HIDDEN TRUTH

Sometimes it is very difficult to discern the truth of a situation.

A THOUSAND WORDS

The adage asserts that a picture is worth a thousand words?  I don’t think so.  Not this picture anyhow.  It only shows the man I knew and not the thousand words that tell who he was or what he was or what he did or what happened to him or why he’s no longer in my life.  I have to dredge my memories for those thousand words and I won’t know if the word count is correct until I throw my words on the page.

His name was…..oops!  No, I won’t give his real name.  I’ll call him Semi, because that was what he did.  He was a trucker.  A long distance trucker who drove a semi, all over North America.  I met him because I’d asked to, sort of.  I’d written a lyrical poem about wanting a love who always came to me at journey’s end.  It was my own take on a witch’s spell I’d taken from a book.  How fitting, that Semi came to me at the end of one of his journey’s.  Be careful what you wish for.

We met at a single parents’ dance.  I was on the executive, so there I sat at the entrance table taking admission fees for our coffers; four dollars for members and eight for non-members.  He sauntered in, tall and rugged in his cowboy boots and jeans and shirt and denim jacket.  Towering over me, he smiled and winked and asked my name, as he counted out eight dollars.

I smiled back.  “Lisa,” I said, wondering if he was a good dancer.  When the music started, he came to my table and asked me to dance.  He stayed by my side the rest of the evening, not letting any other dance partner near me.  Between drinks and dances, he told me his story.

“She’s sleeping with her boyfriend, in my own house,” he said about his wife.  “She thinks I should sleep in the basement between runs and still pay the mortgage.”

“Do you have any children?” I asked, since this was a single parents’ dance.

“We have four.  The two oldest daughters were hers before I married her ten years ago.  The youngest boy and girl are ours together.  I love my kids.  They’re all over me when I get home from a run.”

“So if you don’t sleep in the basement, where would you go?” I was foolish enough to ask.  And that was how he ended up at my place two weeks before Christmas.

He moved in and brought his prized stereo, which he immediately hooked up in my living room, replacing mine.  His clothes took half my closet and other possessions filled my storage room.

My children were happy.  Semi became a substitute Dad.  He was a big teddy bear they climbed on and wrestled with.  He took us for a long ride in the tractor of the truck, to look at Christmas lights spread all over the countryside and he showed us how the CB worked.  My children were thrilled, and so was I.  And in bed at night, he and I were lovers.  I felt protected beside him.

“You are the most peaceful person I know,” he told me once.  “I saw that aura around you when I walked into the dance.  And when I entered your home, I could feel that peace that surrounds you and fills these rooms.”

We spent Christmas together, with my relatives.  It was a magical time, briefly.

Then the phone calls started.  I would answer and a teenaged girl would ask, “Is my Dad there?”  That was the oldest step-daughter.

Soon the two younger ones were also calling.  They wanted their father.  That seemed natural to me.  My own son and daughter phoned their Dad whenever they could. But Semi’s younger step-daughter never phoned.  And I didn’t think to question why, until one day his wife called.  My eight year old daughter answered and turned ghostly pale and deathly quiet.  I could hear shrill screaming over the phone and grabbed it from her.

“Where is he?  Tell that bastard he’d better pay me some child support.  If he isn’t out on the road, he’s not making any money.  How dare you sleep with my husband, you stupid bitch?  He’ll pay for leaving me!  Don’t you know he’s a child molester?  I’ve got the police after him and you’d better keep your own kids away from him!”

I dried my daughter’s tears and confronted Semi when he came home.

“Don’t let her get to you.  She’s the biggest liar in the world.  It shouldn’t be a problem.  I’ve just got a job and I’ll be off for L.A. in the morning.”

And just like that, he was gone.  No phone calls.  No letters.  His belongings still at my home.  It was six months before I heard from him.

“I was wondering if you still have my stereo, and other things?” he asked.  “I’m living in Edmonton now and was wondering if I could pick them up on my way through?”

It only took him half an hour to move his things out of my life.  The magic was gone so I was glad his things were, too.  But he did leave me his new phone number.

A month later a detective visited me and asked if I knew where Semi was.  He asked if my children had been molested by him.

“No.  They adored him and if he had touched them I don’t think they would still be asking about him and wanting to see him again,” I said.

“Do you know he sexually abused his younger stepdaughter?  We’re looking for him to charge him.  Do you know where he is?”

My heart wanted to believe in Semi’s innocence, but the mother in me erred on the side of caution.  I surrendered his Edmonton phone number, with trepidation.

Six months later my phone rang.  It was a collect call from Semi at a correctional facility not far away.  I accepted the charges.

“I was convicted of sexual assault on my stepdaughter.  I had no hope of acquittal when she testified in court.  Her mother put her up to it, I’m sure.  I’ll be in here for two years.”

Truth or lies, I’ll never know.  And those are the thousand words the picture never wrote.

__________________________

By Lisa A. Hatton