Torn Asunder

by Elizabeth Emerald

The author has placed a warning on this post for language.

Cindy is the childless sister of Denny. Denny is married to Diana; they have two daughters.

Act One: Torn Asunder

Cindy:

Once upon a time there was a close family, literally and otherwise. That is, parents, children, aunts, uncles, cousins lived harmoniously within the boundaries of two square blocks.

Alas, this family did not live happily-ever-after. This is no fairy tale. I should know--this family is my family.

A year or so back, a friend of my parents, Lauren, was so envious of our snug extended family that she petitioned for us to adopt her. She had a courier--her brother Paul in drag--deliver an "official" document in faux legalese, purportedly drawn up by a law firm. The letterhead read: Attorneys I. M. Pompous and U. R. Pistoff. We filed it in our "funny" folder of cartoon clippings and assorted amusements.

No doubt Lauren would have retracted her petition forthwith had she known that within weeks of its submission Diana would flush the family down its communal toilet.

Suddenly Last Summer. Title of a 1959 film, of a scandalous family secret, starring Elizabeth Taylor as the evil mother. Also title of a 2016 Lifetime Movie--my lifetime--of a scandalous family (now-open) secret, starring Diana Logan as the evil mother. Mother of Valerie and Veronica, my nieces, whom I am no longer allowed to see.

Yes, it all started suddenly last summer, early July. Seems every time I called or stopped by to take the girls to the park--as I always had done--Diana had some limp excuse why they couldn't go. At first, I thought I must be imagining it. After all, Diana had always welcomed my taking the girls off her hands so that she could keep them--her hands--otherwise occupied.

After three weeks' worth of daily brush-offs, I asked Diana if she was pissed at me for something, and if so, what? All she would say is that the girls were fresh to her and otherwise obnoxious after I got them all wound up. I promised to tone it down, take them out earlier, say, before supper, soon as I got back from work, for twenty minutes, instead of the usual forty-five.

No. Diana grudgingly agreed to let me come to the house for half-an-hour once a week, as if I were a level-three sex offender under supervised visitation. I found that scenario so insulting and humiliating that after three such visits--at Diana's (in)convenience and under her hawk-eyed glare--I gave it up. I haven't seen the girls for thirteen months.

I cried for the first four of the thirteen. My parents are sick over this, as is the rest of the family. I'd tried to keep it between Diana and me, hoping we could work it out, out of radar range, but soon enough my distress became apparent to the others. My cousins witnessed me burst into tears when my aunt unwittingly asked if I'd taken the girls to the movies yet, to see "Frozen."

Frozen. Frozen is what I am. Frozen out by Diana, evil Ice Princess. Co-star: her consort, pathetic Prince: Denny-the-Dick. Who now hangs out all alone, sans balls since she snipped them. Yes, D-the-D, no B's, who, in his highest soprano, singy-songs Diana's defense: "Poor girl is exhausted and overwhelmed." Insipid Chorus: "Just give it time, Cindy."

I gave it time. Thirteen months of time. Time's up; family's down. Down the drain.

Me, I'm just drained. Wrung out, hung out to dry. No tears. Not any more. Still, sorrow survives: permanent press.

Act Two: Middle Man

Denny:

I've always envied people with green eyes. I'd hoped to marry a green-eyed girl and get green-eyed kids. Alas, as they say: Be careful what you wish for. I did indeed get a green-eyed wife--figuratively speaking.

I fell for a brown-eyed girl, married her, got brown eyed-kids, and was quite happy. Until, ten years later, when my wife got possessed by the green-eyed monster. Out of nowhere, it seems, Diana suddenly became jealous of my sister, convinced that the girls loved their aunt Cindy more than they loved her.

You know how kids are. They play one parent against the other. Grandma against Daddy. Auntie against Mommy. Certainly, Diana should have been onto the game by now, being six years a mother. At the time, I figured--and told Cindy so--that Diana was drained from a prolonged cold, maybe stressed about some little thing, whatever, that accounted for this kind of nonsense getting to her all of a sudden.

We all thought it would blow over sooner rather than later. After all, Diana and Cindy had always appeared close--at the very least they were on excellent terms. Cindy used to take the girls out all the time, Diana certainly never seemed to mind before--indeed, I assume she was glad for the break. Never a blip between the two in ten years as family--until last July.

Indeed, it's been a full year. And then some. By this time, it's long past too late. All of Cindy's admirable restraint and understanding over the first three months of this mess has been for naught. Diana has just jammed her heels deeper into the low ground, as if she's the one who's been wronged. At this point, the whole family is disgusted with her. And disgusted with me for being "whipped."

