August 7, 2001
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
Mitch:
You know, I just got another stupid note from Beatrix, first one in a while. I was going to e-mail you some crap about marriage or divorce or relationships, but then I realized that I was sick of my own stories and sicker of my own half-assed theories and dumped the message (and Beatrix’s note) in the trash. Then it occurred to me that if I was sick of all this, you must be in your death throes. Sorry, buddy. Next time the Ex has a psychotic break, I’ll try to save the bitching for the therapist.
I just wanted to tell you one thing. The other day, I went out and bought some gym shoes. They were red.
Ward
Ms. Lupe Klein and Mr. Ward Harrison
Cordially invite you to attend their wedding
Saturday, April 21st 2001
1:00 p.m.
At the Chicago Botanic Garden
Reception to follow immediately after the ceremony
Mom, this is what the invite’s going to look like. Pretty cool, huh? It will also have this nice vellum overlay thingy that Annika picked out for me. And ribbons. Apparently, one must have ribbons.
Remember, we still have to go shopping for your dress (or pants suit, or overalls, or whatever it is you want to wear). Not black, though, OK? We’re trying to be festive here. . . .
Love, Lu
Posted on SPLITSVILLE.com, February 13, 2001:
Is this what normal feels like? Tired but not exhausted? Irritated but not incensed? Pleased but not ecstatic? Calm but not serene?
I guess I’ve reached the equilibrium I’ve been hoping for, right? The Ex is still an ass, but he’s a tiny one. Dear Husband is, well, DEAR—so supportive and so encouraging (ha! He even stepped in and told the Ex to get off my back, and so far, so good). The boys get along with their stepmother OK but are finally starting to see that she isn’t the coolest thing since flared jeans—I guess the novelty’s worn off! The job’s going great.
Anyway, things are good, and here I am, feeling weird about it, feeling mad about it. It’s been so long, too long. You guys all said adjusting could take years, but I didn’t want to believe you. I guess I couldn’t believe you. Five years to get the courage to get out of a marriage, and then another five years to recover from getting out of a marriage? That’s a quarter of my life!
God, I think I just gave myself morning sickness, and it isn’t even morning, and I’m not pregnant.
Anyone else feel this way? You work so hard, go through so much, and you don’t even get to be delirious with happiness at the end of it all. A lot of times you don’t even get the satisfaction of seeing your Ex miserable. It doesn’t seem fair, does it?
2Good2BeBlue
December 18, 2000
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
Mitch:
Another fight over the boys’ Christmas schedule, but this time that asshole Alan got on the phone to lecture me for “screwing with his wife.” You’d be proud of me, buddy, for what I didn’t say, like, he wasn’t too concerned about screwing with her when she was MY wife. But I don’t want to come to blows like we almost did a couple months ago. Lu was so freaked out that I thought she might call off the wedding.
Anyway, I was too tired to fight over the schedule, so I just let them have Christmas Day, even though it’s my day. We’ll celebrate Christmas in January. Or March. Who cares?
How are things with you? Still looking for another job?
Ward
November 26, 2000. Instant Messaging:
BeaFREE40: Britt! We miss you (all you guys)! What did you do for Thanksgiving?
SuuuperDawg: Not 2 much. We had pizza.
BeaFREE40: Pizza? Didn’t you just have turkey?
SuuuperDawg: We were hungry. We ate pizza.
BeaFREE40: When I called last night, Lu sounded like she was crying.
SuuuperDawg: No she wasn’t. She likes pizza.
BeaFREE40: Yes, she was. You know how you can just tell by somebody’s voice?
SuuuperDawg: No.
BeaFREE40: Come on, you know what somebody’s voice sounds like when they’re crying. Kind of thick?
SuuuperDawg: Huh????
BeaFREE40: What do you think she’s crying about?
SuuuperDawg: No clue.
BeaFREE40: Did she and your father have a fight?
SuuuperDawg: No.
