Running

Revisiting songs.

Well, I ran from him
in all kinds of ways
Guess it was his turn this time.

Munchkin’s birth father and I used to listen to Tori Amos. Frequently. While we were dating, while we were friends and leading up to her conception. We bonded over lyrics. On a mix CD that he made for me, Tori sang to me. I heard the romance in the words back in those days. While pregnant with the Munchkin, I heard the anger in those words. And now, years later, I hear something different.

On April 24, 2003, I packed everything of mine that would fit into my Mercury Topaz. It was a crazy mess of clothes, computer parts, coffee cups and bowls. I left behind things that I would later ask for and would never be delivered: an anthology of William Carlos Williams poems, my glasses, a jacket from college. I cut my losses and left before he arrived home from work. A housemate watched me load my things but didn’t ask questions. I don’t know if he knew I was pregnant but he knew better than to ask.

I drove off into dusk, night quickly catching up with me as I sped out of New Jersey. Through my tears, I almost missed a turn and would have been lost for eons. I made it out. And drove for hours upon hours, arriving on my best friend’s doorstep. She welcomed me in with a hug and we slept in her bed until the following morning. My 22nd birthday dawned finding me alone, homeless and pregnant.

Phone calls were made back and forth that day as I learned he told my Mother only half-truths and I had to deliver the news of the pregnancy to my Mom over the phone. Not exactly what I had planned for my birthday celebration. When I worked up the nerve to talk to him that evening, he told me that he had got on his motorcycle and sped off for the state line when he got home from work that night, trying to find me. Apparently our housemate hadn’t told him how much of a lead I had on him. I would have been well into Pennsylvania by that time. I pictured him on that big red monster, cursing me and my stubbornness as he chased me across the black night, searching for any hope that I was still around, that I hadn’t run. That this wasn’t real. Maybe praying to wake up.

I learned recently that once he finishes his masters, he’s moving back to England. I’ve been sitting on this information for awhile. It hit me when he told me that day on the phone but I pushed it away. I’ve seen him once since he went to work on April 24, 2003. He met the Munchkin for her third birthday. I was there as he looked into the face of a girl who looks so much like me and so much like him at the same time. I knew what he was feeling; I felt it every time I looked at her over the years. I still feel it.

It is his turn to run. I haven’t returned phone calls or text messages since he told me the news. I considered it last night as I listened to Tori break my heart all over again. I’m angry. And jealous. Not even so much about the issues that lead to her adoption, but more that he can just fly off into the rising sun of his future and leave us all behind. As if this never happened. As if we never happened. As if she never happened. And I know, from his words shared with me, that isn’t how he thinks or feels. But that’s how it feels, sitting in Ohio.

This post is not meant to be construed as a dislike or disinterest in my own family. Anyone who reads that is not acknowledging the fact that our past does affect us and shape our futures. He was a huge part of my past. He gave me my firstborn. He’ll forever be a part of my future because of that and, as such, I have a right to write about him. It’s been awhile since I have and, as such, here we are. Running. Always running.