BOYS WILL BE BOYS
They were newlyweds, but he always left her every Tuesday night. She would kiss him goodbye and then stand at the window and watch until his car disappeared from view, knowing he would not return until long after she had gone to sleep. It was the night of the week she always dreaded, and although he explained it all to her while they were dating, it didn’t bother her then. They had lived in different towns and never saw each other mid-week anyways. But now, whenever Margaret asked any questions, he would get defensive and clam up as if he had something to hide. She would look into his eyes and see a different person, a fugitive on the run or a game player who has just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Then a flicker of meanness would appear in what were normally the kindest eyes she had ever seen. It was only a flash, but the first time she picked up on it, she had to grab the door handle to steady herself. This was not the man she thought she had married.
She just wanted to know what it was they did at their meetings. She wasn’t being nosy. She just couldn’t understand why they had to meet every week, why it went on all night and why it all had to be such a secret. The little bit she was told sounded innocent enough and admirable actually. Acts of charity and fellowship where family and civic duty came first, along with the pursuit of truth and a demonstration of brotherly love. But when Peter laughingly described to Margaret what his initiation into the lodge had been like, she wasn’t too impressed. Typical frat boy behavior was what she concluded. More immature and silly than worrisome, and “boys will be boys” is how her mother-in-law responded when Margaret explained what had been going on. Her own mother had died when Margaret was only thirteen and Peter’s mother had welcomed her with open arms, introducing her proudly to everyone as the daughter she had always wanted. In only six months, she had become a trusted confidant and advisor and Margaret felt blessed to have her living so close by. So when her mother-in-law didn’t show any concern about the meetings, Margaret felt relieved at first and tried to ignore the nagging feelings of distrust. She would just concentrate on all the positives instead. No marriage was perfect, and she knew when she met Peter that he was the one. She was just being a clingy newlywed because she was new to town, no longer working and hadn’t made any friends yet.
But when another month passed and she asked if she could meet some of the other lodge wives and Peter kept coming up with excuses, Margaret began to get suspicious again. If family comes first, why are they not allowed to even meet each other? The more she asked about this, the more stubborn and evasive he became, and the Peter that had charmed her so much while they were dating now punished her with his cold hostility. If she crossed the line and went too far, he always made her pay for it. So gradually, she learned what was permissible to talk about and what wasn’t.
Once, when she actually caught him in a lie and thought he would have to confess now, he somehow managed to turn it all around and make it look as if she was the one with the problem. He said she was alone too much, had become paranoid and needed help. Before she knew what was happening, Peter had made an appointment with his mother’s personal physician and was taking a day off from work to accompany her himself. It was Peter and not Margaret who did all the talking, and in less than 30 minutes, they were exiting the doctor’s office with a prescription for a sedative to calm her anxiety along with a promise on her part to meet with a therapist that the lodge recommended.
At first, Margaret actually thought Peter may have been right and the problem was with her. The drug they had given her seemed to work wonders. She was sleeping much better and felt more relaxed. When lodge night rolled around, she just kissed Peter sweetly on the lips and wished him a good evening. He held her close and stroked her back like he always used to and promised to be home as early as he could. But as the weeks went by, it was as if the drug was wearing off because the anxiety started building up again and the fights began to escalate. The dosage was increased a few times, and then a new prescription was substituted. Therapy sessions went from once a week to 10 times per month, and while Peter’s life remained calm and stable, hers was spiraling out of control.
If she hadn’t seen that ad and met those other ladies, she would probably be locked up in a mental asylum now. Or at least that’s what she was told they do …. to the troublemakers they were not able to program or convert.
Copyright © 2015 (Michelle Parsons, Getting Back on Your Path). All Rights Reserved.