BeaFREE40. Well, all I can say is that she didn’t sound happy. I told you that she wouldn’t be happy.
SuuuperDawg: Whatever U say.
Posted on SecondWivesSpeakeasy, October 23, 2000:
I’m leaving. I mean it. These people are crazy! All of them!
We’re all called to a parent-teacher conference, the four of us, my soon-to-be Dear Husband (who isn’t DEAR right now, or ever. I want to know why we all have to use the acronym DH on all these boards, anyway? I never would call my husband “Dear” even when he IS my actual husband, even when I don’t feel like killing him).
SO, anyway, we’re all there, my STBDH, the Ex, her grinning chimp husband, and me. The teacher shows us some notes that my soon-to-be stepson has been passing in class, all of them with cartoon drawings with people having sex on them. (Totally gross, I know, but aren’t all teenage boys kind of gross? It’s bad, but is it that bad? I don’t know! Help me!)
Anyway, the teacher flashes these nasty little drawings and the Ex starts yelling at us, accusing us of having sex in front of her kid or something (of course, the grinning chimp man is nodding sternly behind her). And then STBDH loses it, reminding them that THEY were the ones who were f*$%king around when DH was out of town, did they think stepsons didn’t know what was going on in the other room? The Ex and the STBDH keep going at each other—you were the one, no, you were the one—the poor teacher reduced to these little lamblike bleats of pain. Then the grinning chimp stands, hitches up his jeans, and tells my STBDH to knock it off. STBDH says—can you believe this?—“Make me.” Grinning chimp says maybe they ought to handle this situation like men. I’m thinking, what do you mean, handle this like men? What do men do in situations like this? Box? Arm wrestle? Duel at first light? Good thing that some other teachers heard the shouting and broke the whole thing up, otherwise, who knows what would have happened?
I have to say, I’m in shock. I can see the headline now: PARENT-TEACHER CONFERENCE SCANDAL: MEN ARGUE ABOUT WHO CAN PEE THE FARTHEST. I cannot believe the soap opera my life has become.
I have to get out of here.
LaVidaLoco
September 15, 2000
Beatrix Reynolds
N. New England Avenue
Chicago, IL
Dear Psycho:
a. Stop the useless threats
b. Get your head out of the gutter
c. Book a therapy appointment
d. Get a prescription
Ward
P.S. Here’s a check for $43.19 for school supplies.
September 10, 2000
Ward Harrison
W. Cortland Avenue
Chicago, IL
Ward:
a. The boys have come back to my house from yours repeatedly without having taken a bath or shower. You need to pay more attention to their personal hygiene while they’re at your house.
b. I have repeatedly bought Ollie new outfits that promptly disappear every time he visits you. He returns to mine wearing ripped clothing he’s outgrown. I want the boys returned to my house wearing the clothes I bought them. I won’t keep replacing clothing you’re responsible for.
c. Britt told me that he attended one of those park dances on Saturday. Do you know what goes on at these dances? The kids practically have sex on the dance floor! I find it highly disturbing that you’d be so irresponsible as to send our twelve-year-old to one of these dances just so that you and Lu can go out to dinner.
d. Britt and Devin have informed me that you and Lu have “made out” in front of them. I wonder if you understand how suggestible the children are at this age, and how vulnerable. Highly sexualized behavior that occurs at these dances you’re sending them to or at your home in front of them can confuse and overwhelm young boys, causing all kinds of problems.
You wanted to be a custodial parent, Ward. If you want to KEEP being one, I suggest you get your act together.
I’m still waiting for the check for your portion of the school supplies: $52.14.
Beatrix
August 30, 2000
Alan Reynolds
N. New England Avenue
Chicago, IL
Alan:
I think you’re under the mistaken impression that you have a role here. You don’t. There are decisions that Beatrix and I must make, discussions we must have, as the parents of our children. Advise Beatrix all you want on your own time, but I have nothing to say to you. I’m not impressed by the bullshit macho posturing.
