Anyway this was my personal sit-in for truth, justice, and the triune way. "Triune-hood is powerful. Hey, hey, ho, ho, triphobia has got to go. Down with male, ah, ah, bass holes. You hear that, Mike O'Connor. You're a bass hole!"
What a predicament. I was the one who was supposed to be the family peacemaker. It was my job to keep things running smoothly and here I was on strike. But darn it I was not just a baby making whore. Mike please say you're sorry. Please.
do I have to keep on talking till I can't
go on?
While you see it your way,
Run the risk of knowing that our love may
soon be gone.
We can work it out. We can work it out.
Think of what you're saying,
you can get it wrong and still you think
that it's all right,
think of what I'm saying,
we can work it out and get it straight,
or
say good night.
We can work it out. We can work it out.
Life is very short, and there's no time,
for fussing and fighting, my friend,
I have always thought that it's a crime,
so I will ask you once again.
Try to see it my way,
time will tell if I am right or I am wrong,
while you see it your way,
there's a change that we may fall apart
before too long.
Life is very short and there's no time,
for fussing and fighting, my friend,
I have always thought that it's a crime,
so I will ask you again.
Try to see it my way,
only time will tell if I am right or I
am wrong,
while you see it you way, there's a chance
that we may fall apart before too long.
We can work it out.
It was day 21 of my self exile in little Siberia and I was starting to feel some separation sickness. If it was unpleasant for me then it must be worse for them. It was Pat that came to me late that evening. When she came into my tent I embraced my dear sweet mate and kissed her passionately. "I am so sorry for putting you through this."
"Don't blame yourself. Mike brought this on himself. But I am not blameless either sweetheart. I did not want any black children either, at first. But if I love you how could I not love your children. Our children." And with that we both had a good cry. "It's been pure hell for us. We can't eat, sleep, or make love without you. We have changed to much. Mike wants to ask your forgiveness but he is to damn stubborn to admit he was wrong. And he had been drinking heavily today."
"The fool! He is going to make himself sick."
"I think we should leave. I know Mike when he drinks like this. He gets mean."
We heard the screen door slam. It was too late for us to avoid the inevitable confrontation. Mike staggered out to little Siberia. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to be so drunk.
"Enough of this crap," he said grabbing me by the arm. "You're coming back into the house where you belong!"
"I'm not going anywhere with a drunken bigot."
"You shut the hell up and come with me!"
I know it is stupid to argue with a drunk but I did it anyway. And the argument escalated into a free for all. Who knows how it might have ended but for a shout from a neighboring house.
"O'Connor! It's bad enough we have to see you parading around with your faggot nigger freak. Do we have to listen to you fight with it as well? Knock it off or I'm calling the police."
Hearing those vile words from another pair of lips had an immediate sobering effect upon him. He stood there looking at his feet.
"Pepper," he said quietly. "I am sorry I said those thing. Please forgive me." That is what I was waiting to hear. "I want my, our, children to be born. You're my wife and I love you."
The human subconscious is a funny thing. My spouses knew perfectly well what I was on a conscious level. But on a subconscious level he thought of me as a second wife, even as Pat thought of me as a second husband, when I was neither of those things. It was going to take a while for triune to become integrated into the new social reality. But it was late and the last thing I wanted to do was to split semantic hairs with anyone. We were all ill with spousal separation sickness. What we needed was to lay together and reestablish our bond. We were to have more arguments and disagreements. What triple doesn't? But this was our first and last fight.
Copyright 1997 by Dennis Tallent
You can e-mail Dennis at: tallent@earthlink.net
Dennis Tallent is a native son of the state of Texas; the direct desendent of an officer of the Texas Revolutionary Army. He is an active member of MENSA, The Libertarian Party and Tebala Shrine Temple. At the moment he is a nursing student at Northern Illinois University in Dekalb, Illinois.
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