The upshot is--there is just no talking to her. Believe me, I've tried. It just makes things worse. As it is, Diana refuses to attend any family events. Worse, she won't let me bring the kids, because Cindy will be there and they'd rush right over to Auntie soon as they saw her again.

Or maybe not. Who knows if they'd even remember her. As it is, after the first couple of months, the girls stopped asking about Aunt Cindy. I'm ashamed to say that, all throughout that summer, we'd tell them Auntie was on a business trip. Just as ignorant people used to do to avoid explaining death--they'd tell a child that dear departed Daddy was on vacation. Yes, I know--deplorable. In the old days, at least, parents meant well. Diana and I have no such excuse. We acted out of cowardice, plain and simple. And guilt. It is we, after all, who summarily shipped Cindy on that permanent business trip. I speak for myself; Diana doesn't appear to be bothered.

They say that time heals all wounds. Not this one--it festers, spewing pus with each passing day. Even should Diana come to her senses, the damage is irrevocable as far as her relationship with Cindy is concerned. Or her relationships with the rest of the family for that matter.

Cindy barely speaks to me and I certainly can't fault her for thinking I'm a yellow jellyfish--aka spineless coward--for letting Diana get away with this outrage. I totally get that--I'm sure I'd feel just the same about me if I were Cindy. The fact is--I don't dare say this aloud--that I am myself disgusted with Diana. She's poisoned this family--me included. We are sick over this--and sick of her. Most contemptible--unforgivable--Diana has hurt our girls, depriving them of their aunt's loving company--and that of the entire family for that matter. Everybody--understandably so--wonders why in the world I don't put my foot in her face and say shape up or ship out.

Here's why--because I know that A): She won't shape up, and B): She will ship out. She'll take the girls and move to Miami with her mother, and then I wouldn't get to see my girls either. Oh, maybe for a couple of weeks in the summer--presumably the rest of the year Mommy would explain that I'm too busy being on business trips. The reason I know this is that Diana has told me that if I don't shape up--stop the harping, the nagging--that she'll indeed ship out, girls on board, one way tickets all around.

Perhaps Cindy and the rest would like to see me suffer the same loss that they have and I wouldn't blame them. But I will not do that to my girls. I love my brown-eyed girls. I cannot say the same for their green-eyed mother.

Act Three: Irrevocable Trust

Diana:

For eleven years--from the day I first met them all at his cousin Will's wedding--I had adored everybody in Denny's family. Every last one of them: his mom, Angela; his dad, Ben; his sister Cindy, his uncles, Jack and Tom; his aunts, Mary, Susan, and Marlene; his cousins, first and second, removed and otherwise. And for the first nine years of my marriage, all my warm and fuzzies were reciprocated, and then some.

Until last summer, when I watched it all go down in a death spiral.

It started last July. I blew Cindy off a few times when she wanted to take the girls out for ice cream. They'd been behaving like brats all month, and I wasn't about to reward them. Cindy doesn't have kids so she showers her attention on mine. Which is great--I have no problem with that; what I do have a problem with is the aftermath. The girls come back from fun and games with Auntie then refuse to play by mean old Mommy's rules.

I hadn't been feeling well since June: depleted, energy sapped, tapped out--nothing to fight back with. I had no control over the girls--the only thing I could control is giving them permission to get more out of control. Hence my moratorium on trips and treats with Auntie.

This didn't sit well with Cindy. I didn't back down all summer--not to spite Cindy, but to keep the girls in line. For all the good it did--not! They continued to be whiny, nasty, rude--worse than ever.

Cindy seemed sympathetic toward my position, for about six weeks--then she took off running her mouth to the rest of the family. Who then became sympathetic to her position. Namely, that I am a Capital-B witch.

I poured heart and soul into this family, love and trust--but by now it's bled out, uncontrollably, irrevocably. As the song says: The feeling's gone and I just can't get it back. Nor can they. We have become mutually exclusive.

I can't bear to attend family events now that I am a woman scorned. I won't let Denny take the girls either. Seeing Cindy after all this time will just confuse them. More so to overhear trash talk about me.

Most unbearable of all is Denny's betrayal--he's turned on me too. I can't take it anymore--I've got to get out of here, take the girls, move to Florida with my mother and never come back.

Yes, it's long since too late to stanch the flow from this mortal wound I unwittingly inflicted on Denny and his family. Who were my family. Once upon a time.

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Thanks to VMarguarite for the artwork: Mother and Child and Father

This is not-so-loosely based on a family of my close acquaintance--mercifully, not my own. In the three years since I crafted this drama, its real-life counterpart has outdone me in pathos.

"Frozen" was the go-to "girly" movie for sub-ten-year-olds back in the day.

Pays one point and 2 member cents.

Artwork by VMarguarite at FanArtReview.com

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Torn Asunder

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