A Man Named Dave

there’s something out there that would make you happy …” As I searched for the elusive answer, the more guilty I began to feel. Was I saying Patsy had to spend money in order to find happiness? If Patsy had everything she desired, that would somehow fill the void of whatever troubled her? I wondered if maybe Patsy spent so much in part because I did not provide for her emotional needs.
    Suddenly, I felt I was being snowed. “Hold on! Wait up!” I said. “No, it’s not about money –”
    “Bullshit!” Patsy yelled. “Even your grandmother says so. Everybody knows that’s all you care about. Money, money, money. That’s all you’re worried about. You need to chill out.”
    “You don’t get it. It’s like you don’t want to understand. We have a son, we need to save for Stephen’s college. We owe him that, and a home, a real home, that’s ours. We’re not going to be in the air force forever. You may not see it, but there’s a lot of changes coming down the pike, and we’re spending everything we have.”
    “Don’t give me that ‘poor house’ attitude,” Patsy said, shaking her head. “I know you always have some kind of secret stash. We’ll be fine. You act as if the sky is always falling.”
    “Patsy,” I said, “it’s not about the money, it’s about us! It’s at the point you don’t even care. I know you do, a lot, and I appreciate everything but… at times I feel like all I do is clean up after you. It’s like you don’t even think about the consequences of what you do. Do you really think I like battling you just to drag out a shred of information, just so I can fix something you did?
    “Yeah,” I went on, “I want a home! I want to save for our son’s future! Does that really make me a bad guy? I’ve been working my tail off for what, since I was thirteen, and even before that as my mom’s slave? A slave! And I’m tired of it. So, if having only one credit card and saving a few bucks makes me the bad guy … then I’m guilty. The bottom line is: I still have to fix your mess.”
    “Damn straight you will!” Patsy blared as she brushed past me. “Just fix it. Besides, what am I supposed to do? When you’re home, you spend more time with Stephen than me.”
    “Hang on for a moment.” I tried to stop her by grabbing her arm. But by the flash in her eyes, I knew I had pushed too far.
    “Get your hand off of me, Mister Child Abuse Prevention Advocate.” Dazed by her statement, I dropped my hand. “Got your attention, didn’t I?” Patsy said. “Just fix it and get over it.” After Patsy stormed out of the house, I removed a piece of paper that I kept behind my checkbook. I scribbled the new bill next to the other bills that had mounted over the past several years. At least, I sighed to myself, I had my job at juvenile hall. It had started as a way to earn extra money, but had become necessary for survival. With my forehead resting on my hands, I began to shudder. All I could do was pray there weren’t any more of my credit cards floating around.
     
    It took me nearly a month to get over our latest crisis. As much as Patsy continued to say she was sorry, I brushed her off. After years of hearing the same thing over and over again, I had grown numb to anything that she did that was unrelated to Stephen. All I could do was pray every time I opened a piece of mail or answered the phone that I did not discover another catastrophe. My concern became more intense as rumors began to circulate that the air force might initiate cutbacks in my field. Fearful of the outside world and limited prospects, I worried about not being able to take care of my family.
    Finally I got over my resentment. After dropping off Stephen at Dottie Mae’s house for the weekend, I took Patsy out on a rare dinner date. As we ate, I held Patsy’s hand and apologized for acting like a child. “I know it’s not easy, and I don’t wanna come off like some hard ass … but I just get scared. I know what it’s like to go hungry, to be without, and I can’t,” – I stopped, shaking my head – “I won’t allow that to happen to you and Stephen. I know you used some of that money to buy me some pants.”
    “You never do anything for yourself. I was gonna surprise you,” Patsy said.
    “Well,” I laughed, “I was surprised. I also know by the credit card statement that you didn’t buy a lot for yourself. I’m sorry. I feel like an ass that I can’t do more for you. That’s the reason why I work so hard. Someday, if we’re lucky, we’ll be able to do things. It’s