlike the ownership and the use of any other item which the Boys would ever, ever possess.
Grandpa AmTaham had instructed all three Boys that at no time in their teen years' development of "a relationship" between themselves and their firearms were any of the guns and / or their ammunitions to be brought out of safekeeping and handled by, or even just shown to, anyone else. As one may a new volleyball or a new bicycle or how it is a kiddo gifted with a used, let alone a new, vehicle might take her or his friends for a spin in it, for that matter. Developing an adult mindset circa the ownership and the use of firearms, AmTaham True taught, was akin to the learning of no other lesson. And all –– absolutely all –– of one's minor years when she or he is still a teenager are to be determinedly spent up in the maturation of this relationship between the person and the owned firearm. By the time the person becomes 18 years of age, a parent or a grandparent c and no other adult, that is –– needs to have instilled in this child enough then: enough protecting wisdom on this firearms' ownership matter. AmTaham had stated, as had Dr. Powell during the several hunter safety session hours which Jesse and Zane had both enthusiastically, and some time ago by then, attended in Storm County, that the properly licensed parents and grandparents held entire and utter accountability in this endeavor because at no time did any other adult in the kiddos' lives –– not their Uncle Mark, not Daddee's Pal Kevin home on his university's semester break, not High School Voc Ag or Shop Teacher Dick, –––– actually care about the muzzles' locations and the emptied or filled status of the guns' chambers ... as much as ... does the children's own –– properly licensed –– parents or grandparents.
* * * *
"And now ... most importantly ... Jury, for the FLIP / REVERSE clincher on this specific Tuesday's events: What woman do you know, Folks, can get clean, slick away with entering in to, home invasion - style ... thus, with the criminality of it all, her ex - husband's friend's home –––– and abscond with daMan's owned property, with all of his guns there for example, being stored inside his pal's premises?
Huh, Jury? Name one woman for me, please, –– anywhere in the Whole World –– who can get away –– clean, slick away –– with this act? One woman who can, in addition, TAKE with her inside this ex - husband's friend's home ... her very own daughter, too?! Take the teenaged daughter criminally inside the residence, too, to serve as mama's accomplice and as mother's carrier - of - Daddee's guns back out to the truck parked outside? With this mother - modeled 'Fuck you, Bastards' action of Mama's and have back on herself for her having done these several crimes absolutely NO consequence whatsoever, Jury?! Name one woman anywhere who can do these several same deeds as Herry Edinsmaier's, please. One."
Because that is what Narcissist and Passive - Aggressor Herod Edinsmaier who "is above the law because he tells his pillared self –– and my three Truemaier Boys –– that they all are!" ... did! And then, and by now well in to the 21st Century, daMan is known to have gotten his modeling self and my Boy Jesse –– with my Boy Mirzah serving as lookout sentry inside the truck's cab ... clean, slick away with it. Ex - Husband Herry took, aprovechar - style and criminally, whilst demonstating for both of my teenaged sons then, how it is that men, just whenever and wherever they wanna, ... can ... simply take from women, From multiple women. "Because He Can."
We all know this, do we not, Jury? Because he can. "These are mere women, conscious these two happen to be and not anesthetized," Corrupt Herry reckoned, "but females, none the less. How utterly UNimportant ... DEhumans are! And to her Boys, Jesse and Mirzah, as well! I will demonstrate these very same thinkings and doings, these comings and goings about women to them, too! And absolutely loooove doing so!"
Noooo different. The very same this is as ... the two, elder boys who 'helped' their daddee, Ghorban - Ali Manutchehri, murder stoned - to - death Soraya, their very own –– and siblings' –– birthing mama. Not a human being ... she; their laws so state, the laws the men themselves "make" –– particularly as any of these, on the whole of them all, pertain in any way to us DEhumans' general slutlery. Remember, Jury, that so common Arab maxim regarding the insatiability of graves, deserts and. of course, all ... cunts? The males? The men and the boys? They are ... The Human Beings. And ... The Only Human Beings.
Just exactly how UNimportant is ... specifically ... the one DEhuman, Dr.True? Whose first name, Legion, is never to be Edinsmaier - uttered?! –– Ever?!
Consider –– yet again! –– that I had admonished us all, hadn't I Jury, from deeeep within Chapter 28, to be certain to so nota bene the following phraseology out of Herry - Daddee's 02 July 1994, quite queer letter thingy mailed to me?! That grammatically incorrect missive, displaying its stupendously stupid sentence structure, which had been sent to me, the woman whom all of daMen of 'the Court', an American court –– it needs to be marked, remarked and so, so ... well - remembered, an American court! –– had ascribed as the Crazed and Whoring Mother –––– yet, as well, to whom Herry - Daddee, that flouncing and professedly accountable father!, suddenly and right then so very, very soon after Jesse's release from hospitalization at the Blue Hazelnut Ridge, had decided to entrust to lovingly and correctly shepherd one minor teen, Jesse, with as well in such a short, short span of time thereafter another, second one, Mirzah?!
"#8. Should ... any matter arise ... which we cannot settle under the terms of this agreement, ... WE BOTH agree ... to immediately return to the present arrangement as set forth by the existing divorce decree with modifications," yada, yada, yada and so forth. Signed, "Sincerely, Herod Edinsmaier"...
Only it is most clear, isn't it Jury, that i) from Mirzah's one wee, apparently whining telephone call back to Daddee - Herry when the Evil - Mother Monster quite torqued him off some –– "she pissed off daMan" (as with Ms. Soraya's sons, Mirzah equaling this particular male this particular time) and ii) from Jesse's desiring for himself Legion True's guns back in West Virginian woods, it is most clear, isn't it, that none –– utterly none –– of Proviso #8 had to its "declaration" any "sincerity" or any Truth ... WHATSOEVER?!
Because it did not have to. Whether inside a courtroom with daMan's status as "under oath" there or with their promising or their avowing –– or even with their "evidence" - and witness - wowing there! True it is. O, so head - bangingly true it is: Depending upon who you are, it is easier to lie to and to deceive anyone inside an American civil court of law and get clean, slick away with it than it is to lie to and to deceive one's own mom and dad. It is easier to lie to and to deceive an American civil court of law, which, we all know from long back within Chapter Eight, is a judge or nearly an entire state's distict and appellate court system's worth of them! –– circa 23 or so of them! than it is to lie to and deceive your own minister, your own teacher, your boss and co - workers, your spouse or even all three of your own children. It is, mind you, easier to get clean, slick away with lying to and deceiving an American civil court judge about anything, depending, of course, upon who you are, than it is to lie to and deceive yourself, Corrupt Herry!
Or outside of one. Outside courtrooms. As with Liar Herry's mid - 1994 letter to me regarding "our both agreeing" if "any matter arises." "Heh. Heh. Heh, Woman!" I am yet again! reminding my own brainy self. "These are men making 'the rules', the 'laws.' And no amount of, no accounting of Flip / Reverse as to how these same men would feel or as to how the humans would like the trashing and the smashing, the utter mucking up of their Constitutional rights to, O say, ...breathing ... if the DEhumans' mother - fucking –– if, O say, father - fucking –– is visited down upon them ... matters ... squat at all to them!"
"I ask, Jury, only one thing about the aprovechar - absconsion of my Boys and of my tools and guns, about this home - invasion crime, on all of this one particular day's worth of mother - fucking –––– all of it perped by Hosing Herry, the Pillared Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, against Lynda Kincaid and against me, Dr. Legion True, as well as against all three of my Truemaier Boys, ... ... the fucking outrage?! Where is the OUTRAGE?!"
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