Ward
August 25, 2000
Ward Harrison
W. Cortland Avenue
Chicago, IL
Ward:
I’m going to have to step in here and put an end to this insane letter writing. You’re upsetting my wife and my household, and I won’t tolerate it.
In the future, please direct all communications to me. (And you can be a man and pick up the phone.)
Sincerely,
Alan Reynolds
August 9, 2000
Beatrix Reynolds
N. New England Avenue
Chicago, IL
Beatrix:
First things first: Don’t send my wife any more of your nutball letters. After you bit her head off for buying the kids some CDs, well, let’s just say she isn’t interested in being your pen pal. Or your lackey. The next time Ollie forgets his gym shoes, you can get off your ass and drive over here to get them. Lu’s not a delivery person.
Second, Lu didn’t encourage any of the kids to call her “Mom,” that’s why they call her Loopy. If you want them to stop calling her these “pet names,” YOU can tell them how insecure you are.
Third. I had no say about the man you brought into my sons’ lives, and you have no say about the woman I brought into my life. Suck it up.
Ward
July 15, 2000
Ms. Lupe Klein
W. Cortland Avenue
Chicago, IL
Dear Ms. Klein:
I think that it’s time to establish some ground rules regarding my sons and your role in their lives. I understand that you’ve been encouraging them to call you “Mom,” and when they wouldn’t, you asked that they use some sort of silly pet name. I am their mother, you are their new stepmother—these are very different roles. It is your job to treat my children civilly and with respect, the same way you might treat a niece or nephew of whom you are fond. It is MY job to parent them. Do not expect that they will love you just because their father does. Do not expect that you will be “filling in” for me while they’re at your house; you are not qualified to make important decisions regarding their care. For example, Britt is NOT allowed to get his ear pierced. You have caused me much grief because you promised that he could get it done on his next birthday, and I had to be the one to disappoint him. You need to discuss these issues with me before making any promises.
I’m not trying to be difficult, I just want you to put yourself in my shoes—I don’t know you, yet I have to trust you with my children. Your respecting my position as their mother would go a long way in building that trust.
I hope we have an understanding.
Sincerely,
Beatrix Reynolds
P.S. The pants you bought Devin were totally inappropriate for school, and I returned them. Enclosed you’ll find a check for the purchase price.
Posted on SecondWivesSpeakeasy.com, March 19, 2000:
Hi, all. I’m new here—not a second wife yet but will be next year!—and have been reading a lot of the postings with great interest. I have a question for all you longtime second wives: When did you stop being afraid of the first wife? My significant other’s ex looks like the Michelin Man, if the Michelin Man was packing.
Also, when do you stop wondering why the first wife left your SO (well, aside from the fact that she must have brain damage)? Ms. Michelin’s second husband stands around grinning all the time, like a chimp with gas. What’s that about?
LaVidaLoco
December 14, 1999
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
You won’t believe this crap. Or maybe you will.
It’s my year to have the boys for Christmas Eve, so we planned on taking her to my parents’ for dinner and then Lu’s parents for dessert and coffee and a couple of gifts. (On Christmas morning, we have the boys till ten.) But when I tried to confirm the plans with Beatrix she pulls her Mrs. Hyde routine. She demands the boys for dinner on Christmas Eve and then wants to have them back on Christmas Day at 8:30 am so that they can all drive to Alan’s parents downstate. I said no way, it’s my day and the plans are set. So of course the psychobitch gets to work on the kids, especially Britt, telling him how hurt her mom and dad will be if they don’t see their grandsons on Christmas Eve, how bad Alan’s parents will feel, how the world will explode and baby animals will die and Humpty-Dumpty will never be put back together again. Poor Britt then begs me to change the plans because his mom will be angry. I called the bitch up and screamed at her to keep our boys out of it, and all she would say was: “This is what the boys want to do. Ask them.”
