Written at home, schlepped to work.
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I am a Dew
12 Sep 00
The divorce was finalized today. The voice of my then
husband quivered out of the special conference phone,
answering the same questions that I had. Was the
agreement reached with mutual consent, free of
coercion. Was there hope of reconciliation. Had we
cohabited since the separation. Were we aware that my
lawyer was mine and unable therefore to represent him.
Were these really our signatures on the document.
The judge was very pleased to have such a case.
Neat and tidy. Fair. Civil. Everything negotiated,
decided, contracted. The judge was also very pleased
that my then husband was so gracious, and had wished
her a wonderful day before she hung up.
The decree has a gold seal on it. Most important
to me, for all the other details had been arranged and
dealt with long ago, the last bit of unfinished
business that held so much significance to me, the
name is inscribed within it. The name is mine again
to keep and bear and show and tell, to represent me,
to represent my family. The name that I was born
with, the name I foolishly gave up for some other
guy's fickle and faithless love, is mine again. It is
mine for legal use, in every state and country, in
matters public and private.
I was an Abrams. I was a Sommer.
I am a Dew again.
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Another Shoe
12 Sep 00
I parked the van and clomped up the walk to my
building, realizing suddenly that I've been waiting
for the other shoe to drop. I've been expecting to be
snagged by an unraveled end, an untidied detail,
something. Off and on this evening I've been
wondering just what it is, what overlooked dread is
skulking off around the corner ahead of me.
It's not the divorce. That's finished, finally. The
misunderstanding with the Humane Society of Monmouth
County is cleared up and rectified. The matter of the
accident last spring is resolved. I have a job, and
it's a good one. My phone will be reconnected soon.
I have freelance work. This weekend I'll spend in
Colorado with my kids. My bank account has been in
triple digits since I opened it. I have a plan to
rebuild my finances. I have a plan to reassert my
identity. I have a plan to resume my education. I
have a plan for my family.
Where is this nagging feeling coming from? I've been
checking my bill paying software to make sure that
everything pressing is getting taken care of. And the
few strings that still dangle are things I know about
and have a plan for.
It's just a feeling that something at the very edge of
my peripheral vision is about to leap out and get me.
Something I should have known all along.
--Spring Dew
