Peace by Piece

There are 3 scenarios I remember as if they were yesterday, I just don’t recall in which order they happened.

The lights are flashing, music blaring, pumping through my veins. Rocking out in my white dress, make up on point, I’m on top of the world. I don’t talk on the dance floor, I am there for two things – to dance, and to sing as loud as I can on the top of my lungs, my terrible voice drowned out by the music.

He comes over, interrupts my reprieve, tells me he’s always seen me at the rink and always wanted to say hi. I laugh and tell him I don’t talk to strangers and turn away and carry on dancing.

I think this is the second, same night club, different night, I have been at a friends house to watch some sports, very laid back, casual, wearing tan pedal pushers and a white vest top with wedge flip flops, no make up, hair pulled back, and we decide to go out. I’m at the bar when he approaches me again. This time I can talk to him because really we’ve now met and I cannot class him as a stranger. We get caught deep in conversation, people knocking into us, he spills his drink on me, he is mortified, I make a joke. It happens again, second time, okay not cool, drink spills into my handbag. Third time one of us start laughing and says third times a charm. He’s getting to me. He’s cute. Persistent.

Third time I remember seeing him, same night club, this time I’m at the pool tables, bent over, position poised to get my shot. I look up, and there across the room, standing on the steps, leg in a cast, wearing a black zipped collared shirt with cream pants. It was like time stood still and nothing else existed. I always wondered, is this what they call love at first sight? In hindsight from all the reading I’ve done over the years I don’t know if it was a mere chemical reaction to addiction… the pessimist in me says who knows if such things as love at first sight even exist anymore in this world of psychobabble and explanations for everything. I still like to believe it was love at first sight. Anyway moving on. We spoke. We exchanged numbers.

THE WARNINGS

One or two people tell me be careful, he’s a player. I was a teenager, in my mind how many girls hearts can you break if you’ve only had one relationship that didn’t last long?

It was only then, asking around, that I started to understand who Carter was in this world. He was one of the best ice hockey players of his generation in our region — genuinely gifted, the kind of talent that draws recruiters and sponsors. The cast on his leg was from an injury. Little did I know just how much this would impact our journey.

I hear he kissed 5 girls the same night him and I were hanging out. We weren’t together then, we hadn’t even kissed, I can’t complain about that. I can’t hold him accountable. Who am I to judge. 

We talk it through and he assures me it would never have happened had he had a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t I believe him. 

THE FIRST DATE

A few days later, he pulls up in his old hatchback, our first date. We both feel a little shy, almost awkward. Playing on his CD is Artful Dodger – the song – twentyfourseven – smooth, we both talked about how we had butterflies in our tummies. I cannot remember where we went, or how the date went, but we had our first kiss, in the street, outside our mutual friend, Sasha’s house. I remember thinking he was not the greatest kisser, but these things can be perfected. Small hurdles and all that.

THE PATTERN BEGINS

I’m in my last year of school. We spend our weekends together. Summers at the beach with our crew, tanning, swimming, just living. We would walk along the beach holding hands, the kind of slow walk where nobody is going anywhere in a hurry. Romantic picnics just the two of us, watching the sun melt into the water. Sometimes friends would join us and we would all sit together watching the sunset, but my favourite moments were always the quiet ones. Just him and me and the sound of the waves. 

Winters at the rink — that was his world, and slowly it became mine too. I loved the feeling of being free on the ice. I felt like a bird, flying and spinning and slicing through the ice. I always wanted to do figure skating but it wasn’t something we could afford. Whether I was on the ice or on a dance floor, the moment the music hit me I was gone. That was my freedom. That was where I felt most like myself. 

Watch movies. Cuddle. Spend time at friends houses.

I was never allowed out during the week when I was in school – my dad’s rules.

A pattern soon started forming. My friends who were allowed out would come to me and tell me oh I saw Carter out last night. I would confront him — he would deny it. Eventually, each friend would have a different place for each day of the week. Lola loved the Sunday night hot spot, so Mondays I was guaranteed to be told she had seen him the night before. Monday nights was a different hot spot, so Tuesdays I would be told by someone else they had seen him the night before, and so it goes for each day of the week.