I hate that woman. I cannot imagine why I ever married her. Tell me, why did I marry her?
Ward
Posted on SPLITSVILLE.com, September 25, 1999:
So I knew this would happen, but I’m still not happy about it. The bimbo finally moved in. They haven’t even known each other that long, they’re not even engaged yet, but they move in together. I just think it’s so irresponsible, but when I said that to my mom, she said, “Well, YOU moved in with Alan.” Come on! It’s so different! I’ve known Alan for years! We were engaged! I didn’t pick up some bimbo off the street!
And you know what really bugs me? I’m knocking myself out, working full-time and then driving this kid to soccer practice, that kid to the dentist, and taking it and taking it from my oldest, who’s decided to become a mouthy teenager all at once, and my ex and his bimbo are waltzing around without a care in the world, with no responsibility for any of it. HE’s the one who fought for the joint custody! So why isn’t HE taking the kids to the dentist? Why is HE allowed all these weekend getaways?
I saw the bimbo at my son’s soccer game, cheering like SHE was the mother or something, and she didn’t even say anything to me. Not one thing. And neither did my ex. Is it stupid of me to want a little acknowledgment? A little respect? These are MY children that she’ll be spending time with. You’d think they’d understand how important it is to discuss how much this stranger will be involved in my children’s life. The ground rules. There ought to be ground rules, don’t you think?
2good2BeBlue
June 12, 1999
Dear Mom and Dad:
Please stop putting notes in my backpack. It freaks me out.
Love, Devin
June 10, 1999
Beatrix:
Waiting for something that will never come will only make you more insane than you already are.
Ward
June 8, 1999
Ward:
I’m still waiting for a check for $38.25 for your portion of the other bathing suit and the camp towels.
Beatrix
June 2, 1999
Beatrix:
Let me get this straight. Because some neighbor dog bit your cat’s tail, I have to buy you new towels? Are you crazy?
Wait, don’t answer that.
And as far as my not understanding how much it costs to raise a child, let me remind you that the boys live with me 170 days out of the year (26 weekends a year plus 104 week days plus 14 days of vacation). That’s only 25 days less than they live with you.
Here’s a check for one of the bathing suits.
Ward
May 17, 1999
Ward:
I don’t think you appreciate the incidental costs involved with clothing, housing, and generally raising a child. (Remember, you’re not responsible for keeping the boys as many days as I am.) Just the other day, when Devin was supposed to be watching the neighbor’s dog, he accidentally let him into our house. That dog chased Little Bit all over the house and bit her on the tail. I had to rush her to the vet to get stitches, and it cost more than $200.
I included the bathing suits and the towels on the camp list because Devin is required to wear blue bathing suits at camp (he told me you bought red and orange) and needs special towels to take back and forth. As you may not realize, wet towels crumpled up in a camp bag may get mildew, and I don’t think household towels are appropriate for this purpose. I’d appreciate a check for the remaining $68.24.
Thanks,
Beatrix
May 9, 1999
Beatrix:
Enclosed you will find a check for $558.96 (65% of $859.95). I just bought the kids a couple of bathing suits myself and am not required to pay for the suits that you chose to buy him to wear at your house. I have no idea why you’d include the purchase of two towels on this list.
Ward
May 3, 1999
Ward:
I signed Devin up for day camp and paid the following fees:
Registration: $25.00
8 weeks tuition: $800.00
Uniform: $34.95
Two bathing suits: $59.98
Two large towels: $45.00
Total: $964.93
As per our agreement, your portion of this bill is $627.20 (65% of $964.93). I’d appreciate your paying this bill immediately; the last time you were late, and I had to pay interest charges on my Visa.
Beatrix
Posted on theothermother.com, April 14, 1999:
Hi everyone:
I’m not a stepmom or even close to it, but I am dating a man with three young sons. I have to say, you guys are scaring me! Some of you have all these horror stories! My boyfriend’s kids are always nice to me. Am I just lucky, or is this the calm before the storm?
