March 25th.

I headed down the hill. Thats what the locals always say; Down the hill, and now I say it. I headed towards East County Supreme Court around eleven in the morning. Thats what two hours of phone calls got me. Go file for divorce first to get a custody order. That was their free consultation. It was also what I got from some free lawyer advice sites. So I asked the question, how much do you charge and I sat mouth agape. Five thousand deposit and three hundred fifty an hour, till the deposit is depleted or the case settled.

Holy fucking shit.

Do you take payments, that was my next question.

No.

Frantically, I tell him my story. My story.

“Friday night my wife never got home, so before calling the sheriff I check her phone to call her friends. I didn’t find it. I frantically checked closets and under beds. I looked every where. Nothing. So I checked the computer. The browser history was cleared. So I checked her email. And I know her plan. She took my son to a shelter and was going to file for divorce on the grounds of emotional abuse on Monday morning. But its all lies, I read the plan. I need help, I want my son back, he does’t deserve this. I tried filing a missing person report, but they couldn’t do anything. Please. I need help.”

This is what I said over the phone three or four times Monday morning. it’s not exactly how I said but it is the gist, the heart of this matter.

And in my silence, in my defeat, he said. They said, all the lawyers said; The Family Law Facilitator’s Office.

So down the hill I go.

I head towards the court house of east county, to the Family Law Facilitator’s Office. Once at the court house, I look for a parking spot and I am not alone; we waddle along, me and others, following each other along like ducklings, till its our turn to fill an empty slot. And when I hurry to the entrance there is a line and I mimic the people in front of me. I empty pockets, put pocket contents in a tray; phone, keys and belt, push tray into a maw of metal and rubber and walk through the gates of the great Supreme Court of East County. I walk to the bathroom, put on my belt and walk straight to the help desk and ask for directions. I ask where the The Family Law Facilitator’s Office is; the lady at the desk looks at me and says, “I am not sure.” And I must of looked befuddled; What? Is what I think out loud; And she hears me because she says “try the Family Office upstairs, go left and then right, and you can’t miss it.”

I follow her Instructions and I pass people sitting on benches waiting, talking, and looking worried, and stressed; and I realize that I am not alone here with my troubles. There are people here with their own problems and worries and I do not have time to guess what they could be. I start passing a line being formed and I can see and feel the atmosphere in it; do not cut in line, we are watching you. I pass the line and I see the plaque on the wall: Family Office, and other offices I can not recall. I am here, I walk in and it is completely empty. I look around and there are some brochures on the counter, and behind the counter there is an office, and it is empty. I stand there for minutes, and, I know, I am looking lost. And I finally look out the entrance I came in and a lady around sixty years of age, white hair and dressed professionally with a long skirt and suit, all black, sees me and for a moment, I see blazing hate come towards me from her gaze, and her dark eyes realize that I see her antipathy and she smiles and ask;

Can I help you?

I took a few moments to answer because an image overtook me of what I was presented. I do not know why it came to me at that moment, but I did not like it, it unnerved me. I saw a Hagraven waiting to screech and claw me to death with feathers filling the Family Office.

A Hagraven.

A Hagraven is a mix of a bird and an old crone, and as far as I know, only female. It originates from the game Skyrim, It is a role playing game me and Fantine love.

When I got my nerve back, I replied; The Family Law Facilitator’s Office.

After she tells me you are in the wrong office, she gave me instructions. So I followed them, and got lost. Eventually after a few elevator trips I found a plaque that said: The Family Law Facilitator’s Office.There were more people sitting on benches in the hall and everyone of them gave me a look over, woman young and old with children and some with mothers, or both; also a couple of men, all of them alone. I stood in front of the plaque which was next to a door. No line, no instructions, and no sign in sheet; so I just walked in, and thats when I meet my second Hagraven of the day. She sat at the first desk on the left when you walk in. She looked up and asked me “Can I help you?” So I told her what the lawyers have told me and that is why I am here. And this time I can see her, as the Hagraven, wanting to paint designs on white feathers with my blood, splattered and purposeful. I quietly tell her all I want is my son, averting my eyes towards the floor, after a moment I raised my head and tell her “I just want my son and I need help” And she tells me I can not help you with that, followed by a phshh and a shake of the head. She opens a drawer and pulls out a yellow brochure and hands it to me. Call them she says. I look down at the brochure in my hands and she says go down to the Family Office and they will help you.

