Patrimonious: Samantha - Tweed Jefferson

Patrimonious

“You’re such a fucking asshole,” Samantha screeched, throwing a mug of coffee across the room. Shaun ducked out of the way and the ceramic shattered behind him, splattering his neck and shoulders with hot liquid. She was pissed off again. This time it was because Shaun doesn’t want to visit his mom. He’d managed to excuse himself from family gatherings for over a year now. The way he saw it, they refused to celebrate Obon or the Equinox with him. Earth Day. Arbor Day. All went unnoticed in favor of pseudo-religious and faux-patriotic celebrations. He’d blocked his mom from calling, texting, emailing, and commenting on social media, but she still found a way to keep track of him. Calling from his dad’s phone. Getting updates from his brother. He even changed his number once, but that only lasted a few days until she badgered someone gave her the new one.

After years of struggling with depression, anxiety, and a boatload of other mental-health conditions. Medicating himself with this and that. Prescription or street pharmacy. After years of that, Shaun realized what he really needed was to cut these toxic people out of his life. So he did. Slowly. He wasn’t sure of the best way to do it. Cold turkey seemed to make it worse, creating panic for his mother, so he decided to just stop responding to any inane messages or comments. Never answering his phone. Not that anybody ever called him except his mom and Samantha. Everyone else knew that if they wanted a response, it was text or nothing.

Pale coffee-cream dripped down the drywall, staining and drying as it went. Another mess of hers he’d have to clean up. It wasn’t enough that he’d bought her a house and paid her bills, Shaun was expected to be at her beck-and-call on a whim. She might disappear for a few days, but when she got back, the expectation was he’d drop whatever he was doing and bathe her in affection and attention. So many moments of inspiration – uncreated pieces of art – interrupted.

Samantha began punching him. Over and over. On the part of his arm where the biceps brachii and triceps brachii and deltoid all come together with the brachialis. The spot where if she hit it just right, she’d feel Shaun’s humerus. There might be a name for it. He didn’t care enough to look it up. Same as he didn’t care much about the hitting. It was nothing new with her, or in his life. Though, the rage emanating from her eyes caused him to retreat. It’s like a snake striking – the hinged-open jaw, dead-focused eyes. Even if it was a little baby snake and you knew the bite wouldn’t hurt, you’d still flinch.

Exhausting herself, she began sobbing. Going on about how she only wants this one thing. She’d always dreamed of having a big family, and she wanted his, so why wouldn’t he let things go and forget about the past with his family. For her. This was nothing new, either. Standard narcissistic abuse. When it wasn’t the extended family thing, it was getting married. When they were married, it was a house. When they had a house, it was a baby. Actually, the baby thing had been going on since day one, but Shaun had always told her that he wanted to have a house, an actual home, before bringing children into it. Then she was in a rush to get married – a courthouse wedding in thirty-minutes-or-less. This would be her path to a house and to a baby. Shaun went along with it. He didn’t care what was going on in his life usually, so long as he got to keep creating.

The wedding that was supposed to be alone, with a desk clerk, turned into a imbecilic last-minute outdoor ceremony with Party City garlands draped over the backs of white folding chairs that were borrowed from the church next door. How it managed to get that far, Shaun had no idea. It started with inviting Samantha’s mom, Susan, to be their witness, sign the papers or whatever. Then Samantha decided that they’d have to invite Shaun’s parents, too, it was only fair. She was right in one respect, if his parents found out that he got married without telling them, he’d never hear the end of it.

So they got married in Shaun’s brother’s backyard. Becky – that’s his mom – told everyone in the family to call out sick from work on Monday so they could come to the wedding. Shaun was the oldest in the family. The oldest in his generation. But the last to get married. The same was true about Samantha being the oldest of her generation, but she was a decade younger than Shaun.

Nick, that’s Shaun’s brother, he was a pastor. At the church next door – imagine that. He asked Shaun and Samantha what they wanted their vows to be. Samantha wanted something lovey-dovey. Shaun asked for the Spaceballsꬿ special. The one thing they agreed on was they didn’t want a religious ceremony, her being non-practicing Jewish, and he an atheist.

Dressed in shiny cowboy boots, never worn in a pasture or paddock, and black western-style shirt buttoned to the collar to accommodate his bolo tie, Nick took his place in front of the couple, facing the twentyish onlookers. Shaun and Samantha turned at a quarter-angle so it was like they were simultaneously facing each other and facing the brother-pastor. Shaun was glad he didn’t have to make eye contact with anyone out in the ‘audience’.