Lulu34
February 18, 1999, Instant Messaging:
BeaFREE40: So, did you guys do anything fun over the weekend?
SuuuperDawg: We went to the park, but it was 2 cold, so we went home. And then we went to Lu’s party. She let us toast marshmellows in her fireplace.
BeaFREE: MarshMALLOWS. With an “A.” And who the heck is LU?
November 7, 1998
Beatrix:
I’ll be out of town from Monday to Wednesday. You can call my cell if there’s an emergency.
Ward
October 2, 1998
Beatrix:
I’ll be out of town this weekend, so I’ll be unable to watch the boys as you’d asked. I did call my mother and she said she’d be happy to baby-sit, if you have a need.
Ward
September 12, 1998
Beatrix:
I’ll be out of town for the next few days. In an emergency, I can be reached on my cell. You have the number.
Ward
August 15, 1998
Beatrix:
I’ll be out of town next week, so I was wondering if you were available to watch the boys Thursday and Friday. Please let me know.
Ward
June 7, 1998. Chat Room Transcript:
BeaFREE40: He’s so jealous. You should see his face when he comes to get the boys. It’s sad, really, if you think about it. I almost feel bad for him.
Beasmom: I feel bad for him.
BeaFREE40: I said almost.
Beasmom: Bea, honey, can you just call me on the phone? I know you bought me this computer and set everything up, but typing on this thing makes my joints ache.
May 29, 1998
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
Mitch:
I met someone. And I’m starting to think it could be going somewhere.
I’m freaking terrified.
Ward
May 4, 1998
Beatrix:
When you say that you don’t know what’s more important than your plans, you mean you don’t understand what’s more important than YOU.
Forget it, it doesn’t matter. I’ll be around that evening.
Ward
May 1, 1998
Ward:
Frankly, I don’t understand what’s more important than this. Can’t you just move your plans to another date?
Beatrix
April 28, 1998
Beatrix:
The plans are fine, except for the bit about Sunday. You’ll drop them off between 5 and 10? Can you narrow that down a bit? I had plans for that night. . . .
Ward
April 15, 1998
Ward:
The wedding is planned for Saturday the 23rd—I enclosed a copy of the invitation so that you have the details. As the boys are an integral part of the ceremony, I would like to have them from Friday evening for the rehearsal dinner through Sunday evening, when we leave for our honeymoon. We’ll drop them off at your house sometime between 5 pm and 10. We’ll be in Paris for ten days, returning on the 5th. I’ll pick the boys up from school on the 8th.
Please confirm these schedule changes with me at your earliest convenience.
Beatrix
March 15, 1998
To: akstone@earthlink.net
Fr: luklein@goldrealty.com
Hey, Annie,
Remember that blind date I told you about? The one with that dad guy? The one I was absolutely dreading? Yeah, um, well . . . wasn’t as bad as I thought. Actually, it was good. More than good. Even with the tucking the shirt in thing that all dads do. (Is this some sort of dad rule? Tucking AND belts?) Anyway, he’s smart and funny, with curly hair, great hands. Talented hands, if you know what I mean. Talented everything. I know we nice girls aren’t supposed to sample the wares before the third date, but I couldn’t help myself.
Geez, I hope he calls me, cause otherwise I’m going to feel like the proverbial ho. (Uh, is that a proverb????)
Lu
February 16, 1998
Beatrix:
This is the third time I’ve requested that you file the quit claim deed on the house. I’d rather not go through the lawyer about this, but if it’s not filed by next month, I’ll have to.
Ward
January 4, 1998
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
Mitch:
It’s D-Day. My own personal D-Day. I almost can’t believe it. I’m a single man.
