A Man Named Dave (27 page)

“Why?” I fumed as I hung up the phone. “You … you could have told me the truth … You could have gotten a card under your own name. Why do you have to always drag me into your –?”

Patsy jumped in. “Duh! I can’t get a card! You know that. I had credit problems.”

I could not believe Patsy’s gall. “That’s not the point. The card, the spending, calling some guy from the card company whose name you can’t remember, telling you it’s okay for you to be late with a payment! With you it never ends. It’s always something. I’m tired of being lied to. The games, the constant deceptions. You think, you really believe I’m that stupid? Feeding me a line that if you call some guy, from some company, it’s gonna wave some magic wand over what you did and make things better? It’s a matter of responsibility, and I’m tired of cleaning everything up!” I turned to leave the room, wondering if I was right to be accusing her. Had Patsy really deceived me or had I signed for a credit card long ago that I had forgotten about? Things were moving too fast for me to ever get to the bottom of it. I stopped as I approached the door. I spun back toward Patsy. “Do you know or even care that I have another security review coming up? If the air force finds out about this, they can pull me from –”

“From what?” Patsy lashed out. “I’m tired of air force this, air force that. You’re so full of it! You ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it. You never did. You ain’t shit; you’re enlisted. You just tried to make out that you’re a part of something just to keep me in line, but I’m telling you this: I can do what I want when I want, and no one is going to tell me what to do!

“You wanna be truthful? You wanna talk about honesty? Come on, let’s be honest! Tell me about you! Come on, I’m waiting, tell me!”

For almost a year as the SR-71 was being phased out, I had signed paperwork swearing to absolute secrecy about my involvement with the Stealth program, even though the aircraft had already been revealed to the public. Even after our squadron’s involvement with the F-117 during its debut in Panama, as part of Operation Just Cause, we had been warned again of repercussions if anyone said anything, including being threatened with imprisonment.

To compound matters, I hadn’t told Patsy about some of the organizations I was working for outside the air force. When I had tried to before, she was either too bored or simply wasn’t interested. In my heart I had hoped Patsy would discover for herself the feeling of assisting others in need, and then, maybe, we could work as a couple, through issues that still seemed to tug at us both. But even after accepting the award from the state’s first lady, Patsy still had not made the connection.

So, standing by the door with Patsy’s face turning red, I knew if there was a hypocrite in the house it was me. Taking a deep breath, I meekly asked, “Talk to me, what’s going on? Do you think we are having problems with money?”

“That’s your problem,” she said. “That’s all you care about is money, money, money!”

“If there’s anything you want, if it really means that much to you, I’ll get it for you. You know that. It may take some time, but if there’s something out there that would make you happy …” As I searched for the elusive answer, the more guilty I began to feel. Was I saying Patsy had to spend money in order to find happiness? If Patsy had everything she desired, that would somehow fill the void of whatever troubled her? I wondered if maybe Patsy spent so much in part because I did not provide for her emotional needs.

Suddenly, I felt I was being snowed. “Hold on! Wait up!” I said. “No, it’s not about money –”

“Bullshit!” Patsy yelled. “Even your grandmother says so. Everybody knows that’s all you care about. Money, money, money. That’s all you’re worried about. You need to chill out.”

“You don’t get it. It’s like you don’t want to understand. We have a son, we need to save for Stephen’s college. We owe him that, and a home, a real home, that’s ours. We’re not going to be in the air force forever. You may not see it, but there’s a lot of changes coming down the pike, and we’re spending everything we have.”

“Don’t give me that ‘poor house’ attitude,” Patsy said, shaking her head. “I know you always have some kind of secret stash. We’ll be fine. You act as if the sky is always falling.”

“Patsy,” I said, “it’s not about the money, it’s about us! It’s at the point you don’t even care. I know you do, a lot, and I appreciate everything but… at times I feel like all I do is clean up after you. It’s like you don’t even think about the consequences of what you do. Do you really think I like battling you just to drag out a shred of information, just so I can fix something you did?

“Yeah,” I went on, “I want a home! I want to save for our son’s future! Does that really make me a bad guy? I’ve been working my tail off for what, since I was thirteen, and even before that as my mom’s slave? A slave! And I’m tired of it. So, if having only one credit card and saving a few bucks makes me the bad guy … then I’m guilty. The bottom line is: I still have to fix your mess.”

