Array Seka - Inside Seka

The combination of wine, cigarettes, milk, stress, and exhaustion hit me and I started puking. Once I relieved myself of everything that was inside of me, I got really clammy and cold. I was sitting there with a cold washcloth on my face. I also felt like I was burning up and my hands were shaking. Frank gently knocked on the door and asked, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” and I didn’t.

“Honey, unlock the door.”

“I can’t.” I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed from being in this small, tight space. I was thinking, “What the fuck is wrong with me?” I was burning up inside like someone had put a fire in me and I couldn’t put it out. Yet, I was clammy on the outside. I knew I wasn’t sick at this point; it was psychological. I felt like I was in a cage. To this day I do not like enclosed spaces, even crowded elevators.

So I spent my honeymoon on the bathroom floor in a trailer in Lake Gaston, North Carolina. Frank was excellent about the whole thing. He stood by the door for a while and kept asking if he could get me anything. I kept saying, “I need to sit here for a while.”

I heard the pop of cans as Frank was drinking beers and I heard the TV go on. I covered myself with towels because I was cold. When I finally woke up I was ravenous. What woke me was the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee. I thought, “God, something smells good.”

I finally came out of the bathroom and squinted from the morning sun. Frank just looked at me and laughed. It was an affectionate kind of laugh. I also realized, although I didn’t realize it at the time, part of what I smelled was pot. I didn’t know he smoked pot all the time, which made everything seem funny to him. I got a pass on a lot of crap because of it. I think he was just stoned and didn’t give a shit. In either case, it was a win/ win for me.

He asked, “Are you hungry?” When I told him just how hungry I was he said, “I figured you would be.”

We had breakfast and he had the windows and doors and everything open and I remember it being very noisy. It was the kind of noise I had never heard before. He said, “Come here, I’ll show you something.” There was a little porch and it was like being at an amusement park. There were all these little worker bee people doing things. There was a special buzz about the place. They were mowing and cleaning their yards. Boats were everywhere you looked. And there were “Bubbas” all over the place. Bubba shrimp, Bubba fish, and guys named “Bubba” or looking like they should be. It was sort of a civilized Deliverance. For me to think that it was “bubba-ish” is something because I was a country bumpkin myself.

As for all the activity, there was a fishing tournament that weekend and guess who was entered? Frank. Get married and have a fishing tournament and honeymoon all at the same time. But I didn’t care. I was still feeling woozy and the idea of being on my honeymoon with a man I didn’t know all that well made me anxious. I figured I could sleep some more and I didn’t have to sleep with someone else. I understood at some point I had to get naked and have sex with this man. But at least with him fishing, I could familiarize myself with the trailer and try to be more comfortable.

It was really odd not having to hide or worry about what anyone thought. I kept thinking, “I’m going to catch hell when I get home.” And then it would hit me. “That’s not going to happen because you’re married.” It took quite a long time, a good six months, before I didn’t feel like that, before I realized I was my own person.

Frank came back and was very excited because he caught some big fish that day. Not knowing what he wanted to do, I hadn’t fixed dinner. We ended up making steak and potatoes, watched a little bit of TV, and he said he had to get up early because they left around 4:30 in the morning for the tournament. He asked, “Do you want to go to bed now?”

I said, “I guess.” I didn’t feel the panic I thought I would. But I had always worn long-sleeved pajamas with long pants, and at that moment I felt like there weren’t enough pajamas in the world to cover me up and keep me protected.

I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and put on my pajamas. When I came out, Frank laughed at me because I was wearing them. My face got beet red and hotter than hell. I was embarrassed.

He came over and started unbuttoning me. Kissing me. I was five-eight and he was six-seven, so it wasn’t that comfortable for him to be bent over. We were standing and then he picked me up and brought me into the bedroom. It was romantic. He made love to me. It was very slow and gentle. And passionate.

Considering I’d been sick on the bathroom floor the previous night, I thought it was a good experience. I had never been around anyone who told me about sex or anything like that. God, no. To say the word “sex” back then around my family was taboo. You were a nasty person if you talked about it. So I didn’t know what to expect. But I enjoyed it. I felt very close to him. In my head, a husband was supposed to be understanding, and that’s just what he was the night before. A real gentleman. I thought everyone was wrong about this guy. He was soft-spoken, gentle, and kind. I think I learned more about him the night I was in the bathroom than the whole time I was sneaking around with him.

It was the first time I knew this relationship was real and not just some teenage game. But right after he made love to me I thought, “I am going to go straight to hell.” Then I realized again I was married. It still didn’t seem real to me.

In general, my feeling about the lovemaking was, “Hmm, so this is what it’s all about. It’s good stuff.” I thought I would be very freaked out about it, since I was still bashful and shy. I can remember somebody asking me after we got back how I liked losing my virginity. I was embarrassed about it because it was really nobody’s business. But deep down, I felt funny admitting to myself I enjoyed it.

I finally made it through my first sexual experience without any broken bones or bloody noses and all was right with the world.

I was a housewife, but I was still in high school.

The students thought I was kind of weird because they wondered why I would get married and still be in school. Most of the kids were okay, except the “frou-frous” or upper echelon, and I wasn’t close with them anyway. I don’t think anyone had ever gotten married before while still in school, or if they did they hadn’t told anyone. I was in the heart of the Bible Belt in the early seventies. But I was Ms. Hopewell High and they didn’t take too kindly to my marital status. They wanted to suspend me from school because I was married.

I said to the principal, “It’s okay for the preacher’s daughter (who was pregnant and unmarried, not knowing who the father of the child was and with no intention of getting married) to be in school. But you want to suspend me from school because I got married and made it legal?!”

They decided not to suspend me from school, but I couldn’t open the Junior/Senior Prom because I was married, and they told me they would let me know if I would be allowed to even go to the prom.

I was pissed off about the whole thing. The girls at school were running around with their legs wide open, having sex with anything that moved, and I was being punished.

I decided not to even go to the prom. I just said screw it — I don’t want to be around that anyway. I was plenty busy with a new life and a house to set up.

On the way back from the honeymoon I asked, “Where are we going to live?” We hadn’t looked for a house or apartment or anything like that.

Frank said, “Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fixed.”