Not much older and only a little wiser after the demise of marriage #1, I embarked optimistically on marriage #2. Two of the players stayed on for the second act, Baddy and Jack, my cats. The cast welcomed Bo, an Australian Cattle Dog, who adored them both.
I met the man who would become Husband #2 for the first time a fortnight or so after I started a new job as Office Manager for the state branch of a hire company for mining and construction heavy equipment. He was the Branch Manager, somewhat elusive until that point. He’d been absent during my negotiations with Head Office and initially his existence substantiated only by a few phone calls from locations unknown, deferring his return.
Arriving at the yard early one morning I was curious to see a strange vehicle parked out front. The wanderer had materialised, and invited me to have a seat in his office. As I sat myself in the chair opposite his desk, I experienced a tangible but inexplicable sensation of cogs shifting then setting into a new alignment. We had a lengthy get-to-know-you discussion about the company, his role, my role, our backgrounds… and the way in which we most feared dying. This was something up until that point I’d not considered but the words by burning spontaneously but surely uttered from my mouth.
Several years later I read an article about a woman in Tasmania who did past life readings from photographs. I sent her a photo of Husband #2 and myself. She sent me a letter back describing a previous life connecting the two of us, in Cornwall where I’d been a healer in a small village neighbouring a larger settlement. Husband #2 had been a member of a church community who objected to my practices, and was responsible for me being burned as a witch.
On the home front Husband #2 was capable and willing to do his share of domestic duties but suffered from a curious paralysis in the presence of his mother, which led to him being dubbed “The Little Prince”, as she fetched and did for him.
When we moved to the city coming into winter, our apartment was chilly and had a share laundry so family members lent us a column heater which was utilised for both heating and clothes drying. Having witnessed layers of towels drying on it, Husband #2 employed the same tactic with damp jeans. I didn’t pay any attention until summoned by desperate screams, and found him frantically trying to undress his bottom half, the skin of which the metal studs on the jeans he’d donned straight off the heater had welded themselves to. I was unable to offer assistance from my vantage point on the floor where I’d collapsed with laughter.
Husband #2 was also willing to try his hand at household repairs. The tap over the kitchen sink of our rented house developed a drip which became a stream. As was his due, he did the Man of The House thing, examined the issue and attempted to turn the tap off to no avail. No problem, I said, I’ll phone the real estate agent. It took me 10 minutes to make the call. I returned to the kitchen to find Husband #2 with big wrench in hand. I shouted don’t touch that tap. Too late. The wrench was turned, severing the spout from the wall. The water which now had nothing to hold it back, jetted across the room. The only solution was to turn the water off at the mains which meant we had no water in the house until the next afternoon when the plumber arrived. His first words were to Husband #2, had a go at it yourself did you?
Husband #2 and I celebrated New Years Eve shortly after we were married by hosting a small house party of family, friends and neighbours. The evening went well until after the midnight hour struck, kisses and well wishes were exchanged and it was time to retire. Husband #2 vehemently wanted to continue celebrating, so we left him to it. I was awoken around dawn by my Godson banging saucepans in the kitchen, and went to investigate as I couldn’t hear any other movement. By the time I got to the kitchen I met other house guests, and we discovered Husband #2 wedged into the settee in the alcove, wrapped in the sticky tablecloth from the night before. As we contemplated the sight, Husband #2 opened his eyes, sternly wagged an index finger and admonished us, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. Which is something I’m not sure he ever did.
There is of course a lot more to the fourteen years I spent with Husband #2 than encapsulated by anecdotes. It pains me to reflect on how naive I was, but you live and you learn… once you take your head out of your arse and pay attention to what’s really going on. The werewolf dreams were clear communication as to Husband #2’s duality, which I’d conveniently been in denial of until that became impossible, and evidence the envoys of the Universe had my back, even if I was a little slow on the uptake.
And possibly, things play out for a reason. Husband #2 shortly after we moved to the city, introduced me to a man he’d become acquainted with while working interstate several years prior, and who he’d recently met again through work. That person would sixteen years later become for me the Gorgeous One.
Single once again, I opted to live solo, up until the G.O. came back into my life.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.
Macbeth, William Shakespeare