In those days we had a basic online messaging platform — nothing like what exists today. Even having internet at home wasn’t a big thing back then, and it certainly wasn’t wifi. It was dial up from your computer. We never had WhatsApp, we used good old text messages. Even google on our phones came a while after that.

He would always deny being out, until I started asking my friends what he was wearing. Then he had no room to lie. We broke up. I didn’t want a liar. It wasn’t who I was, and I certainly never aspired to be with someone who felt so comfortable rolling lies off their tongue. We got back together — he was sincerely remorseful, understood why I would be upset, the lies stopped for a while.

VALENTINES DAY

Approximately 2 weeks of dating, a few weeks of knowing each other, its valentines day. He buys me a beautiful bouquet of roses, and a couple of pairs of incredibly sexy lingerie. I don’t know how to feel about this. I love the gesture – but find it somewhat inappropriate. We hadn’t even been anywhere near that path as yet. I feel slightly uncomfortable, but thank him, probably make a joke at the inappropriateness. I’ve offended him, he feels I am being ungrateful, my reaction hurts him.

This is the start of how two people see situations VERY differently. He couldn’t see how I could feel uncomfortable. I can see how he would feel offended, but I wasn’t ungrateful so his offence is not warranted.

I LOVE YOU

We get to the point of telling each other we love each other. Everything is good. We are happy. We have an I Love You signal for when we are out and not standing next to each other, or when he is out on the ice and I am watching from the stands. Three taps — on the back of a hand, on a railing, wherever we were in reach of each other. Three taps meant I love you.

When he says I love you, I don’t say I love you too, I say I love you. Because I don’t mean it only when he says it, I mean it because it is what I feel. I am stating my love, not agreeing to his.

THE MALE FRIENDS

I had a lot of guy friends, I always felt them to be less bitchy than girls, less catty, no drama – or so I thought. I learnt the hard way that is not the case. Carter would come to me and say this person said this, or that person said that. He would always be referring to a guy that I considered a friend. And there were many of them. He would come to me with information so appalling and hurtful that my immediate reaction would be — this guy must be jealous and wanting to ruin my relationship with Carter by feeding him lies so he will break up with me. I would weigh up the pros and cons, I would look at Carter and see how he “had my back” and I would say you know what, my friend doesn’t deserve me, and just like that I would cut them out of my life.

I had 2 male friends that would sometimes pick me up from school. We were friends. There was no connection other than friendship. They fetched me from school the one day and came back to my house. I used to suffer with a lot of headaches throughout my life, usually ones that stemmed from the neck but a 5 minute massage and I would be fine. I asked Luke to rub my neck for me, there was nothing sexual to it at all. I was sitting on a chair and he was standing behind me. Carter walked in, took one look at the picture, and held it against me for the rest (and I truly mean THE REST) of our relationship. It was always his go to if he messed up and needed something to lash back with.

Another time with them I was hanging curtains in my room, they were sitting there with me, I was wearing shorts. I didn’t see anything wrong with that because these were friends I would be on the beach in a bikini with. Surely a bikini trumps small shorts? Anyway, I of course got moaned at for that too.

I didn’t do anything wrong, but I still understood his insecurity and cut ties with those boys too. I looked at it from his perspective. If I felt uncomfortable with something or someone, and I could see something he couldn’t, how would I want him to handle the situation? Would I want him to dismiss my opinions and thoughts and feelings? To minimise them? Or would I want him to trust me and respect me? And this is how I moved forward through every obstacle. Not how DOES he react in the same situation, but how would I WANT him to react. And here we find the pot calling the kettle black. He had a lot of rules for me over the years that never flowed over into his own behaviour. His expectations so high for me, yet so low for himself.

