Finally, on Sunday afternoon, they gave me a phone call. I called 
my AA sponsor and he bailed me out. We drove to Rockville; I 
picked up Calypso, and he took me to his home in northern Virginia. 
He gave me a room, and was very nice. He took me to work, and I 
attended AA every day with him. During the evenings, he would give 
me a fine cigar and try to convert me to his brand of southern 
baptist religion.


 After a couple of weeks, I found an apartment in the suburbs of 
Alexandria, Virginia. I literally had nothing except Calypso. No 
bed, no furniture, no cookware, no car, no nothing.


January 24

 It’s now the middle of May. I had a hearing in court to determine 
if Nancy’s temporary protection order should be extended. I assumed 
that Nancy wouldn’t even show up, but she did, with a lawyer. 
She calmly lied under oath, telling the judge how abusive I am. One 
of her stories was that I had grabbed her right hand and banged it 
against the wall a month ago. In fact, her right hand was sore and
swollen from punching my face, and she had received medical 
treatment for that on the night of her arrest.  Another one: when 
we were packing our car for the move away from Maine, Nancy had 
tripped and twisted her ankle. Her story was that I had pushed her 
down a set of stairs. The judge asked me what I had to say, and I
received permission to cross-examine Nancy. I didn’t get very far. 
I showed the judge the official record of Nancy’s conviction for 
assault, and I quoted her statement from the criminal trial: “I 
accused him of abusing me because Carl is better able to afford a 
new apartment.” The judge looked terribly bored, and asked
me how much money I made. I told him, and he said: “I agree with 
the young lady, you can afford a new apartment.” He signed the 
extension order. Nancy left with her lawyer without looking at me.

 I immediately filed a motion to allow me to pick up my things. 
The motion was granted, but Nancy immediately appealed. I had 
pre-paid three months rent in Rockville, and the lease would 
expire on May 31. A few days before that date, I received a call 
at work from my landlord in Rockville. She reported that Nancy had
removed everything from our apartment in a truck. It was true, the 
phone had been disconnected. She had stolen everything I own. 
I called the restaurant where she worked, and they hung up on me 
as soon as they recognized my voice.

 At about this time, Nancy began to call me at work. She wouldn’t 
tell me where she was, but she assured me that my stuff was safe. 
She wanted to talk about getting back together. I told her how 
to get to my new place and she visited on a Friday night. I took 
Nancy out to dinner, and we talked about reconciling. We went home
and screwed on the floor. It was incredibly intense, and I 
remember that at some point, Nancy, who was drunk, began calling 
me “Daddy.” I stopped, saying that I wasn’t her Daddy, and didn’t 
want to play that role. She apologized and we went to sleep. The 
next day, we drove to the shore and lay around on a beach, playing 
with Calypso. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we talked some 
more. On Saturday night, more sex. I was in love again, and I 
invited Nancy to stay with me on Sunday night. On Monday, I went 
to work, and when I got home, Calypso was gone. I called Nancy at
work, and she explained that she had taken Calypso “by accident,” 
that when she left, she hadn’t even noticed that Calypso was 
sleeping on the back seat. She promised to return Calypso on the 
next weekend.

 Next weekend, she didn’t show up, and I couldn’t reach her by 
phone. I waited until Tuesday, then called the Fairfax County 
police to report my dog stolen. The next day, a detective drove 
to Rockville and confronted Nancy at the restaurant. She admitted 
that she had my dog, and promised that her roommate would call me
later that day to arrange Calypso’s return. I waited for the call, 
but it never came. I waited three more days, then called the police 
again. I said, “Arrest her.”  The detective went to the restaurant 
again, and was told that Nancy had quit. Nobody knew where she was. 
The police officially listed Nancy as a fugitive who had committed 
a felony while on probation.