His brother read from an iPad, having Shaun repeat each line after him.

“I, Shaun, take you, Samantha,”

“to be my lawfully wedded wife,”

“to have and to hold,”

“for better,”

“or for worse,”

“for richer,”

“or for poorer,”

“in sickness,”

“and in health,”

“to love and to cherish,”

“from this day forward,”

“for as long as we both shall live.”

“This is my solemn vow.”

“In front of God,”

“In front of god,”

“and these witnesses.”

“I pledge that I will love you,” Oh shit, Shaun had stopped listening, thinking they were done.

“I pledge that I will love you,”

“and tenderly care for you,”

“in sickness,”

“and in health,” Didn’t we hear this part already?

“and in health,”

“when life is peaceful,”

“and when it is difficult.”

“I will honor your goals,”

“and your dreams,”

“and I vow,”

“to share my life with you,”

“through the best,”

“and worst,”

“of what is to come.”

Lots of stuff about the worser times in there. Maybe that’s a sign. Shaun wished Pastor Nick would hurry it up. He’s more than capable of remembering and repeating more than three words at a time.

“I give you my promise,”

“What the fuck?!” Shaun didn’t say out loud.

“I give you my promise,”

“that from this day forward,”

“you shall not walk alone.”

“I have no greater gift to give.”

“May my heart”

“be your shelter”

“and my arms,” Fuck man, at least complete the sentence.

“and my arms”

“be your home.”

“May we walk together”

“through all things.”

“In God’s grace,”

“In god’s grace”, Shaun rolled his eyes.

“May you feel deeply loved,”

“Today I give myself to you,”

“in marriage.”

“I promise to encourage,”

“and inspire you,”

“to laugh with you,”

“and to comfort you”

“in times of sorrow,”

“and struggle.”

“I promise to love you,”

“in good times,”

“and in bad,”

“when life seems easy,”

“and when it seems hard,”

“when our love is simple,”

“and when it is an effort.”

“I promise to cherish you,”

“and to always hold you,”

“in highest regard.”

“These things I give to you today,”

“and all the days of our life.”

“Love is patient,”

“Love is patient.” Shaun sighed, shifting his weight impatiently from foot to foot.

“love is kind.”

“It does not envy,”

“it does not boast,”

“it is not proud.”

“It does not dishonor others,”

“it is not self-seeking,”

“it is not easily angered,”

“it keeps no record of wrongs.”

“it keeps no record of wrongs,” Shaun chuckled to himself, thinking about how Samantha can’t seem to ever remember anything except all of the reasons she had for being mad at him a year ago. All the things he’d done wrong. The tantrums she’d have over comments left by other girls on his Facebook photos – five years before they’d met! Like he didn’t have a life before her.

“Love does not delight in evil,”

“but rejoices with the truth.”

“but rejoices with the truth.” Ha!

“It always protects,”

“always trusts,”

“always hopes,”

“always perseveres.”

“Amen.”

Brother-Pastor Nick waited for Shaun to repeat the last line, then pivoted to his right as it became evident to his simple mind that he wasn’t going to receive a response.

“Samantha, please repeat after me.

“I, Samantha, take you, Shaun,”

“to be my lawfully wedded wife,”

“to have and to hold,”

“for better,”

“or for worse,”

Shaun started to laugh, thinking of Samantha repeating the Gettysburg Address of wedding vows. She was all smiles, though – same as when Shaun was doing his. Hanging on every word. Shaun tuned out the rest of the ceremony. He wondered if it would be rude to check his phone. Not that he has any messages, but to see how long this was taking. As the conclusion of the epic sequel came to a close, Nick got to the “I now pronounce you” part and Shaun snapped back to reality.

Roll credits. Espousal insipidus.

It cost about a thousand dollars to take everyone to lunch at the local lakeside restaurant. Shaun sat silently while family members gave impromptu speeches. He asked the waiter to bring cocktails for his not-pastor brother. A glass of wine for his grandma. Some vegetarian appetizers for his sister. Dirty looks when he slipped off to smoke during a gap in the commencement addresses.

They hadn’t been on the road five minutes before Samantha had her phone out, scrolling real estate listings. She held the screen in front of Shaun’s face while he was driving, so he could share in the little preview images. He told her he couldn’t make anything out with the glare, but what he wanted was for her to stop obstructing his view.