“Damn straight you will!” Patsy blared as she brushed past me. “Just fix it. Besides, what am I supposed to do? When you’re home, you spend more time with Stephen than me.”

“Hang on for a moment.” I tried to stop her by grabbing her arm. But by the flash in her eyes, I knew I had pushed too far.

“Get your hand off of me, Mister Child Abuse Prevention Advocate.” Dazed by her statement, I dropped my hand. “Got your attention, didn’t I?” Patsy said. “Just fix it and get over it.” After Patsy stormed out of the house, I removed a piece of paper that I kept behind my checkbook. I scribbled the new bill next to the other bills that had mounted over the past several years. At least, I sighed to myself, I had my job at juvenile hall. It had started as a way to earn extra money, but had become necessary for survival. With my forehead resting on my hands, I began to shudder. All I could do was pray there weren’t any more of my credit cards floating around.

It took me nearly a month to get over our latest crisis. As much as Patsy continued to say she was sorry, I brushed her off. After years of hearing the same thing over and over again, I had grown numb to anything that she did that was unrelated to Stephen. All I could do was pray every time I opened a piece of mail or answered the phone that I did not discover another catastrophe. My concern became more intense as rumors began to circulate that the air force might initiate cutbacks in my field. Fearful of the outside world and limited prospects, I worried about not being able to take care of my family.

Finally I got over my resentment. After dropping off Stephen at Dottie Mae’s house for the weekend, I took Patsy out on a rare dinner date. As we ate, I held Patsy’s hand and apologized for acting like a child. “I know it’s not easy, and I don’t wanna come off like some hard ass … but I just get scared. I know what it’s like to go hungry, to be without, and I can’t,” – I stopped, shaking my head – “I won’t allow that to happen to you and Stephen. I know you used some of that money to buy me some pants.”

“You never do anything for yourself. I was gonna surprise you,” Patsy said.

“Well,” I laughed, “I was surprised. I also know by the credit card statement that you didn’t buy a lot for yourself. I’m sorry. I feel like an ass that I can’t do more for you. That’s the reason why I work so hard. Someday, if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to do things. It’s just, as of now, there’s a lot of changes, and I don’t know how it’s gonna affect us. So, we gotta use our heads, watch our spending, and at the same time save for our future, our son’s future. That’s all.”

“You just take everything so seriously,” Patsy whispered with affection. “You worry too much. You need to pull back … just a bit.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” I confessed. “But let me say this: since the credit card thing, you’ve eased up. It’s like you’re a different person – the Patsy I knew when I first met you. That’s why it tears me up. When you hang around those half-wit neighbors who bitch and moan, all they do is bring you down. You’re better than that. Look at you: you don’t need them messing with your head. You live a good life, and you’re one hell of a mother.” I paused, aching to say the one thing that would make Patsy believe in herself once and for all. “I just want you to be happy. With me, without me, it doesn’t matter. You don’t need Stephen, your family, those ‘friends’ –anybody to make you happy. All you need is this!” I said, pointing at Patsy’s heart. “I know what a great person you are; all you have to do is make it happen.”

With tears trickling down her cheeks, she nodded. “Thanks, David, for believing in me. Trust me, I won’t let you down. Trust me.”

The next evening after returning home, minutes before midnight due to working the swing shift at juvenile hall, I found the house completely dark and Patsy missing. After searching every room, I began to fear the worst. I phoned one of her friends, who answered with music exploding in the background. After I asked for Patsy more than a dozen times, an inebriated voice screamed back that she wasn’t there, before dropping the phone. Covering all bases, I was about to telephone Dottie Mae when I heard Patsy fumbling at the back door. Rushing to meet her, I was knocked into the wall when she fell on top of me. “’Unny, I’m ’ome,” she slurred. “Like you said, gotta be me. But don’t worry,
I’m happy.
This is me, and jou,” – Patsy jabbed her finger at my chest – “jou gotta love me for who I am …” Suddenly her head rolled back. She opened her eyes wide a split second before she threw up on me.