 Several weeks passed. One day, I called the lawyer for a former 
client of mine in Maine who was suing me. (This was completely 
minor; I had withdrawn suddenly from his case shortly before I 
was jailed in Maine, and he was angry.) I told the lawyer
that I wanted to settle the case, but that all of my records had 
been stolen from me. The lawyer said, “Oh, I think I may know 
something about that.” He proceeded to tell me that he had received 
a phone call from Nancy, who had told him where I worked, how much
money I made, etc. I asked for her phone number, but he refused. I
said, fine, she’s a fugitive and you can deal with the police. 
I called the police and told them what had happened. A few hours 
later, the police called me back and said that they had tracked 
down her phone number to a place in Fort Meade, Maryland. They 
also told me that Nancy’s phone number was under my name. I
requested that they arrest her.

 A couple of days later, I was informed that Nancy had been arrested 
by the Fort Meade military police and had been jailed in Maryland, 
awaiting extradition to Virginia. I called Nancy’s roommate, 
Marissa, a woman from Argentina. We talked about how to get Nancy 
out of jail. Nancy couldn’t be released until she was extradited 
back to Virginia, so we had to wait several days. I told Marissa 
that I would put up the bail money when I next was paid, and I 
asked her to try to come up with the money in the meantime. She 
said she’d pawn her ring if I’d pay her back.

 Nancy was extradited and spent a total of eight days in jail, 
until I was able to arrange her release on bail. I travelled to 
the jail, got Nancy out, and met Marissa. Marissa was in the 
process of divorcing a guy who had been stationed at Fort Meade, 
so she had cheap housing there. She intended to move to Florida 
as soon as her divorce was over, and had asked Nancy to accompany 
her.

 During this period, Nancy and I spoke almost every day. She had 
a job as a waitress, and would visit me every weekend. We had 
lots of fun together, some very serious talks, and incredibly 
intense sex. Eventually, I asked her to move back in with me. 
We explored Old Town Alexandria, the restaurants, the sights. 
Etc. (OOPs, I forgot to mention that during the time when Calypso 
was gone, I bought another black lab puppy. I have her to Nancy, 
who named the puppy ‘Daisy.’  Nancy said that this was the nicest 
thing anyone had ever done for her.) Eventually, in October of
1999, we rented a U Haul truck and moved everything back to my 
place. It was so nice to have my books and furniture back. Nancy 
took a job at a bar/restaurant called Chadwicks, in Old Town 
Alexandria. I was doing very well at my job and we
were having fun. Nancy loved the puppy and everything seemed to 
going well.

 Then, in early November, Nancy didn’t come home one night. The 
next morning, I was having coffee and preparing for work when she 
came home, a cup of coffee in her hand, obviously intoxicated, 
at about 6 a.m. She told me that she had had a few drinks after 
hours with her friend Megan from Chadwicks, and couldn’t drive 
home. I said no problem and went to work. Within the next 10 days, 
the same thing happened twice more. After the third time, we 
talked. I told Nancy that if she was delayed but didn’t call 
me, I would lock the door. She agreed that that was reasonable. A
few days later, she called me one evening and said that she was 
with Megan but couldn’t drive home. But within one week of our 
conversation she stayed out all night two more times without 
calling. On the third night, I became enraged, locked
the door and threw some of her clothing out into the parking 
lot. Why was she forcing me to back up my words? Something was 
profoundly wrong, but I refused to acknowledge my suspicions.

 Now we are at Thanksgiving. I had purchased a 20 lbs turkey, 
and we’d invited a friend over to eat with us. The night before 
Thanksgiving, Nancy stayed out all night again, without calling. 
She staggered in at about 10 A.M., drunk, holding a bottle of 
wine. I tried to talk with her. I asked her why she had broken 
her promise to me. She said, “Carl, our words don’t mean 
anything anymore.” She staggered to the bed, spilling her wine, 
and asked me to fuck her. I did. Before she drifted off to sleep, 
she said, with her eyes closed, “Carl, please forgive me.
I am a bitch to be with when I’m doing well, but when I’m like 
this, I’m impossible.” She passed out. I wrote the poem quoted 
above, and cried.

