The stomach-turning reality of abuse

Page 17

THE URBANE INDIAN

Just the other day I had an uncomfortable demonstration of two different types of stupidity demonstrated by two different types of men. Unfortunately, I was one of them.

It didn't happen recently. In fact it happened several years back, but it was only a few days ago I found out about it. And it's left me feeling... I guess odd would be the best word.

I have an acquaintance. For the sake of argument, let's call her Mary. In the community I work in, that of the writing field, I would occasionally bump into her, every couple years or so. Evidently, the last time I came into contact with her was during a book tour I was on some time back where she interviewed me and got me to sign her book. I'm not even sure what I wrote, but being genuinely fond of her in a platonic sense, and in a playful and teasing mood, it ended up being something to the effect of "Mary, you're fabulous. Let's run off together and get married. Drew." And then she disappeared for another few years.

I ran into this woman again, after several years, at an arts function. After some brief salutations, Mary filled me in on the intervening years. After our last encounter, she said, she took the book home and proudly showed it to her boyfriend. He read my inscription and, using her words, proceeded to "beat the crap" out of her. Because of my flippant dedication, he automatically assumed there was more to the joke then there was, and decided to register his disapproval in a physical manner.

When she told me this, my jaw dropped. Immediately feelings of anger, guilt, surprise and a host of other powerful emotions swelled up inside me. Basically, I was responsible for a woman being beaten by her spouse. Always fervently opposed to domestic abuse, the news struck me to the core. I was stunned. Unfortunately I've been in situations before where I've said or done something in a joking fashion that was wildly inappropriate, only to have it result in embarrassing repercussions. I think everybody's been in a situation like that. But this, by far, took the proverbial cake for me.

Mary then told me that for the next year or so she was furious and very angry with me, and looked forward to confronting me about the result of my clever and witty little comment. Had I known all this had happened, I would have gladly presented my neck for ritual decapitation.

Instead, to my surprise, she thanked me. Once more I was stunned. Because of this horrible, violent act, she said, I saved her life. I'm paraphrasing Mary, but evidently it took her a while to properly assess the environment she had been in. She had placed herself in a situation with a very controlling man that was both her fiance and tutor for school. The assault precipitated her leaving the relationship. It was then that she had the time, and the distance, to better reflect on what had happened. Her friends, who had always had concerns about the man, supported and told her she was lucky to get out when she did.

Mary doesn't blame me anymore for what happened. All I did, Mary says, was force the issue to the surface where she could see him for what he was. Basically, my attempt at humor forced him out of the closet, so to speak. In fact, she hugged me after our talk. Now she's off on her own, having a wonderful and exciting career. So, I guess it was a good thing that it happened. I guess...

Still, I feel weird, conflicted. Indirectly (or directly) I was responsible for the abuse of a woman. That turns my stomach. It never would have happened if I hadn't written that dedication. She counters that yes, it quite probably would have happened eventually. There would have just been a different trigger, maybe when she wasn't in a position to leave so easily. Using a bad metaphor, it's something like having heart surgery. It's painful and scary, but it's better than the alternative.

Ironically, I make my living as a humorist (though some might disagree).

I'm reminded of a comment mad by Dick Gregory, one of the two leading and most influential African-American comics (with Richard Pryor) of the 1960s. When he decided to give up the stage, people asked him why.

"After awhile, things stop being funny" he said.

So Mary's at peace with the world and has got on with her life. Now it's my turn to try and reason this all out. That, and why is it some women never get the men they deserve? And vice versa.

The book I signed all those years ago that started this all... she says she still hasn't read it. I don't blame her.