08-FD-336102 - Part II

This was written at a coffee shop on the corner of Queen St. W. & John St.

It's done. Done. Over. Signed and sealed, just waiting to be delivered.

I'm usually very particular about what I choose to wear on days like today - life changing events. However, as I thought about it in the shower this morning, I decided that I really don't give a shit today. It's not like my outfit is going to bring me luck or change the outcome.

I wore my white Ginger Spice shirt with an off white skirt and black flip flops. I purposely didn't wear my mother's earrings. Instead I wore a pair of amethyst and diamond earrings I bought myself back in March, after my first failed attempt at finishing off the divorce. I also purposely wore an old grey sweater that I stole from my Dad about 12 years ago. I always wear it when I need comfort.

I contemplated wearing my wedding band. I had a vision that as the clerk turned away to file my case, I'd take off my ring and leave it on the counter. The clerk would turn again and see that I was gone, and in my place, my lonely ring. The music swells, the camera pulls back into a wide shot, and then fade to black.

In reality, the clerk would pick up the ring, toss it into a drawer with countless other rings whose owners were feeling dramatically melancholic, and the sell the lot on Ebay in her monthly auction.

I had Amy Winehouse blasting in my earbuds as I got off the subway. Ironically the songs "Wake Up Alone" and "Some Unholy War" were playing at the time I was making my way into the courthouse. I decided that I shouldn't feel any different when I finally got up there. Today was just an arbitrary line in the sand. Had my separation agreement stated July 14, 2007 as the last day we were together, then I would have been making that walk yesterday. And yesterday I was just as ready and not sad about the marriage ending. I did sad back in October when I lost my marbles and had to take a leave of absence from work.

I got up to the 10th floor, hung a left and started the process again. James Bond was at his desk giving directions to two ladies in line ahead of me. One thing I hadn't noticed the first two times at the courthouse was how many women were there. I'm sure most of them were there for the same reason I was.

James looked over my paperwork and asked if there were any children born of the marriage. Nope. He hand marked zero on one of the pages of my affidavit. He questioned an order I'd asked for covering my costs. "Let me know how that goes. I don't think it's going to wash with the judge." Geez. You'd think I was asking the court to order Simon be skinned alive. I did all the grunt work in getting this shit together. The least the asshole can do is pay for it.

James ordered me over to the file room to pick up my case file. As I crossed that hallway, something changed. Suddenly, the whole situation really started to suck.

I filled out the case file request card and a clerk retrieved my folder. He handed it to me and I walked away, back to where James was waiting on the other side. "Ma'am! Ma'am! You can't leave the room with that!" Oops. "We don't want to have to call security." Oh for fuck's sake, it was an honest mistake. I forgot about that rule - look only, no touching. Another clerk grabbed the file from me and walked it back behind the counter. The first clerk pointed out my mistake, I had checked "Viewing" instead of "Counter Tray". Excuuuuuuuuse me. The second clerk took my file and walked it over to James. He was guarding it like I was about to mug him for it. I could have taken him, he was a pussy. :P

I got my number from James - B3 - and sat down to wait. Again, the feeling of weird was happening. Not quite sad, but I was no longer happy. I thumbed through my paperwork until I got to my marriage certificate. That little piece of paper was still binding me to Simon.

I remember one particularly nasty fight we had where he had grabbed the certificate and threatened to rip it up. I totally fucking lost it on him. I grabbed his sketch book that had a number of drawings he had been labouring over for a few weeks.

"Give it back or I trash your drawings!" I yelled.

"You fucking stupid bitch. I hate you!" He screamed back.

"Give it back RIGHT NOW!" I screamed as I held his book up over my head.

He relented and put down the certificate. I threw his book at him. I picked up my precious piece of paper. He'd bent the folder it was in a little bit. That infuriated me even more because the folder had cost $25, and I hadn't wanted to spend the extra money on top of the already $500 we were spending on the ceremony. I tried to bend it back into shape. I opened it up to make sure the paper itself was okay, which surprisingly it was.

It was such a pretty certificate, much nicer and more ornate than the ones they hand out for Ontario marriages. It was colourful and had a pretty silver seal. That piece of paper represented the only time in my marriage that I had been truly happy. The five days we were in Vegas getting hitched were an absolute dream. That piece of paper was the keeper of my sweet blissful memory. And that motherfucker tried to rip it up.

And now I was a few minutes away from having to hand it over to an anonymous clerk. I didn't want to. I wanted to keep it, to keep my small moment of happiness, where all my dreams had come true and I was to live happily ever after.

There was nothing I could do to keep the clerk from getting it. I couldn't threaten to tear up her files. I couldn't cry or scream or freak out. I had to surrender it, in exchange for my freedom.

She was going over my paperwork and asked me, as James had, if there were any children born of the marriage. "No, THANK GOD" was my response. She hand marked another part of my affidavit saying as such. That made me wonder how many people have lied on their application. I wonder if it was mothers lying so the fathers wouldn't have claim over the children? Perhaps they were protecting the children from abusive fathers. Perhaps they were being vindictive and using the kids as weapons.

Stamp, sign, stamp, sign, staple, label - done.

And that was it. Done.

She wished me a nice day.

I left with my receipt of payment and suddenly I felt really sad. I remembered all the excitement I was filled with when Simon asked me to marry him. I remembered how happy I was that he agreed to eloping in Vegas and getting married by Elvis. I remembered all the planning and booking and organizing I did to make my dream wedding a reality. I remembered finding my dress, finding his suit, finding my wedding band and getting it sized the day before we left. I remembered the morning of our wedding and breakfast in the hotel restaurant. The limo ride to the chapel. The crazy awesome way Elvis walked me down the aisle. The vows. The kiss. The pictures. The champagne toast in the hotel bar. The call to our parents. Their reaction of pure joy. All our firsts as husband and wife.

And all that's left is a receipt for $280.

I sent a text to my DT. "It's done. I feel weird."

"I know. It's ok. Enjoy the spa and let this day wash over you and wash away."

I walked to the corner of Queen & John. I don't know what it is about that particular spot in the city, but whenever I need solace, I go there.

And as I have been sitting here, drinking coffee and writing it all down over the last hour, I've cried. My tears are mixed up - some of joy, some of anger, and some of sadness.

I didn't get to live happily ever after as a Mrs. I didn't even really get to live all that happily.

But now it's just me - Miss Paprika. And I get to choose how my ending is to play out, and everything in between.

R.I.P.
One Really Bad Marriage
08 JAN 2006 - 15 JULY 2008

A new life begins today.