 We decided to have our Thanksgiving meal on Sunday. Nancy said 
that she had to check in at work, and I cooked, all day long. 
She was out for several hours. We ate our meal. I knew in my 
heart that she was seeing someone, but I couldn’t admit it.
It was a sad meal.

 Not long after that, we woke up and realized that Nancy’s car 
was gone. She was very upset, because the repo people had been 
calling me for months trying to find Nancy, who had failed to 
make her payments. I took a cab, gave her $200, and went to work. 
Later that day, Nancy called me at work; she said that she loved 
me very much, and was grateful for my calmness that morning; 
she had gotten the car back (towed for not having the proper 
sticker) and she asked if she could meet me in DC after work. 
We’d have a romantic dinner and go home together. I said sure, 
and she remarked on how this was the first time in weeks that 
I sounded happy. I was happy. We agreed to meet in front of the 
FCC building at 5:30 P.M. I had a meeting and was delayed for 
about 20 minutes. I rushed downstairs and waited for Nancy in the
freezing cold. I waited until 8 pm, and she never came. I went 
home and the house was empty, but for our two dogs. Daisy had 
shit all over the floor. No Nancy. I was incredibly depressed. 
That night, I grabbed more of her stuff and threw it into the
dumpster. I couldn’t believe that she was being so dishonest 
with me. She stayed out all night again.

 When Nancy finally showed up, I told her to leave. I was 
enraged; I chased her out onto the porch, demanding to meet 
her new boyfriend. She left. I called her at work and invited 
her over to dinner, to talk. During this week, the repo people 
in Maine called me, again looking for Nancy. They reported that 
they had found her car where she worked, and would repossess it 
unless she called them that day. I told them that I would pay 
her bill to get her account current. I called Nancy and told her
to call them. She was scared, and didn’t. The car was repossessed. 
That night, she called me and accused me of ‘setting her up’ 
with the repo people.

 Two days later, I was standing at the bus stop for work. A 
neighbor casually mentioned that she was trying to sell her car. 
I said I’d buy it, because I felt bad about Nancy’s car being 
repossessed. I called Nancy and told her that I had bought a car 
for her. She said she’d be over for dinner on Friday night, via a 
cab. On Friday, she visited. I had two steaks ready for the broiler. 
She asked me, “What about the Thunderbird?” I said, “Well, if you 
come back to me, I’ll find a way to redeem it.” She glared at me, 
so cold, and said, “Well that’s a powerplay, and I’m
leaving.” She did. A few days later, she called me at work and 
asked that I arrange a meeting with a ‘couples counselor.’ She 
said that she still loved me, and wanted to work things out. I 
made the appointment.

 She had promised to come for dinner that Thursday evening. She 
called me from work and said that she had called a cab and would 
be over within one hour. I took Calypso for a walk, and when I 
got back, Nancy had left a message on my phone saying, “We’re too 
busy, I can’t leave. I’ll call you.” I called Chadwicks; they
told me she had left. I called Chadwicks again, in a total rage, 
and said, “Tell Nancy that she’s going to jail. I’m reporting her 
probation violation.” (Under the terms of her probation, Nancy 
wasn’t allowed out of the State of Maryland. I also intended to 
report her for running up a $500 phone bill in my name while at 
Fort Meade.)

 On Saturday night, I called her at work. She was totally hostile 
and told me to “take the counseling and shove it up your ass. It’s 
over.”  The next night, I delivered a letter I had written to 
Nancy to Chadwicks. That’s the last time I’ve seen her, sometime 
in early January. I left the letter on the bar and walked out. A
bouncer tried to chase me down, but I was in a cab. I had written 
the letter on the night when she stood me up. It said that I 
wanted to try the counseling, but only if she was serious, and 
I didn’t feel that she was serious. The second part of the
letter was written after she left me the phone message about 
being too busy to leave. I quote it here:

Dear Nancy,

 It’s Thursday, the day we are supposed to get together for dinner. 
If you show up, you’ll read this letter; if not, you won’t.  I 
have made an appointment with a couples’ counselor, as we discussed, 
in Alexandria. I’m not sure what to do about it; I guess a lot 
depends on what happens later today. I will try to explain my
attitude in this letter.

