Returning: It’s Always the Quiet Ones

Me in 1995

It’s always the quiet ones. Police tape and blood are scattered everywhere. The press interviews the neighbors they all say the same thing about the person who committed the crime, “They were so nice, and so quiet, I just can’t imagine.”

I was nice you know. Really I was.  Way back when the world was my oyster and everyone was my friend. I was so nice to people  that I bordered on masochistic. It did not matter what I wanted, needed, or cared about it – I was more than willing to lay down and make room for everyone else. It was after all the “nice” thing to do.

I just knew that soon or later  if I laid down for you, the day would come back where you would step aside to make room for my wants and needs. Only life doesn’t work that way. We do not as humans necessarily notice the things (or people) we step over. We are too focused on our end point to see the cracks in the sidewalk. The only things we really notice along the way are the people walking next to us, that and the gum on our shoes.

One would think that wisdom and years would teach me that being the walking one, beside you as an equal, would gather far greater results than being gum.

One would think.

I met a woman at work one day who had more tenacity than a viper and absolutely no shame whatsoever. She had her eyes on her end game. My husband actually. He and I worked on separate floors in the same building, had two boys, and had only been married about five years when she entered the scene. Jezabel (as I lovingly called her) worked on his floor.  He took her far less seriously than I did and the very fact that he told me about her attempts at asking him out or being near him just reinforced that. She was in his mind – harmless.

My mind? Notsomuch.

In a passive attempt to mark my territory, I started using lilac scented fabric softener on his laundry, framed photos of the boys for his desk and sent cute “I love you” gifts for him to display. I even went to glamour shots and had the hottest photograph of my self ever taken, promptly framed it and made him put it on his desk.

None of it worked.

I knew I was in trouble when she crossed in front of my car while I was driving in to work.

Nice me seriously considered flooring it.

It was time to meet face to face in a non homicidal friendly environment, even though arranging that might be problematic. Turns out I didn’t have to, providence has a way of handling things on her own.

Our introduction was rather spectacular actually. We were out with friends from work at a local sports bar when she entered (with man on her arm no less). Did I mention that she was a knock out? Well she was. I spotted her before my husband did and rather than warn him, I chose to sit back and see how this plays out.

The minute she saw us, she left her boy toy in the dust, rushed over, threw her arms around him, gave him a hug and a kiss, sat on the stool to his left (I was on the right)placed her hand on his thigh and proceed to chatter up a storm.

I can imagine little worse than being a man stuck in the middle of what surely is to become a blood bath.

Quickly hoping to take the attention off himself he introduced us — and ducked. Her hands were immediately airborne, reaching to shake mine and in a high pitch squeaky voice, she offers me her name.

Formerly nice me – left her hand hanging in mid-air.

I simply smiled and said “Oh look, it’s Alvin with breasts. How nice.”

The entire table ruptured with laughter.

I didn’t need my car after all.

I guess the neighbors are right, it IS always the quiet ones.

It was the kind of come back I’d dreamed of all my life, so why did I feel so badly?

Did you ever intentionally hurt someone? How did it feel? Was it worth it?

This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. September 6, 2011. All rights reserved.

4 thoughts on “Returning: It’s Always the Quiet Ones

  1. Oh what stories I could tell! Like stealing the clothing while my now “ex” was having a romp in the hay, so to speak, and letting air out of the tires of their getaway car. I have also been known to take love notes from “her” that she would leave on his car, and I would place them on her own husband’s windshield.


    • I hate conflict as well — I’ve gotten better at handling it through the years which is a good thing. We can actually look back at this particular incident and laugh today. He thinks I let her off easy.


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