The Monday before the Tuesday that the bottom dropped out of our relationship, Eric and I decided to try an experiment. My childhood is riddled with experiences that have left me carrying a lot of guilt and feelings of responsibility for events that were most likely completely out of my control.
When I was six, I stole some matches out of the kitchen drawer (Which, by the way, was in my control. Sigh.) My parents asked what I was doing and I lied and said I was getting rubber bands. I met some older boys down the street and we built little stick houses in a field at the end of the block. Obviously all little houses have even littler fire places so it seemed only right to light them on fire. Somehow, the flames grew enough to overtake the "buildings" and suddenly a large tree next to our play area was burning. A man started yelling at us and running down the street. We all ran. I remember hiding in my bed, listening to the sirens on the fire truck and being absolutely scared to death. I never told my parents what happened but when bad things happened later, I was sure it was because I had lied and caught a tree on fire.
Eric knew there was a story but didn't know the details.
He came home on Monday morning and found me in my pj's and ponytails, wrapped in a blanket and hiding in the corner of our room.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asked, sitting on the floor opposite me and waiting patiently as I shook my head, no.
I had a book of matches in my sweaty palm. After a moment of silence, I handed it to him and the barrage of questions eventually got my whole story to unfold.
"You are very lucky," he said calmly as he held onto my hand. "Someone could have been seriously hurt." Then he told me I was getting a spanking so the next time I had to make a decision about playing with matches, I'd remember this moment and make a better choice.
Eric stood and walked me over to a chair in our room. I noticed a flat wooden spoon with holes drilled in it strategically placed in his back pocket. Then I was over his knee, my panties around my ankles and his arm around my back holding me firmly in place. At that moment, I could have been six. The wooden spoon stung like nothing I'd ever felt before and Eric didn't hold back, whacking each cheek three or four times in a row.
"Do you think you've learned your lesson?" he asked and unbelievably, I shook my head, no. "I didn't think so," he replied and began again.
Smack, smack, smack.
I've never cried during a spanking but this time I came pretty close. Eric could tell the difference and I heard his voice saying over and over again, "Let it go, honey. Let it go."
When he finally let me up, I just buried my face in his chest and let him wrap his arms around me and hold on tight. After a few minutes, he put me in the corner and told me that all was forgiven. I had three minutes to think it through and then it would be over forever.
Eric's phone rang downstairs and I could hear him talking to his manager. I waited until he called my name and then lost the ponytails and pj's, got dressed for work, and met him in the kitchen. It was over. I didn't want to talk about it and I didn't want to ever think about it again.
I know Eric would do anything for me. He wants me to be whole and happy. He set me free from a long drawn out splash of guilt that discolored my image of me for years.
The next day, we both had a terrible day and I think I'm the one who caused it. Quite frankly, aside from me, his life is pretty darn perfect. (Not that I'm a negative, but I sure am not "easy to raise".) He says we are good. I'm dealing with anxiety. It could be caused by a multitude of other things but it is taking away from my ability to think clearly about; well, about anything.
If Eric were home right now, I'd bury my face in his shoulder again and try to disappear in the safety of his arms. I am nervous about seeing him tomorrow. We have three days and then he's back on the road again. I want to play with him; go someplace fun and do something silly. I just want to feel good about us.
I miss Eric and I love him but I'm afraid he's not telling me what he really has on his mind. He put himself out there to take care of my fears from the past. I hope that I can be patient enough to get beyond my fears of the present and have a beautiful future with this man who has opened my heart to possibilities I've never even imagined before.
Sweet dreams and safe travels. I'll close my eyes and anticipate (thank you Wilma Rubble) a happy reunion tomorrow.