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Chapter 16 Divorce
"No one forgets a past hurt; after a wound heals, scar tissue remains as a subtle reminder and effectively warns the individual against potential threats of a similar nature."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Divorce
A new year had begun. And on January 15, 1977 we heard that Norm and
Tracy's marriage had culminated in divorce.
It was in the paper, but Mom and Dad rarely read the divorce column; everyone else knew about the event several days before us, and we only found out through a Saturday morning call from my aunt who was naturally surprised to read the startling news. When Mom answered the phone as if nothing had happened, and continued to act likewise after Margaret's inquiry, my aunt knew that Mom was ignorant of the entire episode. "Oh, Muriel, you don't know. . ." she gasped over the telephone line, and proceeded to explain that which had prompted her call. "I'll call them," Mom said, and promised to return with an explanation as she hung up the phone. It had to be a mistake. Mom flew into the living room to scan through the Tuesday evening paper, and adjusting her eyes to the fine print, discovered their names were indeed listed among the many divorces; even the address was correct. Common decency should have allowed my parents to be alerted before the rest of the world; their pain was needless, because it could have been avoided. Mom stood, headed toward the telephone, and dialed mechanically.
The phone rang several times and Tracy answered with a cheerfulness that seemed to mock the magnitude of the situation which had just unfolded. Recovering, Mom asked, "What happened?… the newspaper… "Oh that!" Tracy returned, "we just did that for income tax purposes." Her voice echoed through a void across which no bridge would ever span, hideously jovial and self-satisfied with her own indifference toward the institution of marriage. Mom held the receiver to her ear in disbelief, momentarily transfixed by the flood of emotions which seethed violently within her; this was no time for chatter. "I'm sorry," her voice broke, "but I just can't talk now," and hung up to restore her self-control.
Marriage was one of the most significant and meaningful vows in Mom's life, pledging steadfast love to one's mate until life's end. Love and marriage were inseparable; apathy toward one would place the other element in a similar light. Marriage also stood for a wholesome sense of permanence which based itself on a firm trust in mutual, everlasting love. Divorce did not coincide with the presence of love, despite the haughty assertion by Tracy that their's was simply a means of tax evasion; truth was insensitive to one's emotions just as divorce was apathetic toward love.
An ocean of speculation washed over our house after the above knowledge had been gained, and flooded our minds with unanswered questions. It was not a general practice of the family to mistrust that which another individual proclaimed to be true; deceit often wound its fingers around the neck of one given to the preaching of lies, and while strangulation was never the outcome, the liar rarely escaped the scene unscathed. Lying had a nasty way of accumulating, and once it appeared its mark was difficult to scour away. We spoke candidly, and expected similar treatment; telling the truth seemed logical, if not easier as well, and deception as a form of entertainment was neither among our habits nor pleasures. Our family was gullible, yet this susceptibility was reigned to a certain degree by common sense; if something seemed too incredible, it was generally shelved in the back of our minds with overt skepticism, yet outwardly, our heads would bob up and down at the statement in apparent belief. Thus, a liar might have often perceived that his tall tale was accepted when, in truth, the whopper's falsity merely was not confronted. Such occurrences afforded us with hours of quiet laughter or thoughtful dissent once separated from the story teller, which spared him the embarrassment of what could have resulted from uproarious howls of laughter or fiery discord.