Chapter 3 - Part 1

Chapter 3 – Sonya

I used to love to sing. In college I took singing lessons and I loved them. I used to think that my ability to sing was partly why Sam fell in love with me. Maybe it was. I don’t know anymore. There’s a lot of things I don’t know anymore.

What I do know and what I can remember is that Sam and I met at one of my voice recitals. I sang, “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” as well as some other welll-known ballads. I finished with, “The Rose.” I remember looking out at Sam and seeing the way he was looking at me and suddenly knowing just exactly how it must feel to be in love.

He came and talked to me after the recital and we started dating after that. It was a fun time – a good time in my life – in his too, I think. We laughed and talked. We talked a lot. We went to plays and concerts. I thought I had caught hold of a monumental happiness – one that was so significant, that it would never leave me, and that I would never again be without it.

I guess I should have known how hard it would be. I mean, everyone always tells you that relationships take work and that it is not all roses and love songs. That is not exactly what I mean. I should have known how hard Sam would be.

After we had dated for a couple of months, Sam took me to meet his parents. I came out of my room to meet him wearing some jeans and a nice shirt I had borrowed from my roommate. I thought I looked pretty good. He said to me, “You’re wearing that?”

After I could get him to talk to me again, he said, “I thought you cared about me, Sonya.”

“I do!” I protested. “I do!”

As I look back, that was the first time I groveled for him. I thought I just had misunderstood him and needed to do my best to make things right. I have groveled more times than I can remember now. At least I recognize it for what it is. I see my children’s shame when they watch me, but now it is far too late. It has become a habit that I don’t know how to quit and it started on that day when I didn’t immediately demand that he speak to me without accusations. I should have taught him to treat me with respect back when I was worthy of it.

He continued. “Then how can you go to meet my parents and not do anything to try to look nice? Don’t you think my parents are important to me?”

“I’m so sorry, Sam. Of course! I will go change!” I started to hurry from the room.

“Wait!” he said, “What are you going to wear?”

I don’t remember now what I said, but I remember that it wasn’t right either. Eventually he told me exactly what to wear and even then seemed unhappy with me. My clothes had never been an issue before and now not one of them seemed to please him.

The evening went from bad to worse. I couldn’t do anything right. I thought his parents were gracious and polite and I did all that I knew to respond in kind, but Sam used every chance he could get to correct me – to tell me to sit up straighter or to say thank you again for the wonderful meal. Over and over, again and again. By the time Sam let me off at my apartment and sped away, my head was in such a whirl that all I could do was lay on my bed and sob. I didn’t know what I had done wrong. I didn’t know what had happened to the Sam that I loved and who I thought, loved me.

The next morning, my eyes still puffy from having cried myself to sleep, Sam swept into my apartment looking joyful. He grabbed me in his arms and spun me in a circle. I looked at him in utter confusion, but he didn’t seem to notice me at all. He just walked back and forth across the small room of the apartment with his arms in the air. “They liked you!” he said with glee. “They really, really liked you!” and he let out a loud laugh. I ventured a tentative smile. “Let’s go celebrate!” he said.

And that was it. We never talked about it. He never explained nor apologized for how he treated me that night or for what I must have gone through. He didn’t seem to think of it all. In time, I learned to stop thinking about myself, too. But for that day and the rest of our courtship, I was just glad. Glad that my Sam was back and that we were happy again.

I was so naïve. I know that I was not the real reason that Sam was agitated that night and that is probably true of all the times that Sam has been agitated. But it affects me, doesn’t it? And if I thought about it, even for one second, would I have wanted a relationship that had the potential to hurt me so very much?

Of course, it doesn’t matter now. I married Sam and now I have to make the best of it. It’s just that it gets harder every year, you know? He gets agitated more often and he looks at me with those admiring eyes less and less often. Perhaps there really is nothing left to admire.

When Tommy was born, Sam didn’t want me to take singing lessons anymore. He wanted me there for Tommy all the time. I think I would have chosen to be with Tommy, too, but by then I had stopped making any of my own choices anymore and a tiny, rebellious part of me wonders why Sam couldn’t have taken care of one small baby for just an hour once a week.

I did give one last recital and did a duet with a male student who had the same vocal teacher as I did. It was completely professional and I didn’t even talk with him except to practice the song. Still, as much as Sam glowed in that first recital where I met him, he glowered in this one. He stormed around the house and didn’t speak to me for a full month. It wasn’t until I begged and cried and promised I would never sing again that he finally took me in his arms and said he forgave me and said to stop crying now because it wasn’t so very bad as all that.

I used to love to sing. In college I took singing lessons and I loved them. I used to think that my ability to sing was partly why Sam fell in love with me. Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But I don’t sing anymore and it is because of him.