08/07/03
It started with a teddy bear - and ended in a pair of handcuffs.
Perhaps it is somewhat unfair to be thrust in medias res, so let's disclose a few more
details.
The teddy bear was plush and fuzzy with a heart-shaped orange nose. The handcuffs
were probably silver. Better?
Actually, let's start at the start. You meet a guy who, at first glance, does not
seem your type but there is something about him that captures your interest. Perhaps
it was the fuzzy wuzzy bear (although you generally prefer gargoyles). Maybe it was
the electric hug you shared on the corner of Madison Avenue, the one that pricked you with
a surge of energy you never felt before. It might have even been his sense of
serenity, his aura of peace, or his wonderfully pressed wardrobe of sheep's clothing.
Little did you know there was a wolf underneath. After a five month whirlwind of
togetherness, it finally felt like a noose were tightening around your neck, maybe in the
shape of a wedding band. You had to get out. He is waiting for you before work
one morn. After he demands an ultimatum (instead of a sane discussion you had hoped
for after work), you say Yes, in fact, it is over.
Big bad wolves don't like that. They don't take NO for an answer. The minute
you say it's over he grabs your arm and begins to shake you. You struggle to
extricate yourself from his iron grip in front of your workplace and bolt inside while he
screams some very bad names at you throughout the lobby. You make it to your desk
only to hear a sound you will never again forgive - the ringing telephone.
Wolfman begins calling you at all hours of the day and night - on your cellphone, your
home phone, at work - at work, on your cell, on your cell - at home, on your cell, at work
at home at work at home on your cell on your cell.. The phone will not stop ringing.
It is Chinese water torture.but a hell of a lot louder.
He leaves 837 messages. They go from pissed off to apologetic to downright begging.
You think the begging is pretty bad until it turns to rage. Rage is bad until
it turns to Norman Bates. He screams. He whispers. He rants. The
poor guy goes psycho. He then begins to threaten. In a nutshell, he goes nuts.
Here's where you have two choices - live with the terror in the pit of your stomach, the
one that feels like a blender full of beets on purée - or go to the cops.
Two excellent Brooklyn detectives become your new best friends. They listen to you.
They believe. They get almost as nauseous as you from the evidence (the 837
messages you tape recorded). They give you helpful hints, all of which you follow.
They escort you home to get clean underwear. O, and the big one.
They throw him in a jail. Aggravated harassment is a crime. You decide
to make him pay. You want to forgive and forget, to move on. But it certainly
is hard when he has a ton of your possessions you had left at his house and you feel like
your insides have been gutted. You are also angry at yourself for ignoring some
warning signs when the wolf's garb was ripping a bit at the seams.
Like the fact he wanted to spend every sleeping and waking moment together into the next
life -- even if you came back as a goat. Like the fact that he'd get upset if you
made phone calls from your cell instead of his home phone while at his house. Or
befuddled when you didn't want to come watch him wash his car one Saturday morning.
Or miffed when you wanted to spend time walking, biking or with friends. Or
downright livid if you did not wear the gifts he bought you. The final straw should
have been the dog sitting incident, when you found the dog in the closet with his muzzle
duct taped shut in a pile of his own feces.
Yes, the noose had been tightening, your eyes had been bulging and that thing called love
turned into something more caustic and detrimental. That's the story. An
English professor once said there are only eight plots in the universe and every tale is
merely an adaptation of one of them. This one, as a friend says, resembles
"Beauty and the Beast." And boy, is it ugly.
And boy, does it hurt. As much as love zooms you to the stratosphere as a soaring
bird, the twisting thereof can pummel you into the horrid depths of hell, especially when
a person you trusted with your life seems to want to get rid of it. But you can
emerge victorious. Scalded with hell-burnt bald spots, but victorious nonetheless.
You will never again shut the door on your instincts. You will never again
jump too fast into a relationship. You won't shun your own needs and your friends.
And you will never again trust a well-dressed sheep without poking around for a
smarmy wolf inside - especially one bearing a teddy bear.
Copyright 2003 Ryn Gargulinski
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Visit - www.ryngargulinski.com.
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