Hours later, after stripping off Patsy’s soiled and booze-soaked clothes, and assuring her she had nothing left in her to vomit, she allowed me to put her to bed. With Patsy taken care of, I cleaned the bathroom, threw our clothes in the washer, and showered off and got dressed to work the morning shift at juvenile hall.

As I drove from the air force base to the city of Marysville, I chuckled to myself. I knew Patsy had dropped by her friend’s place and obviously had one too many. It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t mean to. Yet as the sun began to appear in my rearview mirror, a wave of rage engulfed me. The only reason I was killing myself was to pay her bills, and, to top it off, here I was trying to earn the trust and respect of these teenagers at “the hall” who had been through hell, so they could get on with their lives and be responsible rather than live their lives as helpless victims. All the while Patsy would spend the day in bed sleeping off another stupor. “Godammit!” I screamed, pounding the steering wheel. “How could I be so stupid?” Every single time I swallowed my pride, thinking I was too hard on her, and reached out with all my heart, something always happened. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! You’re never gonna learn, Pelzer. She’s never, ever going to fuckin’ change, and you’re an idiot for taking her shit!”

I fought to clear my head as I parked the Toyota at the juvenile hall parking lot. I didn’t have time to think about Patsy, or analyze the situation I would face when I returned home, or even how exhausted I had now become. As I went up the walkway, all I knew was that it was the beginning of the end. Patsy would never again have my trust.

In August 1990, Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait shifted my priorities. Whatever marital problems I was facing paled beside the prospect of fighting an actual war. For over a week every air crew at the base loaded jets with every conceivable piece of support equipment. We received countless briefings, varying from chemical warfare defense to our task of refueling the Stealth Fighters. Knowing full well that the KC-135 aircraft had no defensive capabilities and since the Boeing jet was a “force multiplier” – meaning the various fighter aircraft could not fly to their targets without our plane’s fuel – the Boeing tanker had the makings of a prime target. And because it was a flying gas station in the sky, if we took a single hit from enemy aircraft, my crew and I would be vaporized from the explosion. As the days passed, and as the base waited for our orders to deploy, worrying about Patsy, the checkbook, or whatever credit cards she might have acquired was the last thing on my mind. I had to set aside my mixed emotions about my marriage and focus on doing my part and coming home alive.

After endless delays and a series of last-minute standdowns, I received official notification that our squadron would deploy the next morning at three o’clock. I spent the night before with Patsy ensuring that she had everything she might possibly desire while I was away and knew what to do “just in case”. I knew Patsy would be fine.

But my heart went out for Stephen. As I lay beside him on his bed, he clutched his red Sony Jr. Walkman I had just given him that day. Before drifting off to sleep, he whispered, “Daddy, where you gotta go?”

“I just have to fly off for a while,” I softly said into his ear.

“You gonna bring me back something?”

“Yeah, but only if you take care of your mom.” I then caught myself repeating what my father had said to Ron, my oldest brother, years ago before he left for work. “You be the man of the house for me. Can you do that?”

Stephen rolled over and fell asleep on my chest. As I stroked his spiky blond hair and kissed his forehead, I declared to myself that everything was going to be fine.
They won’t shoot us down, Stephen. If they do, we won’t blow up. I’ll use my parachute. Once on the ground, I’ll evade. They’ll never take me prisoner. If they do, I’ll escape. If I can’t escape, I’ll be fine. I’ll come back. No matter what happens, I’ll come back. I’ll come back for you!

In the midst of all the apprehension and wild sense of adventure, I felt an overwhelming calmness as I held my son. In an odd sense, it was the same feeling I had experienced as a child when I was ordered to sit on top of my hands in Mother’s basement. Summoning all my willpower, I would tell myself that no matter what happened between Mother and me, I would survive. She could beat me, or do as she pleased, but God willing, I would somehow prevail. Now as the night slowly passed, I readied myself for another test. Hours later, I deployed for Operation Desert Shield on Stephen’s fourth birthday.

The first few weeks in Saudi Arabia were like constantly walking on eggs. We weren’t sure what to expect and when or if we were going to do anything. Whenever I spoke to Patsy on the phone, she seemed distraught, as if I somehow knew when I would be coming home.