I remember looking at her and wanting to share my frustration with her. Wishing I had an ebony sword in one hand and my other hand sparkling to loose a lightning spell, but I wasn’t a character from Skyrim. I was a father whose child has been abducted by his wife, and the legal system did not see it that way. And I knew enough that I have to play the game, the game they lay out for you. There are no instructions for this game and you do not start at Go, they start you off in jail with no money and hand you one dice and persist that you need to roll doubles.

Leaving the The Family Law Facilitator’s Office and heading back the way I came, this time not getting lost, I made it to the Family Office in no time. And to my relief the first Hagraven I encountered was not there, Instead the office was empty. And than I heard “Can I help you?” I looked to the counter expecting to see the first feathery crone. but no, instead a lady, around forty-five with brown hair was sitting there looking impatiently at me to answer, over and behind the counter. I told her what Hagraven Two told me and she snapped the word “What” at me, followed by a phshh and a shake of the head. Jesus another Hagraven. She asked for the brochure in my hand, I handed it to her and Hagraven Three proceeded to write a phone number on the back of the brochure agitated. as if it disgusted her. She snapped at me again, “Here”, and turned away from me.

I left the great Supreme Court of East County defeated and utterly ruined.

When I got home, Zelda greeted me, and that was all. Just me, the cat, and emptiness. I went to my room and opened the yellow brochure, there was a number on the inside back flap, i turned the flap over to the outside back flap and the number the Hagraven had written down was exactly the same as the number printed on the inside flap. I gave up. I went to lay in bed, curled up, hugging Mijo’s blanket. And told myself I have to go back. Back for Mijo. But I had no energy, I was beaten.

Around midnight I got out of bed and ate Mijo’s burrito, his favorite, bean and cheese. And realized that was the first thing I have eaten since Friday, it laid where I left it, with one other. Mijo always asked for two. One for now. One for tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will go back and get it right, then eat the other.

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May 29th.

Seventy Days enumerated. Seventy Days counted out.

I have meant to post here since I started this blog. But have decided otherwise. I have discovered many things in my quest to find Mijo. Truths, lies and justice, or honestly the lack of justice.

Injustice.

I called the Child Abduction Unit. And they straight out told me what my wife is doing is perfectly legal. I called the police and they told me they can not do anything without an order from the Judge. The Judge told me I can not do anything until I have her served. And I can not serve her until she is found. Depressing isn’t the word here. Its madness. I have been playing Ring around the Rosie with a system that perceives me guilty before proven innocent.

Ring-a-round the rosie,
A pocket full of posies,
Ashes! Ashes!
We all fall down.

Madness.

My wife did not leave a Dear John letter, or I should say Dear Jean. There was no talk of if we can not fix this, we will separate, divorce.

None. What. So. Ever.

If it wasn’t for the fact I am a geek. More specifically a macgeek. I would be clueless right now. What I have come to learn is just pure madness. She has had months of planning this madness with her cohorts, her triumvirate of consorts. And I read enough to know how evil people can become to accomplish their goals. My wife orchestrated this madness, and I know how and why. Her podlings have no clue what she has done. She claimed them as heroes, but they will not be her heroes in the end. They will be the villains, the hero vilified. And I will not take credit for it, I want nothing to do with them or it, her madness. But life is comedy and tragedy, life is a tight little circle you can never escape. And life teaches lessons.

What goes around, comes around.

Comedy. Tragedy.

What I read on March twenty-third of two thousand and thirteen made me weep, curl into a ball and cry out silently to my lord. And I was not answered, not that night and many after. Even though he has not answered my prayers. He has sent me miracles that I can not deny, and they will be shared later, so for now I will try to explain what i read that night till mid-morning. And you have to trust me, it started all tragedy, but when I got further along into their inauspicious plan, which is actually the beginnings of their plan, it was all comedy. I can not tell all, I honestly wish I could. But because i will eventually see a judge with Fantine in my presence I have to limit to what I share.

They were discussing how I will get Mijo summers and Thanksgiving and that’s because we will still be friends. This was in late December early January of this year. Fantine also talked about how she could be able to go to the beach and read and run her toes through the sand whenever she pleased. Not California sand, Florida sand. All three believed she could just get an amicable divorce after she moved to Florida whenever she decided to. It was amazing reading them chat. They sounded like high school kids talking about how one day they would met Johnny Depp and they would be friends.

Comedy.

