It’s all still a little hazy when it comes to my Dad and Lorene finally breaking it off. At night when my parents thought I was sleeping, I would press my ear against the paper-thin faux-wood paneling forcing myself to hear the bits and pieces of arguments and accusations that were coming from my Dad and Lorene’s bedroom. My Dad worked as a pizza delivery driver and once at work had discovered from a co-worker that Lorene had been seen at the only gay bar in town on a few occasions. If you’ve ever been to Abilene, TX you’ll know that there is a church on practically every corner. The air is thick with self-righteousness and constant hypocrisy. It’s a mystery how this bar ever survived in a town like Abilene, especially considering the fact that with a church on every corner, it didn’t take too long for gossip to spread around. To add to the confusion, it seemed as though this was a time in history when apparently anything was possible, Bill Clinton had just lied on oath about having sex with his intern. My dad didn’t have to convince himself that the sky was falling, he could feel it. On most occasions when they fought all I could remember is the day they got married. Lorene was certifiably insane at best, but she was basically a second mother to me and I couldn’t imagine a life without her. For as long as I can remember my dad would compare Lorene to my real mother. After a while I learned to make my own assumptions about people and diagnosed my father as “full of it”, I began to see the world for what it really was even at my young age. For the most part, however, Lorene was all I had really ever known. I rarely got to see my real mother because of the hostile relationship my father had with her.
Lorene and my father married each other at the Church of Christ in the small town we periodically grew up in. It was a small wedding and I was only almost four years old so I barely remember anything but bits and pieces. However, two things stick out fairly well. First is the church. Walking in you saw the normal two isles of pews stained a heavy cherry wood color. These pews always had little pencils in the bible holders that I would use to graffiti the inside covers of hymnal books with unicorns and my own made-up super heroes. Peering over the pews I could see a man marrying Lorene and my father, they each had their own rings and their own vows. My grandfather was also there, mostly because he had in all likely-hood, paid for the wedding and everything else involved. I could tell he was angry about something during the ceremony but never found out for sure what it was. The second thing I remember is their honey-moon. It was a ride home in a 1987 station wagon. All the excitement for getting married had worn off by then and the two were already picking at each other over a secret Lorene had to confess to my dad, one she had probably already confessed to my grandfather. I remember it was about another girl, a friend they both knew. I was young and later looked back on the situation when I played dolls with the girl next door to our yellow H.U.D. house. This was my idea of marriage; I had known that they were together as boyfriend and girlfriend at first and that now after getting married they had to stay together no matter what happened. Marriage was a car ride to church happy and a car ride home upset. We went back to my grandfather’s house afterwards; my dad took off his shoes and started watching the news. Years later I played with my friend’s Ken dolls next door and suddenly had a vague idea that Lorene was a lot like me. 
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