Blind-Sided

Nobody really reads my blogs. I'm happy about that. Especially now. Friends, I've been blind-sided. Bamboozled. Taken in by the old Hoboken Hustle. Whatever that means.

It all started this morning when Big Daddy was taking me to the local Park N Ride. This is a morning ritual for us, but a tad bit different today. First of all, we were in our landlord/roommate's car because (see previous post) my car was still in the shop. Secondly, we had to pull over because we both got teary-eyed over something he said. What he said started the blind-siding process. I mentioned to him that Christmas is only a week away. He said, "I don't want you to get me anything for Christmas, just being with you is enough for me". I immediately get teary-eyed, something I rarely do. And he gets teary-eyed and has to pull over because he can't see. Now Big Daddy is a sensitive sort, so he pulls over and we hug, kiss and cry together.

I hand him my debit card so he can take it to the shop to pay for my car. Yes! We'll have wheels for the first time in a week. We make plans for him to pay for the car, then when he picks me up from the Park N Ride in our roomie's car, we'll drive directly to the garage and pick it up.

He moved on to bamboozling when he calls me at 4:15 and says he just left the garage. Excellent. Then he texts me at 5:00 and says he's waiting for me at the Park N Ride. Better. Then texts me again at 5:05 and says he's going to run to the gas station (across street) to go pee. I get to the Park N Ride at 5:15 and no Big Daddy. I wait a few minutes and try to call him. No answer. I guess this is the time I should say that we live a good ways away from the Park N Ride. Really, a GOOD ways away. I find this out THE HARD WAY when I start walking home. On my way home, I call him several times. NO response. I have to call the roomie and see if he's there. He's not. I have to tell her he never picked me up in her car. Shit. I find out THE HARD WAY that it takes about two hours to walk from the Park N Ride to my house, in heels, and freezing weather.

As I'm walking, I get uneasy that him not picking me up might mean he never paid for my car. I call a good friend of his and explain the situation to him. He is livid. Unbeknownst to me, Big Daddy has pulled this sort of thing before. Ahhhh, NOW you tell me. Friend of Big Daddy (FOBD) calls around to see if he can find him. Nothing. Roomie calls me to ask for updates, and to make sure I'm making it home. See, where we live, which is sort of like country living, there are no street lights. I'm wearing a black coat, and brown slacks. Not good. FOBD also calls to check on me walking from time to time, and see if I've heard anything yet.

I walk in the house at 7:30pm, immediately go to the computer and check to see if my debit card has been used at the garage. It hasn't. It HAS been used FIVE times in various amounts about 35 miles away. I immediately report the card stolen and burst into tears. I call FOBD and tell him what happened. I explain to him that I don't care about the money, I just need him to bring my roommate's car back. FOBD understands and says he's been calling around to see if anyone has heard from him. Nobody has. At this point, Big Daddy has been gone with roomie's car for several hours.

Eight o'clock comes and roommie has no other option but to call the police. She doesn't want to, but what else can she do? I don't blame her. The officer comes over and takes her report. I answer all questions posed to me honestly. No, he's never done this before; yes, he's had my debit card many times before and never acted irresponsibly with it; no, I don't think he has a drug problem; yes, I have his cell number and I provide it. Hey, I'm paying the bill and it's in my name, I can give out the number. The officer asks roomie if she really just wants to get her car back. She does. He agrees to put out an APB-type of thing where the cops will just look for her car and if they see it, they'll stop him just to check on his well-being and if he's fine, tell him to just call roomie or me in their presence and then drive the car home. We all agree that's a good way to handle it.

Then he gets the cops with the old Hoboken Hustle. They call his cell number. Someone answers, doesn't say anything, and quickly hangs up. They call back. A female answers, and the cop asks for Big Daddy. She says he's not there, she found his cell phone abandoned at a bar. They ask where. She gives the name and location and says her name is Jennifer. The local cops call the cops where the bar is located. They send out a cruiser to check it out. As they do that, the call goes out and FOBD's father hears it on his police scanner, when they mention Big Daddy's name. FOBD calls his brothers and they immediately go out looking for Big Daddy. So the cops show up at the bar, and ask for Jennifer. Of course, there is nobody there named Jennifer. The phone isn't there either. Roomie's car is nowhere to be found. The cops there call the cops here and explain. The cops here are mad now. They're being fucked with, and they know it. They immediately up the well-being-check to a full-out warrant.

It's now 1:30am and no word from Big Daddy. His cell phone is my old one, so I know the battery is probably good and dead now. Anytime I've tried to call, it goes directly to voice mail. I don't care about the money, I care about my roommate's car. She needs it. She paid for it. It's hers.

People, I'm a pretty smart cookie. I can usually read people pretty well. But this man got me pretty good. He got me for a few hundred dollars, which is small potatoes compared to him getting my heart. When we first got together, he once told me, "you can fuck with my head all day long, but please don't fuck with my heart". I never thought he'd do it to me. I remember the times we talked all night long about our feelings for each other. I'd overheard him tell others how he fell in love and just couldn't go home. But mostly, I remember that last drive to the Park N Ride, where we had to pull over because we were both teary-eyed after declaring our love for each other.

He got my heart, and he threw it out the window like a cigarette butt when it's reached the filter. He took my trust in him and dropped it off like old clothes at the donation bin. Then he drove off, finished with the nicotine and glad someone else can use the hand-me-downs. I can't imagine he'd think he can actually come back here to live with me at this point.

Friends, this was a shock to me. I'm sad, disappointed, mad, and confused. I don't know what I'll say to him when he picks up his things. Sometimes I think I'd like to know if he ever loved me, but I know that doesn't matter. What matters is that I loved him. And I'm broken hearted.