The male of the triad came on and said bad news, it could be kidnapping and that she needs to hire a lawyer. I believe this was mid January. The male also insisted I was abusive, simple and a little boy. I called him out on that but I have not received an answer yet. After this things changed. They discussed lying and manipulation, shared web sites pertaining to emotional abuse and constantly gave each other praise for how the plan was coming along. They talked about bringing Anthony aboard and what they should and should not tell him. Poor, poor Anthony. In all of this they also talked about books, and Fantine was saying how sad it was going to be to start her book collection over, and how she has to buy the Sparrow again and she has already bought it three to four times. They talked more about books than they did Mijo. They talked more about the plan than they did Mijo. Fantine flirted more with the male than discussing Mijo. She had an internet affair that probably turned into a real affair while she won third prize for a short story at a writers con in Tampa, while I was at home taking care of Mijo.

Tragedy.

One Last Thing.

Today is our 11th anniversary. And i am not going to whine. I am going to drink wine. More specifically her wine, the one she preferred, the cheapest one at CVS. I am going to open her wine, pour it in a wine glass, go sit where she sat on the couch, sit cross-legged like she did with all the lights off. But unlike her, I will not plot, nor make a plan.

I will dream of Mijo. and it will be vivid.

Posted in Writing to deal with pain. | 5 Comments

The Hardest Thing.

Its has been twelve days since I saw Mijo, held his hand, tickled and gave him hard loving squeezes. Asked him what he learned today, not minding if he couldn’t remember, but making a little joke of “apparently you didn’t learn anything”. Watching cartoons together, Avatar: The Last Airbender, or his latest run of Samurai 7 by Akira Kurosawa. Telling him to turn off You Tube. Warming up his Boyardee ravioli. Asking him if he did his homework. These things I remember like it just happened, one second ago. But what hurts most is the Ritual. The Ritual of me and Mijo, anytime I would drop him off at school he would open the door, Hold it open and wait for me to say these words. “Learn something new,” “Always do your best” and “I love you” . He would say “I will” and “I love you too daddy” than close the door and walk to school. I would drive slowly away till he got to the school gate. The Ritual. It was taken from me like Jesus’s second coming. The thief did come twelve days ago, and I didn’t realize it till that night. And since then i have been nothing but pain and emptiness.

Twelve days. And they will enumerate. And every day afterward will be counted out.

Mijo is my son, and thats how my culture endears one. And thats how he will be referred here

mijo
[mee’-ho]

love (informal) (a un hijo)

(Am Br), honey (United States); dear ; pal , mate (British), buddy (United States) (a un adulto)(entre iguales)

Twelve days ago my friend, lover, my collaborator against the world, my wife, decided to take Mijo away from me for one simple reason.

Freedom.

It’s a hard thing to endure. Because I thought of it many years ago. I saw it constantly in our first years together. Her being the highly educated one, the one with paper. And me, just a vato who worked hard to get out of the barrio, just barley mind you. But I did. And I saw it, a livid daydream played out in a million scenario’s. One day I would not stimulate her, suffice. Not being able to share in the meaning of great works and plays and all things academia.

I will now refer to my wife as Fantine.

Twelve days ago Fantine’s plan went into affect. I read it. It was planned, with co-conspirators, months ago. Fantine’s plan was to make Jean suffer. Suffer for her freedom.

I will now refer to myself as Jean.

Jean is suffering. Plan worked.

I am not sharing this because I need to make myself a victim. No, that I will not consider nor endorse. I am sharing this because of many other selfish and unselfish reasons. But this one comes to mind to me, a common law of humanity that isn’t enforced nor practiced, children first. Children are the most important things in this world. It is children who become us. If we shit on children, shit rules the world. Simple. Fantine is shitting on Mijo. There are no nice ways of saying it, I also will be shitting on Mijo. Not because I want to, but because I have been forced to, but unlike the manner of Fantine’s method, that massive steaming pile of foul feces that ranks and convulses – method. Jean’s method will be the one where he fights back, against the system, against selfishness and injustice, perceived or real. Jean will use a method better described as small, diminutive pellets that smell of shirazi and cucumber – method. I am sharing this because its hard telling the same story over and over to the people you respect and love. It is really hard to keep the pain away from you when we talk. There are other reasons, and they will come to light soon.

I am also trying to protect Mijo, that means I have gone Dragnet on you.

Ladies and gentlemen: the story you are about to hear is true. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

So that means if you got this link from me its because you have meaning in my life, or did once before. It is OK to share this link. But my only condition is you do not share my name, my wife’s name and most definitely Mijo’s name. Not to anyone! Please this is serious and can reflect badly on me in a court of law. Thats just a guess, by the way, I can’t afford a lawyer yet. but still…

I plan to write every day here. Of what is happening and what has happened. It’s a way for me survive and fight on for the day i can hold Mijo again.

Until then, tell your loved ones that you love them, hold them tight. Because you never know when darkness comes knocking on your door.

Jean

Posted in Writing to deal with pain. | 1 Comment