Since the wedding, if you’d call it that, Shaun had managed to avoid his family all but once. His grandmother’s funeral, which he was unsure about going to anyway. His grandma wasn’t a psycho like the rest of his blood relatives, but she wouldn’t know if he was there or not. In the end, he went solely to avoid harassment from his sadly-living relations for not attending.

So when his mom messaged Samantha to say she had cancer, Shaun was in no hurry to go visit. Samantha continued to press the issue, flying into rage after irascible rage. He held fast, but she persisted. She’d threaten to leave him if he didn’t do as she wanted. Still, nothing new. She threatened divorce at least twice a day. He was about ready to call her bluff.

Becky kept calling and texting Shaun – every few days. He didn’t answer or reply. The way he saw it, nobody, no matter who they were, had the right to ask him to spend even one minute with his abuser. The more Samantha told him to “get over it,” the more he dwelled on things. He’d spent his entire adult lifetime blocking out the memories. Diluting them in a solution of Sour Diesel haze and mid-grade vodka. Lately, in his sobriety, these blackened recollections had become visible again. It could have been his new antidepressants, but more likely, it was Samantha triggering old memories. They say you marry your mother. Shaun had always mocked the abstraction. He’d gone against the grain, dating outside his race, artists, musicians, tattooed and pierced, the kind of girls his parents would never approve of. The kind of girls who were everything his family wasn’t. Someone with purpose and empathy. Someone real. In this case, though, he actually did marry his mother. He didn’t try, it just happened.

The irony was completely lost on Samantha when, only a couple of months later, Shaun started having some health problems of his own. It was bound to happen. “On a long enough timeline,” and all that. He was officially ‘Over the Hill’ now and had spent a lifetime abusing his body.

“I’m not going to be your caretaker,” Samantha told him when he’d asked her to go to the grocery store. Normally, he was the one who did all of the shopping, but whatever mysterious thing that was happening was causing his vision to white-out in one eye. He’d become disoriented, but thankful he had so many years of experience drunkenly stumbling around nameless neighborhoods.

“It’s all in your head.

“You’re delusional.

“You don’t appreciate me.

“Stop being so lazy,” Samantha would repeat when he couldn’t get out of bed. The sudden loss of coordination was maddeningly frustrating for Shaun. His depression was exacerbated by the uncertainty of it all. He didn’t want to do anything. Didn’t want to move forward with life. If he was going to die soon, what was the point? Samantha’s harassment didn’t help, either.

After a couple months of refusing to go grocery shopping, refusing to do the dishes or wash the laundry, Samantha packed her stuff. She didn’t have much. Shaun had bought all of the furniture. The dishes and linens, he had from before they were together. All she owned of her own were some plaid shirts and blue jeans. Her mom, Susan, came to help her pack, toting a .40-caliber pistol with extra magazines on her colossal waist. Shaun hid in his art studio – the downstairs bedroom that he’d converted. He found his own pistol, a 1911-model 9mm. It’s not that he was a gun nut, he actually didn’t like them at all, but when you live in the mountains, you never know. There could be predators coming after your pets. Random tweakers looking for something to steal. Even if the cops could get out there in less than a half-hour, what were they going to do? We all know that the police don’t rescue anybody, they’re there to enforce the law. There’s no profit to be made in protecting and serving.

Shaun put the pistol on his desk, leaving the studio door closed while Samantha bitched about something or other to Susan in the stairwell. They made a few more trips up and down the stairs. Shaun didn’t care at this point if she was stealing his stuff. She could take whatever she wants if it gets her gone. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to do about groceries.

The rumble of the diesel pickup in the driveway alerted Shaun that it was safe to reemerge into the rest of his home. What he’d hoped would be a home. So far, it had just been a house. Now that he had some space – some quiet, free of abuse – he could begin to work on himself. He needed to process all of these new memories.

“Hi, Son!” Becky had called and, in a moment of weakness, Shaun answered. He’d been alone in the house for a over a week and hadn’t had any human contact. This was not a valid substitute.

“Hello.”

“Did you hear Libby ended up in the ER? They think she was high.” Straight away with the gossip. And who the fuck is Libby?

Shaun told his mother about the recent issues he’d been having with his health. He remembered a story from his childhood about when he was a baby, his parents had set him on the hood of his dad’s Camaro and he slid off, hitting his head on a steel I-beam on the floor of the garage.

