Cracked Roots & Roses 37: Gaslit

When he would call from time to time, he would dominate the conversation, which was fine because I kinda liked hearing about various recording artists and their secret lives. He had years of stories about infidelity and scandals involving some pretty high-profile names. I didn’t love this, as my image of them was somewhat tarnished.

During one conversation, there was an opening, so I asked who the baby was that he was holding in one of the photos. He said, “It’s my son, and I’m not ashamed of him.” That was kinda shocking, considering he was in the school of ministry and had been singing worship for various churches for years. The story he told me was that he was helping one of his buddy’s younger sisters with some kinda Bible class, and one thing led to another.

This was yet another red flag that glared. By the time I started up with him, the child was about two years old. I asked why he didn’t develop a relationship with the mom for the sake of the child. He said they didn’t get along and that he didn’t wanna be tied down. Now, just a week ago, he said God told him I was his wife, and now he doesn’t wanna be tied down?

A small part of me knew he was no man of God, but who was I to say that? I was kinda new in the faith and had made plenty of mistakes myself. I also thought he could use a good cleaning outwardly, but I figured that was a small price to pay for a man well-respected in the church community who knew the Word… well, sorta. He had some good qualities—he was tall and handsome, he had a great voice, and he was fairly smart and funny.

What I didn’t like was that everything with him was a mini-sermon. He wouldn’t compliment me because he said it was vanity. He wouldn’t thank me for anything because everything came from God. No matter what I said, I was being told I was wrong. I didn’t know if I was coming or going. This started my pattern of trying to alter myself for the man I was with, just to be accepted.

Once, he said to me, “Your Facebook posts incite rage.” I asked what he meant. He said, “What does it sound like? Well, that’s what I mean.” He then said, “Women should be more seen and not heard. You shouldn’t be so contentious.” So, I tried to soften my posts but decided against it a few days later. I would not be told to shrink myself.

One Friday, he planned for us to go see Alice in Wonderland in Melrose Park. About 15 minutes into the movie, he said, “I can’t sit through this—too much witchcraft. I’ll be out in the car while you finish watching.” He got up and left the theatre.

What kinda stunt was this? Was I supposed to sit there alone for another two hours? So, I went outside and saw him standing there, laughing on the phone. He hung up before I got close enough and then said, “I have a problem with the fact that you couldn’t detect the witchcraft in the movie. You should’ve called it before me.”

I didn’t say a word. I know when a man is on the phone with a woman. He was trying to make me feel bad for him walking out of the theatre to talk to someone else on the phone. The silence on the drive home was deafening.

I knew this was the last time I would see him. I wasn’t mad, just confused as to what had just happened. After he dropped me off, he didn’t say another word to me. A small part of me was crushed. I wanted to know what I did wrong. I felt rejected but didn’t know why. I didn’t see it as God’s protection at the time—I do now.

I called Monica later that night and told her what happened. She said, “Oh girl, he’s just scared to commit. Just wait it out—he’ll come running back with a ring.” I asked her about her dream again, and she said she didn’t remember saying anything about a dream. Around that same time, I caught her in several lies about another guy at the church named Mat. I didn’t have the time or energy to confront her; I was too busy waiting for my text tone to buzz or my phone to ring.

That wouldn’t be happening. Two weeks after the movie, he walked into church with another woman and acted like it was nothing.