Things had been going pretty smoothly for a while. No fights, none of her stupid ass notes, no fighting me every time I come to pick up the boys. I even shook hands with that guy she’s shacked up with. (The boys seem to think he’s OK, so that’s something.) I was nervous to see Beatrix in court. She looked good, lost a little weight, the works. But as we were going through it, as the judge decided this and that, I realized something important. I loved her, I totally loved her, but I never really liked her. She’s picky, she’s literal, she’s demanding, she loves to get on her high horse and ride the thing till he’s dead. I don’t want to be with that kind of person. The kind of person who, if you fell off your bike and broke your leg, would yell at you for riding irresponsibly instead of asking if you were OK.
And while I was having these thoughts, I noticed something else. Her shoes. She wore these red shoes that I bought for her way back when we were dating, these “mary-janes” she always loved. I think it was a slam, you know? I think she was trying to tell me that she could kick up her heels without me.
So I know you’ll say that I’m reading too much into the whole thing, but I don’t think I am. I think that’s it. And now it’s over. Done. Dead.
I wish I knew what to feel.
Ward
Gratitude Journal:
September 12, 1997
Devin, trying so hard to be a man. He shakes Alan’s hand.
Britt, the boy you can take anywhere, the boy who will help with anything. Just this morning he made me pancakes (or tried to. He forgot the eggs, the batter burned solid, and we had to throw out the pan).
Ollie, sweet Ollie. He says “good morning!” to the squirrels in the yard, he wants to be a vet and a juggler and a police person. He actually said “police person.” Who couldn’t love a boy like that?
Alan, who showed me what real love and support is. I finally have a fully committed partner to share my life with. I can’t describe the feeling. I’m dizzy, I’m flying. (Ha! I’m relieved!)
Friends who give me unconditional love no matter what’s happening with me or what size I am.
I’ve lost 14 pounds!!!!!
August 20, 1997
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
I’ve been thinking about this unconditional love concept, and you know, I’ve decided that it’s bullshit. The only people you love unconditionally are your kids, and even that isn’t always as true as we all pretend it is. Could you say that you’d still love your wife in the same way if you discovered she was an embezzler? If she gained 200 pounds slamming Twinkies? If she started sleeping with some guy she works with? Is it realistic to think that we’ll love another person no matter what they do? Is it realistic to plan our lives as if nothing will ever change?
July 18, 1997. Chat Room Transcript:
BeaFREE40: I don’t know why he can’t see how hard this is for the boys. I don’t care what the court says. He’s a bastard.
Beasmom: He is their father.
BeaFREE40: But he’s still a bastard.
Beasmom: This is upsetting you. Let’s chat about something else. Get it, chat? I’m getting pretty good at this high-tech stuff, don’t you think?
BeaFREE40: What else is there to talk about, Mom? This is my life, you know. My life.
Beasmom: Yes, honey. But this is what you wanted, isn’t it?
BeaFREE40: So it’s my fault? I’m getting what I deserve?
Beasmom: I didn’t say that.
BeaFREE40: You didn’t have to. I can see it in people’s faces. They have no idea the pain I had to go through living with that man. They think I’m some sort of floozy.
Beasmom: Honey, nobody uses the word “floozy” anymore.
June 19, 1997
Beatrix Harrison
N. New England Avenue
Chicago, IL
Dear Ms. Harrison:
As per the custody order dated May 5, 1997, your sons, Devin, Britt, and Oliver Harrison are to spend Thursday and Friday of every week and every other weekend with their father, Ward Harrison. If you continue to interfere with this court-ordered custody arrangement, or attempt to deny Mr. Harrison his right to see his sons, we will have no choice but to pursue legal avenues to rectify the situation.
If you have any questions, feel free to contact me at this office.
Dana Sherry,
Esquire
February 7, 1997
Ward:
What the hell are you trying to pull? Having our sons jumping back and forth from house to house with their underwear in a paper bag doesn’t benefit THEM, it benefits YOU. They’re just little kids! Have you thought of how difficult this will be for them? Why can’t you accept that they’re happy with me, in one place? Why can’t you see that this is the best thing for them? Are you trying to get back at me? Well, let me tell you right now that it won’t work. It’s low, Ward, low even for you, to use our sons like this. And I’ll tell you something else: I’ll fight you every step of the way.
