Birth of a domestic abuser

1970.
Louie was sooo in love with Sharon.

My department store co workers dated on a Saturday night and were shacking up within a week.

“Love you, baby”, purred Louie, “you are my world.”  And he would move her into a dip, her hair nearly touching the ground.

At the end of the day, they strolled out the door like Jill St. John on the arm of Sinatra.

Pretty Sharon glowed.  Everyone smiled.

I didn’t.

I saw only darkness ahead.  When things are too good to be true, they ARE too good to be true.

Told Cindy, the girl I dated, “He’ll be whacking her in a month.”

“You are NUTS!  They are so in love.”

About a month later, I see Sharon come in, a scarf over her head, her hand over her eyes.

“Hi, Sharon!”

“Uh, hi Greg”….she looks up for an INSTANT.  Black eye.

Called Cindy…

“Louie whacked Sharon…better check on her.”

Thought Sharon would check out of the horror hotel instantly,

But that is never the case.

How did I know? How did I know he would hit her…and within a month.

Can only explain it one way…I have a visceral sense for people and situations, and always have.

After all, my Dad never hit my Mom.  I never hit anyone.  No friends that hit a woman.

But when I saw the oily Louie with Sharon, darkness SCREAMED in my direction.

Poor Sharon, probably lacking self esteem, saw only unicorns and rainbows, when the reality was a closed fist that had permission to hit her over and over again.

With jobs such as that, you never saw the same people month to month, much less over the years.

I have spotted Louie in the last few years, but we have not spoken.

Have not seen pretty little Sharon.

Can only wonder…if she now a 65 year old woman with no teeth, a broken nose, and lots of eye makeup?

At the time, I was 22, and I could not have done more.  Today, somehow, some way, I would do more.  My sense of right and wrong would allow for nothing else.

Hope she is well.

Footnote- At times, I dated victims of domestic violence..this is a terrible thing to say…but if you don’t hit them, they don’t respect you.

 

Happened much.

And I was never willing to make that adjustment.  I always checked out instead.

But before I left, I would ask them to picture the rest of their life…a life that would include the absence of their current gorgeous smile, replaced by toothlessness.

Then I would drive away.

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