Finally: a tome-length summary (ha!) of my trip to Boston

                                                One of Vincent's pieces I saw at the museum

Do y'all remember me being super excited about going to see some friends in Boston in August, yeah?  I just realized that I never really talked about that trip. It was to see Carmine and Paula.  I met them 15 years ago on a cruise and we hit it off and have stayed in touch all these years.   When I decided to change my life and head overseas to teach, Carmine and Paula invited me to come visit them before I go which I decided to do.  It was a no-brainer.  a--see old friends b--see Boston c--visit my 29th state d--Vincent Van Gogh had some paintings at the Boston fine arts museum.  I was all for it. I was set. I was ready to go.  I found tickets at the reasonable (I guess??) price of $275 and Carmine and Paula were going to pick me up at the airport.

My arrival was awesome and my first day there was beautiful. We got back to their home, ate a sandwich lunch, sat out on the back porch, in the beautiful low-eighties, drank tea, and caught up.  I felt quite at home and was so happy to see my old friends.  The only weird thing on Tuesday was when I put my feet on the coffee table so that i could perch my computer on my lap. I asked Paula if it was okay and she said it was fine.  Then, a few hours later, Carmine told me not to do that. I was apologetic and told him that Paula had said it was okay. He said, "Paula woke up on the wrong side of the bed. She woke up on the wrong side of the bed."   Well, of course, I was going to obey his request, but the way he talked about her was so weird.  Later, while we were watching the  news, I (not-thinking) perched the side of my left foot on the very edge of the coffee table and he said, in a loud, stern voice 'FOOT."  It took me a minute because I didn't even REALIZE that I had put it on the table, but it clicked and I removed it.  

Wednesday morning, we got up and went to the Boston Fine Arts museum downtown.  Carmine stayed out with the car and Paula and I went in to enjoy the art.  It was really awesome!  I got to stand within 3 feet of FOUR different Vincent Van Gogh paintings.  Just remembering it makes me cry.   I also got to see several other 'Old Masters' and some current, modern artists and they had a whole section of Americana art and furniture and an African Kings exhibit and a 'used' paper exhibit where the artist used scraps of colored magazine papers and other kinds to make pictures. It was awesome.   It was the best part of my visit, really--especially in hindsight.  I'll try to make another blog with the photos from that trip.

On the way home from the museum, Carmine was a little stressed.  He put the blame on the ugly traffic and I believed him.  We got home and then had a weird afternoon. Carmine was obviously in a mood about something.  He was skulking around in the kitchen. I could hear him cussing in Italian (and it seemed directed at me, for some reason.)    At another point, he 'fixed' a chair that I had pushed back into the table and I apologized (sincerely, really...) for him  having to bother with it.  I had assumed I had done it properly (turns out he is a little anal about how things have to be in his home).   After my apology, he called me a moron in Italian. Obviously, I was offended.  That isn't the way decent people treat guests in their home, right?   And--Honestly, Carminen--if we're going to be assessing intelligence quotions....well.....let's just leave it right there.

So--then, dinner. Yeah. Dinner.  That was a torturous affair.  Paula made a lovely dinner of pork chops, mashed potatoes and frozen spinach.  I want to say in advance that I LOVE spinach...just not frozen spinach.  To clarify, the food was not the reason that dinner was torturous.  Carmine was still in a bad mood.  On the plus side, he turned on this great radio station on siriusxm (maybe Willie's Roadhouse?) with awesome old country.  At least the music was great!!!!  We sat there eating and then not eating and not talking, just listening to music.  He basically forced me to eat a second helping of the nasty frozen spinach.  I really didn't like it, plus, my stomach is smaller since I lost weight and I cannot eat as much as I used to eat.  If I eat more than I should, I am beyond miserable.   But the thing is, I ate it.  Why?  I know I'm kind of a pleaser, but I never would have thought I was this much of a pleaser.  I was starting to feel uneasy and it wasn't just because of Carmine disgustingly rude and disrespectful behavior.  It was because I was ACCEPTING it without calling him out on it.  I KNOW my momma taught me better than to let a man bully me.  I kept thinking to myself, "Why am I doing this? Why am I letting him continue this treatment of me?  Why am I kowtowing to a bully?  Well, I only have blah, blah, blah days left. I am strong I can handle it. It's only two more days. But why am I allowing it."   I was vascillating between allowing myself to submit to a bully and  berating myself for doing it.   It was such a weird situation in my mind.His cold, passive agressive behavior continued for the rest of the night. I stuck it out til nine (but WHY? Why did I 'stick it out?') then told them that my 'jet' was crashing so I was going to head to bed.  

