The Reflex

Chuck tired to talk me out of it, stating that the family court would see it as “verbal badgering the other party” but I fought back with what she was doing was bullying on the lighter side and sexual battery on the other side.
“You better prepare yourself some Hell. Because this will raise it.”
“You read the paperwork. If she wants a war. I’ll give her guerrilla war. Screw the Geneva Convention.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Charles replied with a grin.
I gave Chuck all of the e-mails and entered in a demand for a paternity test.
And that’s when my soon to be ex-wife took the M.A.D. approach.

Two days before our day in court, my attorney called me at work with the news the date was extended out.
“Okay, so it’s extended for a month.”
“There’s more. I hope you’re sitting down.”
“Yes, but that’s not going to help,” I replied as I leaned back.
“She wants to petition sole custody.”
I like to think I kept my cool. My trash can, however, got so mad it slammed itself against the wall and had a permanent dent.
“Why?”
“Well,” Chuck said with a sigh. “The kids stated how they felt about her and she was able to to bend that animosity towards you.”
“Chuck, you can fight against this, can’t you?”
“Of course. However everything gets thrown into the ocean and we have to start fishing again with paperwork.”
“What about the paternity test?” I asked as I shook my head to my boss when he opened the door. Apparently, the trash can had struck a nerve after its barrage at the wall.
“Its been put on hold.”
“Do I really want to hear the reason on this?”
“It’s a good one, I’ll give you that.”
“What’s the reason?”
“They state it’s a form of sexual harassment.”
I buried my face in my free hand. “This is…this is petty.”
“Yes, it is. It’s going to be an uphill battle as she has some major paper pushers.”
“Yeah, I feel like I’m paying them too. So, I’ve lost my children for now?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“You know I’m not for petty revenge, Chuck.”
“I wouldn’t blame you in this situation. I’d bail you out if necessary but try to stay on the level.”
“Yeah, I sank to her level and she went deeper.”
“It happens.”

I left Chuck’s office with a burning pain in my chest. It wasn’t my heart as the feeling was a few inches below the xiphoid process. Maybe it was the entrance to my soul—my soul that was spinning down an eternal toilet flush.
I took my phone out and contemplated contacting the older kids. I’d tell them to pack light, grab their sisters and meet me down the street. We would have at least twelve hours before anyone noticed they were missing and by then we could be anywhere.
I’d have to rob a bank or win it big at the casino before that would happen.
“She makes twice as much as I do,” I muttered as I started the truck and once again went into a thousand-yard stare.
Sure, I kept working too, it was something I felt I needed to do. I was from the south. The man worked for his family and if his wife wanted to work, then fine, she works—but there would be nothing about me staying at home and re-enacting the lyrics of a Lonestar song.

I was for her wanting to go to work. I even accompanied her to a two-day training conference in Nashville, to a hotel where the clerk never heard of the words “wireless internet” and my cell phone was just a music player. I was not able to get any work done. On the other hand, the twins were born nine months later.
I turned the headlights on and drove out of the parking lot. I didn’t want to go back to my parent’s house. I wanted to go to my house and be with my family. My family was right: why was I the one who had to leave? Maybe I should have ordered her to leave but, no, I was jut trying to keep the peace and thought we could keep everything on the level; a nice and clean fight.
No such luck. My wife loved playing the part of the heel and the Vince McMahon system of Justice called me on everything. My life was kind of a wreck. I came very close to becoming an angry drunk. I thought strongly about starting smoking—and not tobacco if it could have eased the pain.

The thought of what she might be telling the kids made me break into a cold sweat followed by nausea. My brain went on auto-pilot and I envisioned all of the lies and deceit that they were being told: How it was all my family. How I was never there for anyone because I was always “too busy” with work to be home on time for dinner.
My shift didn’t end until 5:15 and I had to drive across town to get home; not like I had a home office like Jason Seaver or like her boss who lived up the road form his work. Maybe I could have won the lottery or invested stock in Apple, then I could have given all the attention to my family.
But I didn’t, just like I didn’t pay attention to the Jeep Cherokee that had abruptly stopped in front of me.

The strike was hard enough to jostle me back into reality but not enough to do too much damage to either car—at least I hoped not. I cursed under my breath and then said a few words in a louder tone. With my luck, the driver would be some guy who was life was worse than my own or that guy’s wife—who was driving his vehicle and he would take it out on her and me, somehow.
I turned off the engine, reached into the glove compartment for my insurance and looked to the floor to see my cell phone screen was cracked.
As if the night couldn’t get any worse, there was a knock on the driver’s side window. It was either the police?
No, too soon.
The other driver with a gun?
Maybe, in fact, I hoped it was pointed at me, chambered and with the safety off. I’d save a fortune court fees.
“You okay?” A female voice asked.
I only nodded, I refused to look at the driver.
“You sure? You look a little shaken. Listen, I’m sorry I stopped short.”
I turned to the window to look at her, but her image was a bit blurry.
“Do you want me to call the police for a report?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Of course,” she replied as she stepped away. I took off my seatbelt, opened the door and stepped out.
She had her phone to her ear and I took time to look at my truck and her vehicle. The font end damage to my car was okay, but her backend looked a little crumpled.
I shook my head. It looked okay a few minutes ago.
I stood next to the truck and she walked up to the back of her car.
“They’re on their way, Does it look bad?”
“I don’t know,” I replied.
“Mmm-hmm. My dad is going to freak out.”
She probably called him right after the collision. The man with the gun scenario was still possible.