Memories

I was reminded this morning of something Chris told me awhile ago. It hurts every time I think about it because of the lengths of secrecy he would go to.

He told me when we would ride together in his car, he would take out his crack pipes and leave them in the grass next to the car so that they wouldn't be in there with me. I am not sure if this was so I wouldn't be incriminated if something would happen, or so I simply would not find it. I am sure it was the latter.


He went so far with this routine, that when the ground was layered with snow, he would take out his pipes and shove them into some snow so he knew where they were but no passersby would see them. Mainly me.

I often ask him about things. Such as "Was this in our house?! Was this in my car?" I remember one night; he didn't have his car. We had just went out for dinner and he had asked me three times already if he could go to the city to get money from a friend who owed him some.

A black friend. A black friend who lived in the ghetto. Who owed him money. For some unknown reason. If this wasn't a fricken clue, I have no idea what was.

I said no. Over and over. I said "You are not taking my car to go there. $50? Not that important. Not in the night, not with my car, and not when you don't come back when you are supposed to. You don't even answer his phone." He asked again. I said, "What is the big deal about this f-ing $50??" He said that it was fine. It didn't matter; he would just go when he got his car.

Turns out he wanted to go smoke. He wanted to do crack in my car with his drug dealing friend in the city.

It is painful, and awakening to see how many more moments in our short marriage are like this. Lies from the pit of his soul - it feels like everything out of his mouth was a lie.

I could name off a bunch more right now, but emotional time is done.