 I told you that I would only try to repair our relationship if 
I felt that you shared my commitment to making it work. I meant 
by that a sense that we are actively working together to put the 
negativity behind us and to discuss how we can solve the problems 
that have driven us apart. I don’t feel that right now, and I’m
losing hope every day. That is because I never see you, and I 
can’t contact you. (Calling you at work is not good enough; I 
will not compete with your customers and co-workers for your 
attention.) I have no idea how you spend your time, where you
are, what you are doing, whether you are happy or sad, nothing. 
So, based on your statement that you’d like to try counseling, I 
sit around and worry about these things, which is torture for me. 
I want you to know that I can’t do that. I must either feel that 
we are actively working together, communicating and in love, or I
must forget about you. One or the other. Now. I will not ‘start 
over;’ we either move forward, or we move apart, and it’s your 
choice.

 Obviously, you have a different view, but I have no idea what 
it is. My life is far too stressful to sit around and wonder what 
you are thinking, feeling and doing. This I am sure of: you don’t 
feel what I feel, and that gives me very little hope. I am so in 
love with you, I would literally do anything to make our
relationship work. At the same time, however, nothing will stop 
me from achieving my own personal and professional goals. In order 
to achieve those goals, I must remove myself from the limbo I find 
myself in at this moment. If that means giving you up, so be it. 
Right now, I need every single resource at my disposal to make
it, and I simply cannot afford to play games. Life is brutal, but 
I offer you love, kindness, generosity, total commitment, and 
a bright future. Work with me, and we’ll do it; if not, I wish 
you luck and all my best wishes.

 Simply put, something must change in this situation, immediately.  
There is more than enough blame to go around, but that doesn’t 
interest me. It’s time to either make things better between us, 
or part ways. There is simply too much at stake, at least for me. 
I need some sense of certainty, something to work with. Not certainty
that we will succeed, but certainty that you are committed to trying. 
To me, that means, at the very least, that we must be able to 
communicate, and not just when you want to. I am very lonely. There 
are times, during the evening, when I need your company, if only by 
telephone. Usually, all I need is a word or two from you,
some sense that we are working toward a common goal. But if I cannot 
have that, I need to be set free, just as you have set yourself 
free.  I recall when we first met; I pursued you relentlessly, and 
all I asked of you was that you either accept me or tell me ‘no.’ 
Well now I am sort of in the same position.  Either tell me
‘no,’ now, or give me a lot more to work with. I will not ­ I 
cannot ­ care for your things and your dog without knowing where 
you are, what you are doing, and that we are working together 
toward a common goal. That is fundamentally unfair.

 I will therefore ask you to come back to me, or remove your 
things from my home. I cannot live like this; if you care about 
us, show it; if not, forget about me. I am very sorry that I have 
to frame the issue in these terms, but I must, for the
sake of my own sanity. I will succeed, and I will prevail, and 
nothing can stop me. I have to tell you now that it’s time for 
me to either be with you or find someone else. I have to move 
forward. I love you more than words can possibly say.