THE DRINKING

Carter and I always had fun together. We would go out, dance, drink, although he was a much bigger drinker than I was. I never had to get paralytically drunk, I enjoyed just getting a buzz. Carter on the other hand went hard all the time. I was young. We were all having fun. Everyone was drinking. I didn’t see a problem.

The night of my senior formal, a few months into our relationship, was one I had been looking forward to FOREVER. It was a rights of passage. A monumental milestone marking a distinct point in your journey of life. You would go to the formal, have a massive afterparty, go from the after party to the beach, watch the sun rise and go for breakfast. 2 out of 4 boxes were ticked for me that night. He got so drunk at the after party, when we were walking down the road to catch a cab he was throwing beer bottles in the street thinking he was so funny. We went back to his moms house, he passed out, and we missed the sunrise and the breakfast.

Back then I wasn’t too upset about it, but now looking back, from an adult mind, it was just the start of one of MANY experiences I allowed him to control.  One of the many disappointments that I would brush under the rug. None had any sort of profoundly significant impact at its point in time. Its only in hindsight that I could identify just how many of these scenarios there were over time. 

One night we were out a club. It wasn’t in the best area. I had too much to drink, I went to the bathroom, I had friends with me while I was puking. I remember being bent over the toilet and then waking up in the car. Carter, instead of taking me home and putting me to bed, carried me to the car, locked me inside and went back into the club to carry on partying.

HIS INJURY

In amongst all of this, the rehab on his injury was not going well. He never was able to regain the full mobility required for his ice hockey career. He still played, but it was never the same. All that attention that he had prior to the injury slowly fizzled as time passed and the realisation hit that the golden boy was no longer. This took a heavy emotional toll on him, one that I tried to support him through, despite my lack of experience in this area and being so young. I did the only thing I knew how, listened when he was down, excused his increased drinking, told myself this too shall pass. 

THE BIGGEST RED FLAGS

The biggest red flags for me should have been the lies he told about going out when I was in school, and the second — his mother, and his relationship with her. This specific relationship brought me so much pain for him because I could not understand it. She is not a horrible person, I truly believe she just does not know better. She is a broken person. And that brokenness has turned her into someone who is manipulative, who instead of telling her son his wrongs and guiding him, she would defend him which in turn was abusive to me. She did not like our relationship for the first few years. I have elaborated on this in the monster in law section.

I was still a teenager when I met him. My focus was on school. I did not want a boyfriend — but as always, when you are not looking for something, something seems to find you. I was young and naive. I did not know a world of narcissism and addiction, lies and deceit. I had not grown up with this. I didn’t even know what these things were. Had I known then what I know now, I hope that I would recognise the signs and high tail it out of there, however, were that to have happened I would not have been blessed with my 2 beautiful children I love with all my heart. So in life, we cannot have regrets. We have to take the good with the bad, learn from our mistakes, and do our best to not make the same mistakes over and over again.

THE PREGNANCY

I finished school, I had always wanted to leave and go work in London for a year, at that point in time there was no money for university and I didn’t really know what I wanted to do. My dad wasn’t comfortable with me going to London, so I stayed home and got a random job to fill my time and make some money. I would go to work and split my time between going home to my dads or going to Carters.

My dad and step mom split up around this time. She just up and left with the kids to a town a few hours away. This was hard for my dad as he was always a family man. He worked hard every day, my step mom had the odd job here and there, but my dad lived and died for his kids. What I could not fathom in all of this is that they seemed to have a really loving relationship. There were rarely any fights, I honestly remember one fight growing up. My dad would get angry if someone used something of his and didn’t put it back. He would moan. It wasn’t that we weren’t allowed to use anything of his, it was that if you use it, put it back. I get this. I am the same way. So still to this day actually do I not really understand why they got divorced.

I can’t remember how I found out, but I heard Carter had kissed a girl that I knew from school the night before — she was a year below me. She knew me. She knew we were in a relationship. I broke up with him, had a go at her — this was actually my first and only cat fight I had with a girl. I didn’t slap her but I told her off in the middle of a nightclub. She was at least remorseful, unlike the rest to follow.

