The Violent Fiancé

I don't know why some men feel the need to control every facet of their wife's/girlfriend's/fiancée's existence.

I went so far as to get engaged to a man like that. It lasted six months. He was a total idiot. first, he wanted me to quit my job and stay at his house, waaaay out in the country. Having been through that with SSS, I declined. So then, he got me fired. As always, I found another job; that one in retail. He didn't like that one bit, as I had customers with whom I had to talk. I even smiled at them. Some of them were men. Of course, any time I smiled at a male customer, it was (in Jude's eyes) because I was flirting, and setting up a rendezvous, and planning to mess around.

He went through my wallet and demanded explanations of every photo I had in there, taking and destroying pictures of any male over the age of 14. He would wake me in the middle of the night and drag me out to the woodshed to watch him hang himself. He would wake me in the middle of the night to fix him a grilled cheese sandwich. I never knew which it would be.

When Chandra came to the house, he would hide around the corner and eavesdrop on our conversations.

Finally, I had had it, and told him that, if he ever got drunk and violently suspicious again, we were through.

That lasted about two weeks.

I had to work on Memorial Day. He was off. He sat in the parking lot outside the store I worked in, and drank beer for hours. Finally, one of my theater friends came in, looking for some props for a show he was directing. Jude hit the roof. He came in and grabbed me and told me it was time for my break. It actually would have been but I had traded breaks with a coworker, so wasn't due for about fifteen minutes. He tried to drag me out of the store. He grabbed me in a headlock and dragged me away from the register, and between the racks of clothes where nobody could see us. I pulled away and ran for the register. I was trying to dial 911 while he was trying to pull the phone out of the wall. I gave up, as I was shaking too badly, and punched the button for the office in the back. The manager immediately grasped what was happening, and called the police. They came, and removed Jude from the store, putting him in a police car. An officer came in and asked me to go and speak to Jude. I didn't want to, but I did it. I thought that, surrounded by police, I would be safe.

When I went outside, he was inside the police car, banging his head against the glass. I think he was handcuffed with those little plastic things. The officer opened the door to tell him to stop banging his head, and he was out of there in a heartbeat, lunging for me. Maybe he was going to head-butt me to death; I don't know. It actually took four cops to put him on the ground, hog tie him, and get a mask on his face, because he was spitting in between his threats.

That was the end of that engagement.

A few months later, I was riding into Austin with my son-in-law, and Jude saw us, recognized me, and ran us off the road.

All this was 14 years ago.

I hadn't seen him up close again until a couple of months ago, when I saw a really ugly big 1970s pickup truck. I have a soft spot for ugly old trucks, and this one looked as if it would climb trees for fun. I was making a left turn across it, and gave a sunny smile to the driver from my Miata point of view.

It was Jude.

Fortunately, he didn't recognize me, and, fortunately, I now know what he's driving, and it is a very distinctive vehicle.

So, if you see an ugly, mustard yellow and cream 1970s truck, liberally bestrewn with rust and dings, flip it the finger for me, OK?

But don't tell him I sent you.

Here's a link to another story about Jude Allan Duzan

And another.