“Oh, that was nothing. You just cried a little,” Becky lied when he asked her about it. Shaun had been trying to get into a neurologist since this all started, but his insurance was shit, so he was getting the run-around. When he did finally get to see one, he wanted to be able to give them his medical history, including any possible traumatic brain injuries. He should have the right to know about his childhood injuries and possible hereditary conditions. Though, his parents had lied about how his grandfather died, keeping it a secret until Shaun did some research on his own. They’d lied about who his biological grandfather was, so he’d always believed he was one ethnicity, when in fact, he was another. There was nothing about his family, or anything they said about their past, that could be trusted.

His family had always hidden away mental health issues, too. Never talking about them. Never acknowledging their existence. The more interesting cousins disappeared as they reached adulthood, having been made pariahs in their own homes due to depression or anxiety that was never to be talked about, lest it make the parents feel inadequate or embarrassed. It’s like the moms of autistic kids always posting online how hard their lives are – bitch, you’re not the one who lives in a society, and a family, that tortures you every day with orders on how to think and behave. Degradation and vilification for having a mind that works in a different way. People fear what they don’t understand and they destroy what they fear. Shaun had stopped attending gatherings the last few years; he’d long-since lost touch with his only family that had anything thoughtful to say. Anything to discuss except money and expensive purchases. One-upmanship. Destroying one another for the sake of their egos. Familia gratuitous.

When Shaun began suffering from depression as a teen, he’d tell his parents about how he was feeling. Like Samantha, they’d say things like, “It’s all in your head,” and, “You need to change your attitude.” Anyway, Becky was being deceitful with her story about his falling off the Camaro. Shaun only had three scars on his body – one being this line on the side of his head, across his right temple and disappearing above his sideburn. The other cicatrix had been caused by major injuries. The kind that required hospitalization. The way Shaun figured it, if this was one of three scars and the other two were from life-threatening trauma, the scar on his scalp had to be a similar level of injury.

“How’s your treatment going?” Shaun changed the subject, not wanting to open the door for more of her lies about his childhood.

“Oh, you know. Some days I feel okay, but other days I just want to stay in bed and watch TV.”

“Which oncologist are you seeing now?”

“I had to change ainch…onth…I had to get a new one of those.”

“You’re still with Kaiser?”

“Oh yeah, love Kaiser. You should get Kaiser. Kaiser is the best.”

“You know I can’t afford that. I know some folks who work there, who’s your new doctor?”

“You should really come visit me,” she avoided the question. “I might not be around very much longer.”

“Okay, I will,” Shaun hovered the phone away from his good ear to dampen her voice on the other end. It always sounded like she was yelling into the phone.

“When should I expect you? We can make lunch for you and Samantha.”

He didn’t tell her that Samantha moved out. His mom had a habit of insisting he bring her everywhere. Becky had done this with all of his girlfriends. Part of it may be that he tended to date the friendly, extroverted type, in sharp contrast to himself. They would actually participate in the stupid little games and ‘traditions’ his family had for every holiday. The main reason, Shaun had discovered over the years, is because Becky liked to manipulate the girlfriends into manipulating him. She would tell them how Shaun should live his life. Then the girlfriends would go home and start an argument with Shaun because he wasn’t doing whatever it was that his mother thought he should be doing with himself. Shaun was prosopagnostic. Instead of remembering people’s hair styles and other features that might be different next time he’d see them, he learned to pick up on nuances in patterns of speech and the way they’d walk or stand. He figured these things were less likely to change and they allowed him to recognize people from a distance – and up close. So when the girlfriend would start telling him that he needs to do this or that, he’d recognize the words and their arrangement as his mother’s.

Shaun trudged his way through a few more minutes of single-syllable responses to Becky’s tidbits of gossip about his siblings and cousins and people he didn’t know. “I love you, my first-born,” she signed off. He pressed the red button and leaned back in his chair and reached for the glass dispensary jar, waiting for his heartrate to return to normal. Soon, he’d finally be able to get back to work. He didn’t want to work after that. The call had disrupted his creative energy. Even though his mom was mostly friendly to him now, hearing her voice reminded him of the countless times she screamed at him while beating him senseless. This is why he never answered the phone. Seeing her name on the caller ID was enough to disrupt his mojo for an afternoon. He even hated hearing his name, because it resurrected memories of her shrill caterwaul.

Shaun turned on his computer monitor and shifted forward in his seat. He set down the smoldering pipe and reached slowly for the keyboard and mouse. Then, with much conscious attention paid to his trembling hands, he typed in the URL of the Verizon website. Looking from the contact info on the little screen in his hand to the big screen on his desk, he typed his mom’s number into the blocked callers list.

Patrimonious

Madera / Fresno

Samantha Salomon