Array Seka - Inside Seka

I told my cousin Diane I was going to get married and she gasped, “What!?” She, of course, told her mother, who was my aunt’s daughter.

Mary Jo came to me and said, “You can’t do this.” But I had made up my mind.

“I’m going to get married no matter what.” In turn, Mary Jo told my aunt and that was when all hell broke loose. There was a lot of screaming, yelling, and accusing.

“You have to be pregnant or you wouldn’t be doing this,” my aunt repeated again and again.

I was still a virgin.

I made the great escape and ran two blocks away to Mary Jo’s. I talked to Frank and told him, “Look, I turn eighteen on the fifteenth of April.” He said we’d get married a few days later. My cousin was a religious person and wanted it in a church. We planned for a small ceremony. Mary Jo invited my aunt, and I could hear her screaming over the phone, “Hell, no!” She forbade my uncle to show up, and he didn’t. She may have been small, but she was mighty. He still had to live in that house. I was very sad they weren’t there, and in spite of it all I loved them dearly. Even today with them gone, I miss them terribly. She meant well; she just didn’t know how to handle it. Although she never said, “I’m sorry,” she did tell me once, “Look, I know you’re a good kid. I just didn’t want you to be like your mother.”

Dad gave me away that day. He wanted me to be happy.

As we began to say our vows, I kept looking at Frank. I was very excited. I didn’t know what the hell was going to happen, but it was a new beginning. To me, it was like I had arrived. I was an adult.

After saying “I do,” it kind of hit me that the honeymoon was on the horizon.

I knew that Frank and his dad had a little cabin down on Lake Gaston in North Carolina. It was a popular place for fishermen. Although it occurred to me we were going bass fishing for our honeymoon, it really didn’t bother me since I used to go fishing with my Dad. I didn’t know much about it then and still don’t, but it was soothing to be near the water.

After the cake and punch and a round of “See you laters,” we jumped in the car. Hopewell, Virginia to Lake Gaston was about a four-hour trip. I remember feeling like I was kind of outside myself watching someone else. It was almost surreal. It was April 21, 1972, and it felt very warm. I still felt like I was sneaking around — I was actually ducking down in the car seat while leaving town. Frank noticed and thought it was quite peculiar.

When we stopped for dinner, the restaurant had an old rustic look outside. It was fun and exciting and even strange to me, since growing up we almost never went out to eat because we couldn’t afford it. And the way my family cooked, it was better than most restaurants anyway.

I ordered a glass of milk — not exactly the most mature thing I could have done, but I like milk. Later, I had my first glass of wine. I’d never had alcohol before, although I had smoked cigarettes. But now I was suddenly an adult. It was a white German wine. Kind of sweet. Frank lit up a cigarette and offered it to me. All these bells and whistles and alerts went off in my head. “Don’t do this. Aunt Sis is going to smell it on your breath.” Suddenly remembering I was married, it was the first time I took a cigarette without having to worry. I don’t think a cigarette ever tasted so sweet or wine ever had the same effect.

Being the “wine virgin” that I was, I didn’t think about the wine and milk and cigarettes not making a real good match. It kind of made me nauseous.

It had been a whirlwind week. Moving out of my Aunt’s house, having the wedding and reception, driving to North Carolina, and now being on my honeymoon. Also, I had never had sex and was about to be intimate with someone for the very first time in my life. I was scared shitless.

The sun was going down and nighttime was coming. I had visions of a nice little fishing cabin nestled in the woods, with a few other similar places not far away. But it was busier than hell. It was like its own little city and I realized it wasn’t going to be as quiet as I thought. Still, I liked the idea of camping. I wasn’t going to let anything interfere with my fantasy of how this experience was going to be.

We went down a dirt road and I could hear crickets and the wind flowing down the trees. It felt like a Harlequin Romance novel. All the right elements were there.

We pulled up in front of this place and stopped. Frank turned off the car and said, “Okay, we’re here.” I was stunned. It was a trailer. I looked at him and went, “What?!”

He said, “What do you mean? This is the place.”

“Holy shit. A trailer.” Not that there’s anything wrong with a trailer. But it wasn’t what I envisioned for my virginal honeymoon. I don’t think I was misled; it just ran completely against the fantasy going on in my head. I thought, “Make the best of this. It’s only four or five days. How bad can it be?”

The trailer had all the amenities you could possibly want other than a phone. It was very well maintained, not dirty. A comfortable feel to it. Frank didn’t carry me over the threshold, which is what I dreamed about. But that was okay because I had to go to the bathroom really badly. He told me the bathroom was the second door on the left down the narrow hall. About four steps into the hallway I got really, really hot. I started sweating and my throat started closing up. I had never been in such a tight place before. I found the bathroom and it was even smaller and tighter than the hallway. I didn’t know I was claustrophobic. The only thing I could think was “I hope there’s a trashcan in here, because I really want to pee and I’m going to throw up.”