Tim was the man I onceloved. He had a very upbeat, cheerful disposition, a strong, large frame, graying hair which is balding on top, deep-set, intense greenish hazel eyes and a mouth with sensuous lips that he pursed together in a rather unattractive manner when doing something difficult, At times he looks too serious or stern, almost like a German soldier, but when he smiles, his whole face lit up and his eyes twinkled.
Tim had no sense of style when it come to clothes. He will often wear a tee-shirt and a flannel shirt with a pair of tweed pants. This got him into trouble when he worked at a white collar, corporate job. Tim is an efficiency nut, and doesn’t really care what he or the house looks like, as long as it is functional.
He understood my speech, even from the first phone call and he had a dramatic streak in his spirit which I found delightful. When explains something, or tells a story, he gesticulates broadly with his hands, accenting each point he is trying to make. His voice is clear and gentle, yet it carries throughout the house, like the voice of his father, a great orator. When Tim is on the telephone I can always tell when he is speaking to a woman, for his voice becomes very soft and gentle.
Tim was a technician. His belt buckle has “HI-FI Nut” engraved on it. The moment you walk into the house, you see acoustic foam on the walls and ceiling of the entrance way and in the living room. The speakers in the living room, which he made, stand six feet high and three feet wide. Five or six remote controls grace the living room, which was obviously not designed to entertain guests in the normal manner.
The family room was cluttered with Tim’s tools and equipment, as well as our assorted magazines. You can easily tell which magazines belong to whom. His are about computers, satellite dishes, and audio and video equipment, mine are about writing, spirituality, and personal growth. The office contained two computers, three phones, a wire closet, three equipment racks for various record players, VCR’s, amplifier, and a record cleaning machine. The backyard has an assortment of satellite dishes either in operation or laying around disassembled.
While being cluttered and unorganized about some things, Tim has organized his filing cabinet so well that he can just walk over to it, open a drawer and pull out a file on whatever he needs.
Tim was friendly and outgoing, kind and talkative. He has his own quirky sense of humor. “Oh Tofu,” he’ll say, in a high pitched voice, (in a humorous way,) imitating Dorothy in the Wizard of OZ, “Oh Tofu, locoa cocoa, your cocoa’s ready!” He greeted me with big bear hugs and deep kisses.
The computer represents the Yin and Yang perfectly in our marriage; Tim takes care of the hardware, and I operate the software. So there ARE advantages to being married to a technician.
Sadly the marriage didn’t last. I left in 1996. Seven years. We had many good days, but after he confessed to going to hookers for oral sex, I just couldn’t fully trust him anymore. Also, we were in counseling for five of those years, but it was like he wasn’t able to truly take in and process what we learned in counseling. It felt like it went in one ear and out the other; It would be great for a week or two, but then he would revert back to doing whatever it was that pissed me off.
On moving-out day, he thrust a bouquet of a rare kind of rose — sterling silver which he had never given me before. I said, “Tim why are you doing this? Did you actually think a bunch of flowers was going to change my mind?” He had no words, he just stuck his head into my car, and proceeded to kiss me in a way he had never done before. It actually hurt, and was more full of anger rather than love. I pulled my head away- looked at him in disgust, lay the bouquet down, and indicated to the moving me that I was ready to go. I apologized to them when we reached my new apartment. They said it was okay, they had seen the same thing happen before many times.
I did care about Tim, I did love him, but after seven years of dealing with the same issues many times, I had had enough. I was forty years old, and wanted to see if I could find a man who could love me and wanted or already had children. Tim didn’t want children and had already had a vasectomy. He kept hinting that maybe I could adopt a child and he would read to him or her. That was not how I wanted to do that.
After marrying or having four other relationships, (I was his third) Tim found love with a lady who has a daycare at their house! I couldn’t believe my eyes when I read his email. I was really sad that he couldn’t have had that love for children when we were married. Tim’s also sad that we couldn’t have that. He knows how much I wept over this issue.
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Tamar Raine is a poet, writer and artist living in Oakland, CA She self-published a book of her poetry which is available from Amazon and other bookstores. Life is a Journey; a Poetry Retrospective 1965–2008
https://www.amazon.com/Life-Journey-Poetry-Retrospective-1965-2008/dp/1729741207