The next day, we had planned to go into the city and take the trolly tour around downtown and maybe go to an aquarium, but the remnants of that Texas storm "Fred" was making his presence known in Boston that Thursday.  I went for a walk that morning, we had a piece of toast for breakfast (one piece of toast with butter!!!!!!) and his weird skulking around the kitchen while Paula and I were in the living room continued.  I was changing clothes in my room (after the walk) when he knocked and then started to come in.  I told him I wasn't dressed and quickly put back on my workout shirt and opened the door.  He came in with a trash bag and said, "I just wanna pick up your candy wrappers."   I told him they weren't candy wrappers. They were my night-time snacks that I kept by my bed just in case I got a low blood sugar at night. But I gave him my empty wrappers and, as he left, he said, "We like to keep a tidy home here. You can tell that, right?  You can tell we keep a nice home, right?"  I told him I could and then I shut the door and started changing again.

It was obvious from his behavior that the way I had set up my room was bothering him, so--after I changed--I picked up the pile of dirty clothes I had hidden behing my suitcase and I put them in it.  I picked up the pile of hair ribbons I had stacked on the dresser, and the brush I had laid on the dresser,  and the toothpaste/brush kit I had laid on the dresser, and the coin change I had put on my dresser, and the wallet I had laid on the bedside table, and the last night-time snack I had laid on the bedside table, and my extra shoes that I had placed on the floor and I put them all back in my suitcase.  The only thing I had left that wasn't in my suitcase were the clean clothes that were in the dresser and my computer and my notebook for practicing my mandarin writing homework. The room was now basically spotless, except the computer, etc sitting neatly on my bed  and the suitcase and backpack that I put as far into the corner near the closet as I possibly could. I wanted it be look like no one was there because it was beyond obvious that the fact that I had normal items sitting out on a dresser and a bedside table was bothering him.  While I was in the process of doing this, Paula knocked on my door and I  greeted her. She opened it and said, "Carmine wants the door open."   Okay.  Whatever, Carmine. Whatever.

Later, I was sitting at the desk in my bedroom doing something on my computer when he noticed me.  He didn't say anything then, but after I was finished, I left the room and left the chair out (accidentally as if I was going to sit back in it)  I didn't think it was necessary to push it back in flush with the desk.  But Carmine did.  He told me later to go push the chair in.  Later, I was feeling a little sleepy, so I went to my room, turned the shades down and laid down.  Carmine knocked and came in and asked what I was doing and then went over to turn the shades back up. I told him I was thinking of taking a nap and I had turned the shades down to stop the light from coming in and that I was planning to return them to normal afterwards. (See how quickly I'm learning to submit to his bullying and rules?  My momma always said I was smart! LOL)  He left them down and said a nap was fine, but then, as he left, said, "Keep the door open."   Ummmmm.....Okay. I'm not allowed to close the door during a nap?  I'm not allowed to have privacy as a full grown adult?  

Lunch was sandwiches again. I had an actual WHOLE sandwich with two slices of bread and a dr. pepper. I was very hungry because of the toast breakfast.  When Paula and went back to the living room after lunch, he continued skulking and i heard him say (quite clearly) "You F***ing Free-loader."   Obviously, I can't verify it, but the man was talking to me.  The whole time since we arrived home from the museum Wednesday afternoon had been a passive=aggressive anger fest on his part, complete with Italian cussing and name-calling, and a general toxic environment. I was hurt, appalled, and baffled.  I had no clue what I could have possibly done to deserve this behavior from him.   Finally, he left to go to the grocery store.  I took the chance and asked Paula if she knew what I had done wrong...that it was obvious that he was angry with me, etc.  She apologized and said he always acted this way (except she used more colorful language.)    I asked her if he would get really angry or if it would cause her problems if I found a reason to change my plane tickets and go home early.  She said that I should go.  She really didn't understand what his deal was either.   