 Well, it’s Friday afternoon, and you refuse to speak with me. 
You lied to me last night. I have lost all hope, and that leaves 
me with no alternatives. In general, I wish that you had the guts 
to say what you mean; one would think that after six
years together, you would at least have the courage to say what 
you mean. But you can’t. You’re a coward. So be it. You speak of 
‘my performance last night.’  My performance was doing what I 
said I would do, in response to your request. Just as
I got you Biaxin when you asked me to, just as I made an 
appointment with a counselor as you asked me to do, just as I 
prepared for your visit last night, as you asked me to do, on 
Monday. Well now, you’ve faile you will remove your stuff
from my home within 24 hours, or I will throw it in the garbage. 
I have been billed by Bell Atlantic for the phone calls that you 
ran up with your crackhead girlfriend,  under my name. That is 
a federal crime, a felony in fact. They have threatened to cut 
off my phone service unless I pay them $500. You will reimburse
me that amount immediately, or you will pay for your crime. Does 
that make sense to you? If it doesn’t now, it surely will in the 
very near future. It’s time for you to stop bullshitting; I’m here 
to help you out, because I’ve had enough. It’s time for you to 
take some basic responsibility for your actions, and I will help 
you. Any questions? You had better call me fast; otherwise, you’re 
on your own. You don’t feel, you don’t love, you have no soul. 
You’re fucked.


       With much love,
          Wombat


The next time I heard from Nancy was on January 12 or so. She told 
me that a horrible thing had happened, that the still loves me, 
and that I “sooth” her. She said that Daisy was sick; she asked me 
to meet her at the Vet that afternoon. She also reported that she 
had been caught selling a drink to an under-age patron, had
been fired and charged with a crime. Because she was on probation, 
she would face jail time. She wanted to meet with me and talk. 
She asked me for the name of a lawyer and would call me back in 
20 minutes. I found a lawyer, explained the situation, and gave 
Nancy his name and number when she called me. She said she
needed to see me. A few minutes later, I found a message on my 
phone: she said she had a ‘job interview’ and had to cancel.

 Next week, I called the jail; she was not an inmate. The lawyer 
called me and said that Nancy hadn’t called him. I haven’t heard 
from her since, and have no way of contacting her, although all 
her things are still in my apartment, including her birth 
certificate, family photos, etc. The one time, several weeks ago, 
when she had promised to pick up her things, she didn’t show up. 
I have stored her things in a closet so I don’t have to see 
them. I have no idea if she will call me to pick the stuff up. 
I will write a conclusion to this later this evening.

January 25, 2000

  Snow day. The government’s shut down, so I get to hang out at 
home with Calypso and finish this narrative.

 As I read what I’ve written, I find that I’ve left out many 
details, many incidents, and most of all, many wonderful, loving 
times. And it feels incomplete; I don’t want to end the narrative, 
because that would mean ending this period of my life, and I don’t 
know where and how to pick it up again. I’m literally drained,
empty; were I to end this narrative what would I have left to 
write about? If I finally let go of Nancy, what will be left of 
me?  Yesterday, I returned home from the shrink’s office and 
found an “unavailable” number on my caller ID. A single
phone call, and I’d have to pick up this narrative once again. 
This morning, I was packing some more of Nancy’s things away, 
and I found photographs of her, of her mother as a nursing student, 
of her father and brothers. Smiling, wonderful photos. (She took 
with her the photos we took together; why would she take our 
photos and leave her family photos behind? I have her black trunk 
which contains most of the very personal items in Nancy’s life; I 
have her birth certificate, her social security card, he family 
Marine Corps. Yearbooks, her bear that, as far as I know,
is her most treasured possession.)