Beatrix
February 2, 1997
Beatrix:
I agree that the boys need a father, which is why I’ve decided that weekend visitation isn’t enough. I have no interest in being some sort of Disneyland dad with no real relationship with his children. I’ve investigated joint physical custody and believe this type of arrangement will suit the boys best. My lawyer and I are working on a proposal. As soon as we have the details hammered out, I’ll let you know.
Ward
January 2, 1997
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
I picked the boys up the other day and they told me that the asshole has moved in with them. Can you believe this? It’s been what, four months!?
I’m trying to pull it together. I have to pull it together. I swore in front of the kids. I’ve never done that before, but some shithead cut me off and I called him a fat fucking fuck—that’s exactly what I said. Ollie looked so shocked, I thought he was going to pass out. He must think I’ve lost my mind. Now I’m worried that he’ll tell his crazy mother and she’ll sue me for having a potty mouth.
How could she move in with that guy so soon?
Ward
December 13, 1996
Beatrix:
I wonder sometimes if you have any idea how ridiculous you sound. If the boys aren’t supposed to be involved in “adult matters,” then why did you introduce them to your boyfriend before we even separated? Why were the boys attending Alan’s family functions before I even knew the man existed? And why would you tell them that you were “just friends” when it was clear to them and to the rest of the world what you were doing?
You are in no position to moralize. If they’re confused and upset, maybe YOU need to look into the mirror for the reason why.
Ward
December 4, 1996
Ward:
As per our temporary agreement, I will be picking the boys up from school so that we can spend my birthday together. Since we are planning a late dinner, I will need to keep them overnight. Please let me know if there’s any problem with this.
I’d also like to bring something else to your attention. You need to be more careful about what you say to the boys. Frankly, I don’t care what you think of me, but please don’t take your anger out on our children. They’re scared and confused enough as it is. They need their father right now, not some babbling lunatic. I don’t know what you told them about Alan, but I don’t appreciate your comments or insinuations. They don’t understand adult matters and shouldn’t be involved in any of them. As I’ve told you repeatedly, the breakup of our marriage has nothing to do with him and everything to do with YOU. If you’re looking for a villain, you might try looking in the mirror.
Beatrix
Posted on SPLITSVILLE.com, November 28, 1996:
What a great website! I’m so glad I found you guys. I’ll start hunting down those receipts right away. I had another quick question for you all: I received a small (2K) incentive bonus from my employer. Is this considered income? I got it after we separated. Thanks!
2Good2BeBlue
November 2, 1996
Beatrix:
Hey, thanks for turning off the boiler and opening all the windows when you left. The autumn leaves on the dining room table were an especially nice touch.
Ward
Note on kitchen table:
November 1, 1996
Good-bye!! Good luck!! Feel free to take the lamp in the living room. I’ve always hated the damn thing.
September 10, 1996
Ward:
I don’t think you understand. Nothing in my life is up to you, now.
Beatrix
September 6, 1996
Beatrix:
Do whatever you have to do. But I don’t want that sweaty asshole you’re hooked up with to step foot in my home.
Ward
September 5, 1996
Ward:
I’ll be moving out on the first of the month. I’d appreciate it if you’d make arrangements to be away from the house during the hours of 8 am to 4 pm. I don’t think we need to make this any harder than it has to be.
Beatrix
August 9, 1996
To: mtractenberg@worldcom.com
Fr: WardHarrison@home.com
So maybe you’re right, it’s just like back in high school, all chicks are bitches and we just have to deal with it. I just wanted to know when she stopped wanting to be married to me. How long this has been a sham, you know? I thought that was a pretty simple question. I mean, we’re talking about the woman who has an answer for everything. So why doesn’t she have an answer for the most important thing? (Yeah, I know, maybe she doesn’t think it’s the most important thing. Shut up already.)