I had finally had enough of the toxic environment that I needed to make the move to go.   I went into my room and was figuring out how to change my ticket, when Carmine walked into the room and sat down on my bed and started basically yelling at me about the pigsty in which I had been keeping the room. Remember what I told you was on the bedside table and dresser==normal stuff people keep there) Honestly, the following is not an exaggeration, at all.  This is the repeating theme that came out of his mouth for at least ten minutes, while I apologized and tried to de-escalate:  

            "How could you keep the room this way? We keep a nice home! Don't we keep a 

              nice home? This room was worse than the town dump! I took a picture of

                it==it was so bad!(with a smirk on his face) How does that Rachel live with 

                 you?  Aren't you ashamed of yourself?  This was worse than the town dump!"

                Then he stood up to his full height, learning forward toward me with his 

                (natural, taller than me, male) tallness, almost like he was trying to intimidate me

                YELLING NOW..."I don't even let my DAUGHTER keep her room as messy as

                 this town dump you had!"

Finally, I'd had enough of trying to placate and de-escalate. I had enough of his bullying. I had enough of his intimidation and passive aggressive anger.  

Me:  "Well, Carmine, You don't have to worry anymore. I'm changing my tickets now. I'll be going home tonight. I'll take an uber to the airport."

Carmine:  "Oh. Okay.  You don't need to take an uber though We'll take you. Would you like that?   I was surprised, especially considering the 'yelling at me" he'd just been doing not even one minute earlier, but I fell for it, anyway.

Me: "Thank you. That would be lovely."  I mean, it was likely going to cost $50 bucks or so.   \

 Carmine; "Yeah. You might as well get as much outta me as you can."

Me:  You know what==I'll just take an Uber.

Then he left my room cussing and complaining. I finished buying my ticket, packed, stripped the bed, and was heading to the front door within 15 minutes, It was only 2:30 and my flight wasn't until 8:00 and I'd have to stay with a mask on until 11 p.m. once I entered the airport, but even that torture was better than another minute in (yes. he was) my torturer's home,  I went to the fridge to get my insulin and was opening the freezer to get my frozen pack (in which I store my insulin during travel) when Carmine just it forcefully.

Carmine:  Stay outta my freezer. What do you need in there?

Me: (as calmly as possible)  The freezer pack I use to keep my insulin cold is in there.

Carmine: Oh. Okay. 

Then I opened it up and had to move a few things around to find it cos they had bought a turnkey in the interim and my freezer bag was hiding under it.  So, I lifted up the turkey, found my freezer bag and put the turkey back down and was removing the bag from the freezer when...

Carmine:  quick throwing things around!!

Me: .................(nothing cos I knew there was no way he would be happy) Then...

Me: Well, thank you for letting me stay in your home, Paula. I appreciate it.

Carmine: Scoff, cuss, complain, as he is walking me out of his home.

As I was actually exiting his home:

Carmine:  You really need a psychiatrist, lady.  You're a nut job! 

I walked down the street with my backpack on my back, pulling my wheeled carry-on bag behind me, trying to ignore him, as he continued to berate and cuss and complain.

Here is definitely one space in time where I did not act how God would want me to do, especially considering that I was leaving. I was out of his home. I was safe. His words didn't mean anything, but--in then end-- I let my hurt and anger take control and--as I kept walking, not looking back--I yelled back at him, "You know what, Carmine? Fangul, Buster!"    I knew I was cussing at him in Italian and I did it anyway.

