The brutal breakup between Twice and myself occurred sometime in August of 2015. We’d been together nearly two and a half years before that epic showdown. The days that followed were a blur as I retreated into the depths of myself, placing my body on autopilot. I moved in with my Aunt Em and her boyfriend, Stephen, who lived in a trailer nearby and got a job waitressing at a local restaurant. I couldn’t even escape the trauma of my recent breakup in sleep, haunted as it was by nightmares.
I tried to distract myself by partying with Stephen’s family and friends out in Richton. I was told the best way to get over a man was to get under another. I tested this theory more than once to no avail. I was naught but a hollowed-out shell. Sex was a meaningless act that was rarely even fruitful enough to bring physical satisfaction.
Josh, Stephen’s brother, and his wife Misty lived with their two young children in a trailer in the wooded depths of Richton. Aunt Em and Stephen spent many weekends there, with me tagging along, partying and enjoying Sunday dinners. We’d gather on the front porch, enjoying the Autumn evenings with margaritas or beers in hand. Laughter echoed through the trees as we forgot our worries and woes amongst friends.
Plenty of guys my age were in attendance with their trucks and ATVs. I was invited to hop into one of these more than once before going to spin out and do donuts in the red dirt crossroads nearby. These “roads” were made of red claylike dirt that remained moist and muddy, and the ruts had to be filled frequently for safe passage. The donuts and other shenanigans only worsened the state of disrepair, but I can’t deny there was a thrill unlike any other in flying around the muddy curves before spinning in circles.
We’d stay overnight on Saturdays and laze about Misty and Josh’s home on Sundays. Sunday dinners were the perfect way to wrap up a weekend of gaiety and laughter. I was told that cousins of mine lived nearby one of these weekends, and I made a trip to visit with them. Aunt Em had an older brother, Shane, who had 4 sons and a daughter with his wife, Jennifer. I’d grown up with the boys when I spent my childhood days at Aunt Lynn’s. Austin, the oldest, and Dalton, the second, were closest to my age, if a year or two younger than myself. They were living in the trailer their parents and siblings had just moved out of.
On my first visit with these cousins, I met a girl named Dana. She and I became fast friends and were nearly inseparable from then on. Alcohol flowed freely and the pungent smoke of marijuana filled the air as we all buried our problems at this initial gathering of new and old acquaintances. I learned rather quickly that I cannot mix alcohol and weed without terrible consequences. I spent most of the evening hallucinating rivers of arms amongst the leaves on the ground and panthers stalking us in the darkness. The hallucinations faded just as the projectile vomiting began. I vowed to myself that I’d never mix the two substances again.
I spent all of my spare time between shifts at work with Dana, clinging to this friendship that somewhat dimmed my anguish. I was still unable to forget Twice or ignore the constant pain I felt, but I could at least fill the void somewhat with a different kind of love. I finally felt again as though someone cared about me, and I had someone with whom I could share my thoughts and concerns. Dana and I would spend hours on the phone without even realizing the passage of time.
Eventually, I’d begun staying with Dana at her mom’s home in Poplarville. One day, I went for a visit and never really left. Her sister, Brandy, lived there with her husband, Rusty, and son, Brandon. Dana had three children that lived there, also, Dixie, Justin, and CJ. Mahh, as I had taken to calling Dana’s mom, welcomed me with open arms and a warm heart. I felt so at home with this family that took me in without question. I got a job at the local truck stop, Love’s, and applied to PRCC that January. I began my first day of school on my twenty first birthday, and I started my new job the next day.
I had no idea quite how to manage this new life, and I struggled to maintain a balance between work, school, and my friends. I used excess grant money the school had refunded me to purchase a white Tahoe. I never really planned out this decision, as the payments were beyond my capabilities in the long run.
Dana was dating a guy named Chris, and I had taken a liking to his brother, Blake. I quit my job sometime in July that year because I had begun to spend time with my new boyfriend. I was unwilling to risk a relationship for something so trivial as a paycheck.
Sometime during this phase of poor decision making, I found Twice on Facebook. He’d apparently made a new profile, though I was unsurprised. He frequently forgot his sign in information. I was stoned, and I thought it a great idea to reach out. I’d heard some things from a mutual acquaintance that I wanted to rub in his face. I tapped the phone icon on Messenger and held my breath as the ringing tone sounded over my phone’s speakers.
I was shaken when the voice that had haunted my dreams and memories answered in a low voice. Taking a moment to recover, I mentally kicked myself for not thinking this through. Dumbly, I asked what he was up to. His sigh rattled statically through the speaker. I quickly seized a flare of courage and said, “I heard your little girlfriend lost custody of her kid. Couldn’t stay off the dope?”
His reply included profanity and a recommendation that I mind my own business.
That was the entirety of our first conversation in nearly a year. It wasn’t the last, though. I would randomly message him, falsely believing that I’d never heal from our separation. I was convinced that our reunion would be the only thing to stop the pain that had held my heart and soul captive. Our exchanges grew flirtatious, and I grasped these chances with frantic hope. Breaking up with Blake, abruptly and with no explanation, I moved back in with Aunt Em.
Filled with optimism, I sent pictures that contained my scantily clad body in flattering poses to Twice. His responses encouraged my advances, and he dared me to come over one night to finish what I’d started. I eagerly complied with his wish, and we reunited in the back of my Tahoe. I tried to pretend indifference and a lack of emotion. I thought if Twice believed I didn’t care, he might want me more. We met up a few more times before we admitted to each other that we wanted to be together again.