You won’t believe this book she gave me, supposedly written by some marriage expert. She’s an expert all right. She’s been married four fucking times, I looked it up. What the hell am I supposed to do with a marriage book by some dumb bitch who’s been married four fucking times?
Shit. Everything’s shit. And my language is going down the fucking toilet.
Ward
July 20, 1996
Beatrix:
I don’t believe you. But I guess it doesn’t matter now.
Ward
July 19, 1996
Ward:
I got your letter and I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry. I have tried, tried as hard as I could for as long as I could, tried to tell you I wasn’t happy, tried to get you to understand, but I can’t try anymore. I just can’t.
It’s clear to me now that we’re not meant to be together. You’re a good man and a wonderful father, but we’ve both changed so much. It goes deeper than the arguments we’ve had about having another baby, or my job, or your job, or who’s doing what around the house—I just don’t love you in the same way, and I’m not sure if I ever did. We were so young, we never got a chance to experience the world—what did we know about love and marriage and all of it? Now we—and that means the both of us—will have a chance to find out. In the long run, I know this is the right thing. If you looked into your heart, you’d know it, too.
I’m giving you this book, which has really helped me to understand what went wrong with us, and what we can do to keep that from happening with other people. I hope it helps you, too.
There is something you need to understand: Alan has nothing to do with my decision. I’ve known for a long time that I had to leave, meeting him simply gave me the courage to do it. I never meant to get involved, I never meant to hurt you or the boys. Believe me, this has caused me more anguish than you’ll ever know.
Beatrix
July 17, 1996
Beatrix:
I’ve tried to write this letter so many times in so many different ways that I’m hip deep in wadded papers. I think I just have to come out and say it: I don’t know what went wrong.
I try to see it, understand it, but I can’t. I guess I didn’t meet your needs. I worked too hard. I didn’t help around the house or help with the boys enough. I didn’t listen. I didn’t encourage you enough, or in the right way. I pushed you into the arms of someone else. I don’t like cats. Is that it? I don’t know.
But whatever it is, I’m sorry for it all. For disappointing you, for taking you for granted. Right now I have no clue what would make me turn my back on you the way I must have, what small shiny thing could have captured my attention for so long that you felt I had forgotten about you. Because I didn’t. I never have.
Do you remember that day we were window-shopping, just a few months after we met? You were so busy staring at those shoes you liked—they were the red ones, you always liked red, red like your hair—and you walked right into a telephone pole, nearly knocking yourself out? And you laughed so hard that you were snorting, and you demanded to know why I wasn’t snorting, too? Why I kept asking you if you were hurt rather than collapsing into hysterics myself? And you assumed that I was just a nice, concerned guy hoping that you didn’t have a concussion? I wasn’t a nice guy then, I’m not one now, as you’ve said many times. So, I’ll tell you, I asked if it hurt because standing there, watching you laugh, I hoped so much that I could knock you out like that, I wanted it so much my heart hurt. I wanted you to feel that same way. I wanted you to hurt, too.
So, I can see that this isn’t making much sense, but then, my head’s a fucking mess; I feel like I’ve just plowed into a telephone pole, only it isn’t funny. I don’t think I can get through this, and I don’t want to. Do you want to? Do you really? I’ll say I love you, but after ten years of marriage, it’s not that simple. I everything you. You’re the mother of my children. There isn’t a corner of my world that doesn’t have you in it, somewhere, in some way.
This guy you’ve been with, I won’t forget about him, I can’t, but I won’t ask about him, either, I swear—I don’t want to know. He’s your memory, your secret to keep. I want you—laughing you, snorting you, you in the red shoes. And I know that we can work it out if we tried.
Let’s. Please. Try.
Ward