 Last weekend, I went with a friend to a local establishment to 
get out of the house and watch a football game. It was crowded 
with young, happy, attractive people. I felt old and ugly. I 
watched the people and wondered to myself, “What are
they talking about? Why are they smiling?” I am so accustomed 
to total intensity in personal interactions, I realized that even 
if I were to try to socialize and make small talk, I wouldn’t have 
a clue how to do it. I asked my friend Dave, at one point, “Hey 
Dave, do I look extremely unattractive?” He said that compared to 
the preceding week, I looked great; having a bad hair day and 
needed a few nights of good sleep, but doing fine.  After six 
years of questioning myself, of wondering what I did to provoke 
her, how could I make her happy, I realize that I don’t even
know who or what I am anymore. I literally gave Nancy everything 
I had, materially, spiritually, emotionally, psychologically, 
and now I feel cheated, that I got nothing back, so I’m an 
empty shell, a void. All I have is a job, a dog and these
words, thank God. In certain places downtown, I’m known as a 
violent, abusive drunk, which isn’t true. Although she’ll say 
it to anyone who will listen, I think that Nancy herself knows 
it isn’t true. She knows that I’m the only person, male or
female, with whom she could reveal her true self, yet she ran 
away, preferring to fake it. Incomprehensible. I spend a ridiculous 
amount of time wondering what she feels, if she feels regret, 
sorrow, sadness, guilt, love. But I also know that she
is mentally ill, and very well able to believe what she wants to 
believe at any given time, just to get over. To get over, she 
believes that I’m a horrible person, and that the guy she’s with 
now, who will never even begin to know her, is the best
thing since sliced bread. They fuck and she tells him what a total 
asshole I am. He promises to kill me on sight and they fuck again. 
That’s the reality. Yet she’s not stupid, and has her sane moments.  
I wonder if she ever thinks about our dream, the plan we made for 
moving to the West Coast after two years here. I wonder if she
ever regrets her decision to be a barfly in Alexandria, Virginia, 
on probation, rather than join me into sanity and a comfortable 
life in San Francisco, her favorite place. I still have my plans 
and my possibilities, but because they were so much built around 
Nancy, they don’t seem very real these days. But I’ll go to
work, like a robot, and wait for a change in me. If only I could 
realize in my heart that I am worth it, that I don’t need to 
always do it for someone else. I’m not there yet, but I can talk 
about it.

 I can feel good about this: I tried something that few people 
ever try, namely, to salvage another human being. I knew it going 
in. You can call it ‘co-dependance,’ or you can call it romance. 
Personally, I’m undecided on the proper terminology. But I took on 
the challenge and went on an amazing adventure for six plus years. 
I tried and tried and tried, and never gave up. It never occurred 
to me that it would fail in this way. I believe that I pushed the 
limits of human experience and sanity, something that those who 
look down on me have never even attempted. I tried to explore 
another person’s psyche at the deepest level, and thereby to come 
into contact with my own. I think I can say that I failed at 
the former, but succeeded at the latter. Hell, at least I now 
know what “co-dependence” means, and I never even had to read a 
damn self-help book.

 I recall an evening, described about, when Nancy and I were 
staying in a motel in Bar Harbor. She had just returned from 
one of her disappearances, and I had been kicked out of my 
parents’ home. We literally had no hope. We were having sex in 
the motel room when the owner, completely drunk and on pills, 
came to our door. He was insane. The accused me of stealing his 
dog. Then he smashed through the glass door with his fist. You 
can’t get any lower than we were that night. Nancy curled up in
a fetus position on the bed, and I went outside to take care of 
Paul, the owner. I tried to calm him, but he went looking for his 
gun. I returned to Nancy and tried to comfort her. She could not 
be comforted; she was catatonic. Some horrible memory
from her childhood was assaulting her full-force. I was very 
scared that Paul would get his gun, so I called the police. 
The came, assured me that Paul had passed out, and I fell asleep 
with Nancy, silent and shaking, in my arms. I strongly suspect
that she was remembering a night, many years ago, when her own 
drunk father smashed through her bedroom door and raped her. 
The next morning, she admitted to me that Paul’s actions that 
night brought back horrible memories for her. I didn't pursue
it, but I knew, and I cared, and I loved.

 So how does one give up on another person, once and for all? 
That is my task, to give up, but I don’t know how. Where do I 
go from here? Back to being “normal”? That has never been enough 
for me, but I guess it’s what I need more than anything,
but I don’t especially want it.

[to be continued, for lack of an ending]

Wombat's Journal Continues Page 4

as of April 22, 2000

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