For the first 3 years, the relationship with Becky was fucking awesome.
We seemed to be perfectly matched, both emotionally and physically. It was all good. We saw eye to eye on most every topic.
Don't get me wrong, no relationship is perfect. Sometimes I'd open my mouth and say stupid shit that pissed her off. But c'mon, I'm a fucking guy! Best any of us guys can do is minimalize the stupid and apologize immediately.
Overall, things were great! Although most of the time we were together, she wasn't even divorced yet. She was only separated from her husband.
Still, we had nibbled around the edge of the subject of possibly moving in together, at some point.
Her pending divorce was a major speed bump in that direction. It was like pulling teeth with needle nose pliers trying to get her estranged spouse to give her any financial assitance for the boys. If we had moved in together before the divorce, she was afraid his lawyer would use that against her and she'd never get another dime. She was probably right.
She eventually secured her divorce (it was brutal and ugly), her ex-husband bought her out of their house and she moved into a townhouse in southern Kansas City just minutes away from her job.
After her diagnosis and many times over the course of her treatment, I suggested that she should just move in with me so I could take care of her because I love her.
She didn't want to do that. She was afraid that if the reason we moved in together was because she was sick, that would always taint our cohabitation.
There were also many perfectly logical and rational reasons why it wasn't practical for her to move in with me.
She only lived a couple of miles from her job.
Gas was $4.00 a gallon.
I lived at least 30-45 minutes away. Maybe an hour when you take into effect the Grandview Triangle during rush hour.
With the cost of her meds and the hours she was working, it just didn't make sense to add a commute like that to her day.
But her lease was going to expire in May of 2008 and she needed to figure out what she was going to do.
Her middle son, Desmond, was living in their old house, was out of work and facing some legal charges. What she really wanted to do was temporarily move back to that house (the house now owned by her ex-husband) with Desmond and try to get him straightened out. She had long suspected that he was bi-polar. She thought if she could just get him properly diagnosed so he could get treatment, then he could get a job and keep it and he would be OK.
While I admired her motivation, I strongly advised her against putting herself in a position where her ex-husband controlled the roof over her head. It was an ugly divorce. He lied to her and cheated on her for 20 years while he was working on the railroad and he had never followed through on any agreement he had ever made with her. In short, he was a fucking bastard.
She assured me that NO WAY would she move back into that house unless she had a legally enforceable agreement in writing.
We talked about the fact that my lease expired in October. She'd be almost done with her treatments by then and hopefully the Hep C would be gone. She could move back in with Desmond for a few months, get him straightened out, finish up her treatments and then maybe we could think about getting someplace together.
Because I thought this might be in my future, I never really settled in to the townhouse in Independence. I didn't hang any pictures. I didn't hang any curtains. The place remained pretty bare because a) I didn't know how long I would be here, and b) I wasn't sure how long I would be here alone.
So she's negotiating terms with her ex while the clock is ticking on her lease.
Right about this time, she loses her cell phone. Can't find it anywhere.
This is not unusual for her. I suspect it's probably in her purse. Her purse is like the Bermuda Fucking Triangle. Once something goes in her purse, it vanishes from the known universe.
Instead of getting a replacement phone from her current carrier, she decides to cancel her service with Verizon and get a phone with another carrier because it would be cheaper.
She cancels her Verizon service first, THEN she applies at another carrier. Apparently her credit didn't pass muster with the new carrier and they don't give her a phone.
She was phoneless.
She didn't have a land line at home and it wouldn't be cool for me to call her at work, so the only way I have to communicate with her now is via email or driving from Independence to 103rd & Wornall (with gas at $4.00 a gallon) on the off chance that she will be at home and awake.
The weekend before her lease is due to expire, I email her.
"So, are you moving this weekend? Do you need help?"
She still hadn't decided. She was still negotiating terms with her ex on moving back into their old place. The current landlord had assured her that she could just pay month to month on the townhouse and didn't have to sign a new lease right away.
OK, cool.
Early the following week I email her to get an update.
She moved over the weekend!
Didn't tell me she was moving. Didn't ask for my help. Her boys got her moved. Said she knew I had a compressed disc in my back and she didn't want me doing any lifting.
Only...wait for it...she didn't move in with her son Desmond as planned!
She moved in with a female co-worker who lived even closer to work than she did. She would stay there temporarily while she continued negotiating with the ex.
:: blink :: Umm, Okay. That's odd. Just sayin'.
All of her belongings are scattered between where she was living now (somewhere around 103rd & Holmes) and her son's and her sister's various habitats.
And she managed to coordinate this last minute flurry of activity without a phone?
"My roommate let's me use her phone when I need to."
Hmmm. That's interesting. But okay.
So now, I can only email her at work and she discourages me from doing that because people in her office don't get personal emails at work and she's worried about losing her job, which would mean losing her insurance which would mean not being able to afford her medical treatments that are keeping her alive.
How can I not respect that?
I try to hold the emails down to one or two a week. She generally sends me a short reply with a quick update, but it might take her a day or two.
Let's recap.
I no longer have a phone number for her, I no longer know where she lives. I can only communicate with her on the Internet, but sending her an email is like querying a Magic fucking 8 Ball.
At this point she has become my "mythological girlfriend".
I've seen her. I know she exists. I believe in her. But I would be hard pressed to prove her existence to anyone else.
She's like the chupacabra of significant others. There have been unconfirmed sightings, but no concrete evidence exists.
Then in mid July, I stop getting any replies to the emails I'm sending her at work. After a couple of weeks I get a short email from her personal email address telling me she hadn't been to work for a couple of weeks and to please not send any more emails to work.
So I start sending emails to her personal address and don't get any replies at all.
Not a single one.
After about 3 weeks I'm out of my mind with worry. To the point of texting her oldest to ask if we could touch base. I thought maybe he had been in contact with her.
In an apparently AMAZING coincidence, she contacts him, out of the blue, the VERY NEXT DAY.
First time he had heard from her in a long time, as it turns out! What are the odds?
He told her I was worried about her so she sends me an email.
Next, An Untold Story Chapter 4 - The End
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