The fiery passion we’d felt for each other before the decline of our previous relations reignited almost immediately. It felt almost as if we’d never fought or harmed one another. I shoved that part of me that shouted warnings into a hidden corner of my mind and locked her away. I allowed myself to become lost in wishful thoughts and desires of a future with this man who’d inflicted so much damage. His touch was a balm for my tender wounds. His honeyed words soothed my fears. Twice apologized for the hurt he’d caused with both his words and his body. He held me tightly as I cried and told him how lost I’d been. The barriers I’d so carefully erected around my heart dissipated as I gave Twice unrestricted access to it once more.
I’d moved my thing’s from Mah’s house back into my Aunt Emily’s when I began to have hopes for a reunion with Twice. After we resumed our relationship as though nothing had happened, Twice stayed the nights with me at Aunt Emily’s. The following days blur together in my memories.
Sometime in March of 2017 Twice was pulled over in Lamar County for some inconsequential reason. He had warrants in Jones County for previous crimes that he’d yet to attend to and was taken to jail. I was shattered all over again. I felt unable to live without Twice, and I didn’t know how long this forced separation would last. I made numerous calls to courthouse officials and attorneys on Twice’s behalf, and the recipients of my queries seemed reluctant to assist me. I was treated as though I was either a criminal myself or the naïve girlfriend of one. While the latter may have been true, I was persistent in my pursuit for answers. I got a job at a local Sweet Peppers Deli, and I spent every spare minute on the phone with clerks and office assistants employed by Jones County.
Since I neglected to include this in a previous post, I’ll tell the story of Twice’s initial arrest that led to this state of affairs. While Twice and I lived in the camper in 2013, he was spending his free time collecting and hauling scrap metal to the scrap yard for extra cash. On one of these trips, he took his little brother with him to purchase some marijuana. Though he had in the past, Twice did not smoke weed at the time. His brother, along with some friends, did smoke it, and the dealer was apparently located somewhere in Jones County. On their way back from their illegal shopping trip, Twice saw blue lights flash in the rearview mirror. The officer approached his window and informed him that there were no lights on the trailer.
Upon running their names through his system, the officer learned of an old warrant for Spotlighting and arrested Twice. Before he was searched, Twice confessed to the illegal substance within his possession. Apparently, he’d already separated it out into two separate baggies for his brother and friend(s). This made what should have been a misdemeanor into a felony charge. The charge was “Possession of Marijuana with Intent to Distribute.” The bond was set at $10,000. I know, there are actual criminals out there harming people and getting away with it, but we’re stressing over some weed. *Insert eye roll*
He was bailed out after 3 days in jail. At the following court session, Twice was informed that he could perform a set number of hours of community service and pay a fine over a specified span of time, and the charges would be dropped from his record completely. To my utter and complete frustration, Twice was a stubborn idiot who chose to ignore the problem rather than face it. So, when he was pulled over in 2017, the warrant had been issued for his arrest, once again.
Now, back to the story of his second arrest in our time(s) together. Time passed sluggishly as I remained suspended in a state of melancholy. After a couple of months, I fell behind in my vehicle payments due to the exorbitant costs of phone cards and food for Twice. My Tahoe was repossessed sometime that June. I visited the jail nearly every weekend and left in tears after each visit. Twice was a picture of misery in the orange jumpsuit he wore behind that thick, dirty glass. He wove tales of the redemption he’d found in his new relationship with God and promised a better life upon his release. He swore to be a better father to his sons and a better man for me. I was putty in his hands, hanging on to his every syllable.
I have no doubts that Twice believed what he told me to be true. He meant every word he spoke from within the confines of the cold brick walls of Jones County Jail. I resolved to do everything within my power to help free him. I obtained a slightly better job with a nearby veterinary clinic as a kennel technician. Basically, I fed and watered boarding dogs and cats, cleaned the shit from their kennels, and bathed pets at the request of their owners. While the job didn’t quite challenge me mentally, it was physically demanding work.
One of my coworkers and I became fast friends. Rebecca was a little older than I, and we shared a sense of humor many could never understand. We could share a look and burst into a bout of laughter that would leave us gasping for breath and wiping the tears from our eyes. I can remember one time, Rebecca and I came from two rooms on opposite ends of the hall singing the same line from Eye of the Tiger.
I was able to bail Twice out of jail shortly after beginning my new job at Animal Medical Center. He’d spent the better part of four months in the custody of Jones County, and my relief at his safe return to my arms overshadowed the pain to which I’d become accustomed. We had much to do in the days that followed. Twice and I still had no place to call our own, so we stayed with my Aunt Em, our welcome wearing thin rather quickly. Brad, a man Twice had worked for many times over the majority of his life, looked on Twice as the son he never had. He gifted Twice with his wife’s old vehicle in exchange for the promise of good behavior. Obviously, I was not alone in my naivety.
We had a disagreement with my uncle that led to our departure from the home of my Aunt Em. Thankfully, we did not have to live in the bed of Twice’s newly acquired Ford Explorer for long. The heat of the August nights was nearly unbearable that Summer of 2017, and we spent a fortune to keep the gas tank full enough for air conditioning to help us sleep. Soon, Brad met with a hunting buddy of his who owned some rebuilt duplexes in Collins. He agreed to lease an apartment to Twice, waiving the usual deposits and fees. This was the first place we’d shared that was our own aside from the cramped space of our camper.
Sadly, despite everything working in his favor, Twice seemed incapable of remaining true to his word. He was unable to resist the call of his past.
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