Eventually, after walking about ten blocks, i stopped at a cleaners and the very nice Korean man let me use his couch, comforted me the only way he knew how with a cold bottle of water, and I called LYFT for a ride to the airport. My African Lyft driver, Steven, and I had a very nice chat about his wife and son (still in Africa) his shared apartment with other African men who were also saving to bring their families to America.  I was able to relax and was safe from the very toxic environment.  I arrived at the airport, checked it, made through a surprisely short security line, had to do a 'personal' pat-down, and a second screening of my luggage, but by 4:30, I was in the airport, awaiting my 8:00 pm flight.

Then I noticed a message from a number I didn't know. I listened to the message, and--are you surprised?==it was from Carmine.

Carmine:  Did you make it back to Austin all right?  Man, Lady--you are a NIGHTMARE! Okay, well, I hope you're safe!"

I'm not kidding. Not even a little.

Later, a different number came up and I answered it. It was Carmine

Carmine:  Are you in Austin yet? 

Me: Nope. My flight leaves at 8:00.

Carmine:  Well, it's too bad you left. I was going to take you out for dinner.

Me:  Well, thank you for the thought, Carmine, but I didn't feel safe or comfortable in your home, anymore.

Carmine: Why not?

Me:.....thinking..

Carmine: Well, go ahead, why didn't you feel safe?

Me...I'm trying to formulate my words.

Carmine:  Oh, well, go ahead, formulate.      (he lets two seconds pass) Yeah, Please formulate.

Me:... Well,  You were rude, passive aggressive, you cussed at me. You called me an "F***ing Free-loader.  You did not behave well toward me, as your guest and I felt...

Carmine:....Well, none of that matters cos you had that room looking like a pig sty!!!

Me:  Carmine, I wish you a happy life, but I'm not having this conversation with you right now.

As, I was hanging up. I got a text from Paula:  "Don't talk to him. Just hang up."  I responded with, "Well, he started out nice. I thought maybe he was going to apologize."   

Paula:  No. He won't. Believe me. He is NOT sorry.

Me:  Okay. I'll block him.

SIGH.

And the thing that is worse to me than that Carmine treated me in such an inhuman, heinous, disrespectful, Mom-n-grandma-shaming way is that I ACTUALLY TOOK it for a whole day.  I was sure that my Momma taught me better than that.  I really was sure that I had understood that lesson.  I have believed in my ability to be strong and take care of myself all these 34 years of being an adult on my own.  One time before I had been physically abused by my boyfriend at Luke Air Force Base and I let it stand, kept dating him, and didn't address it, but I was 21 at the time, so inexperienced with men (they really didn't look at me very much as a teenager. I didn't know WHAT I was doing with the whole dating thing) I KNOW I shouldn't have, but I also understand how I could really not have known...at such a young age...how to respond.  I thought...and have even said numerous times since then....that I would leave if someone treated me in an abusive way.  Carmine wasn't physically abusive, but his verbal and mental abuse was just as bad.   And I put up with it for 24 hours before I "screwed my courage to the sticking-place" and hied up on outta there.      

I hope I never do something like this again.  

I know I am my own worst enemy sometimes, but I really deserve better than to be treated this way and I am--weirdly, I know--sad, hurt, and disappointed in myself for allowing this to happen.  

And secondly and also weirdly:  I have a weird kind of PTSD from it.  Whenever I hear an older man with a northeastern accent, I cringe. Even if it is on t.v. or the radio. My back tightens up and I feel, momentarily, unsafe.  I doubt it is REALLY PTSD, but it is a weird occurrence.  I'm angry at Carmine for treating me this way, but also for (i hope, temporarily) ruining my comfort with that northeastern, Boston-born-and-bred accent.  

Anyway, I feel like there is a lot of introspection that needs to go on with this situation/memory/occurrence/whatever.  It has scarred me a little and I really hate that he gave me another deep, internal scar.

He seriously is a rude, hateful, jackwagon and I can't believe he fooled me for 15 years.    

That is the true-life story of my trip to Boston.  I'm sure the town and people are great, but I definitely wouldn't venture north to Billerica, if I were you.