Two years out of school, Carter took me on holiday. We jumped into his old hatchback and off we went. No money, nothing but a bag of weed to sell down there to pay for our stay. We got pulled over in a routine traffic stop. My heart was in my throat, but by the grace of God the officer sent us on our way without incident. We had the best holiday. We stayed with his friends, went out, explored, went to the beach, watched the dolphins, and saw a whale wallowing in the water in the reflection of the moon one evening. It was amazing.

We went again a few months later, it was still a lot of fun, except I wasn’t feeling well one night. He left me alone in this massive wooden house in an empty lot to go and party. I was scared. I couldn’t understand why him wanting to go out would be more important than me not feeling well. Apart from that, it was a good holiday. Life was good, we were free.

We had a good sex life. We were young and in love. We enjoyed each others bodies, we would have sex in the car, in an abandoned parking lot, in the parking lot of our apartment building, in the shower, on the couch while watching series. We had a good balance, as is always possible with no responsibility.

My first year out of school, we had sex at his dad’s house on the couch and then again in the pool.

Little did I know that night on his dad’s couch would result in us going from 2 to 3.

Months later I realised I hadn’t had my period. I was sick all the time. Headaches, nausea, certain foods would make me puke on the spot. I was naive. I thought it was stress. I had always taken precaution by being on the pill. I couldn’t be pregnant. But I was.

My dad was working away at the time. What on earth would I tell my parents. I couldn’t believe it. I was shocked. This is not what I wanted for my life. Not what I envisioned. I had hopes and dreams. My life was only just about to begin, and now it was ending before I even got a chance to find who I am and make something of myself. I was still so young.

Our parents — for the most part — were supportive. When my dad called the house to check in with me, I told him there was something I needed to tell him. “You’re pregnant,” he said. “How did you know?” I asked. Your aunt told me — she sensed it. (She was always great at sensing these things. She never liked Carter and still to this day cannot stand him.)

My dad sits us down. Tells us this has happened and despite that he is not going to force Carter to marry me. He doesn’t want him to resent me one day for forcing him into anything. He tells him he doesn’t even have to have anything to do with the baby’s life, he will support me and the baby. He tells him he is young, he hasn’t even found himself yet. He doesn’t want to see me heartbroken with someone who is going to mess me around and not be there for me and the baby. 

Carter assures him that won’t be the case. He wants this. He wants to be there for me, wants to be a part of our unborn child’s life.

People start saying I fell pregnant to trap him. What idiot in their right mind thinks I would trap a boy who lives with his mom, from not even a middle class family, no money, no goals, no job? Trap him for what? All he has to offer is personality.

AND THEN THE GROUND SHIFTED

One time, I was pregnant with Alexia, we went to a friend’s house. Carter smoked a joint — weed — and got so paranoid thinking everyone was talking about him. I should have seen the paranoia signs then but what did I know. I was young and pregnant. I had more pressing issues on my hands.

And then came what I thought would be the most devastating day of my life — little did I know back then…

Carter has been doing drugs.

Drugs???? What? How? When? Where? WHY????? For how long?

It seems a month or so before we found out I was pregnant, he had been out one night without me. He had gone to the bathroom, tried ecstasy with someone, liked it, decided a few months later to try coke too… he LOVED it.

I sob. And sob. And sob. How could this be? How could my baby, who has done nothing to deserve this, be born into this? This is not okay. He tells me it’s fine, he has it under control. He is upset. I am upset. He tells me he is going to get help. I can see how disappointed in himself he is. I don’t need to harp on and degrade him, he has done that to himself. 

Looking back now, I can trace the shape of it. The rink had already started to fade by then. He still played, but the injury had taken something from him that never quite came back. The recruiters who had been circling, the sponsors who had shown interest — they drifted away one by one as it became clear he would never return to who he had been on the ice. I did not understand then what that loss was doing to him. I did not have the language for it. I only knew that something had shifted, and that the boy I had watched light up an entire rink had started looking for his light somewhere else.

And just like that, everything changed.