Every time I looked at that little baby, I saw Richard Spier. Maybe I'm crazy, but I know what I saw. And it hurt every time. The feeling of betrayal and heartache never failed to show up.So, I avoided the situation. Just like I always have. When a problem arises, I avoid the situation in every possible way. I reconnected with my old friends from college, and rarely went home at night. Sometimes I would go into the office drunk–that is if I even showed up at all.
It wasn't surprising when my boss approached me one day, and gave me a warning. And being the arrogant jerk that I was, I pulled that "You can't fire me, I quit" gag. I went on a drunken rant about going out west and being my own man, packed up my belongings and just walked out. Just like that. All of that hard work and dedication and I just quit my job. It wasn't until I sobered up that I realized what I had done. I realized that Elizabeth was going to kill me.
All of the fights and arguments that Elizabeth and I had ever had came rushing into my mind as I drove around aimlessly that evening. All of the yelling and screaming, the kids crying...it all came rushing back. I pictured the fear in my children's eyes when we fought. I pictured the way that they looked when one of us got angry and left. I couldn't do that to them again. I could do them a favor, and not put them through that. I could just not come home, and they wouldn't have to hear about our problems. 5 miles until Stoneybrook. In the back of my head, all I could do was picture the big fight that was coming. Elizabeth's nagging. Kids crying. I couldn't take it anymore. 2 ½ miles. Exit now. Exit Patrick. Exit. If I passed the exit, I wouldn't have to face the fight. And I've always been a lover, not a fighter. So, I did the only logical thing that I could do. Fight or Flight. I passed my exit and continued west. Flight it was.
"Yes," I thought to myself. "I'm a pioneer. Just like in the wild west days. I'm a regular Indian outlaw. On the run, not a care in the world. I'm my own man."
My idiot mind set lasted for quite awhile. I'd barely gotten to the next town when I started to second guess myself. I should have turned around then. But I didn't. I just kept going. With each new state, I started to feel more and more regret. More pain. And every time I felt that pain, I remembered the pain waiting for me back home. The pain of knowing that my youngest son wasn't mine. The pain of seeing Richard Spier every morning on my way to work. The pain of having 4 kids, a wife, a house and bills to pay for. The pain of not having a job to pay for any of that. So I kept going. New Jersey. I kept going. Pennsylvania. Don't turn back now, Patrick. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois. By that point, I figured I was screwed anyway, and there was no point in going back now. I got a room at a hotel in the middle of hillbilly town, Illinois, and was on my way. I didn't know where I was going. I was just...going. And eventually, I ended up in California.
I admit that I was an idiot. I knew that I was an idiot the moment I passed that exit. But it was all about my pride, or lack thereof. Regardless of what you may have heard from other sources, I tried to contact my children. I tried to re-establish a life with them and make up for what I did. But my bitch of a wife–excuse my language–made sure that wasn't going to happen. The first time I called, the children were sleeping, and boy did she let me have it. "How could you quit your job?" "How could you leave me here to raise 4 kids?" "What were you thinking? How are we supposed to get by without any money?" Nag, nag, nag. Finally, being the smart charming man that I am, I retorted "Why don't you get your bastard son's father to help you?" Then, of course, she hung up on me. Smooth, Patrick.
Things didn't get any better after that, of course. Every time I called and asked to speak with the children, she wouldn't let me. I asked her, sarcastically of course, if the children knew that their father was missing. Of course they did. Only, their mother made it look like I had completely abandoned them, and never wanted to see them again. Well...I guess that first part was true. For awhile. But not the second part. I had to see my kids. I tried writing letters. They got sent back to me. I tried calling when Elizabeth got her new job(Yes, she actually got a job. Surprised me too.). The number had changed. She was punishing me. She was keeping me from my children, the three people that I'd worked hardest for in my life. The three people that I'd lived for. Every year I sent cards, letters, gifts, and money. And it all came back.. Except for the money. Elizabeth loves money.
That's why it doesn't surprise me that she married a millionaire a few years later. That poor sap. But I guess he doesn't have to hear her constant nagging about bringing more money home. This guy has enough money to use as firewood, apparently. How do I know this? Oh, she was kind enough to write me a letter, bragging about her new found love, and her children's new father. Her children. That's what she called them. Of course she attached their new address to the letter, saying that if I wanted to send money, I was more than welcome to. As if the bitch needed it. She also had the decency to inform me that my children no longer looked to me as a father, but as the jerk that abandoned them and made them miserable. If only they knew the truth.