Chapter XVIII: Chelonia Mydas
I was never much of a sailor.
When I applied to be a part of our high school’s marine biology sailing trip as a 15 year old Sophomore, I knew it would be the adventure of a lifetime. For weeks that turned to months, seven students and three teachers shared small quarters on a 70-foot sailing vessel named Geronimo, cruising the beautiful Bahamian waters in search of sharks and sea turtles. The most vivid memories of my life tied to the vibrant and lustrous colors of coral reefs and fish I had never before seen. Even now, describing the night sailing brings tears to my eyes as I remember watching the shooting stars above while the bioluminescence glowed a bright green shimmer in Geronimo’s wake.
Chelonia Mydas; the Latin name for the Green Sea turtles we were always seeking. Our mission each day was to find, catch and tag as many of these amazing, endangered creatures as we could. Our small little school from Rhode Island had partnered with the University of Miami, where we would send our findings; tagging new turtles to mark their travels and taking biopsies to test their health. At this point, nearly all species of sea turtles were considered endangered. While it was illegal to catch them, they were still slaughtered for their shells, meat and eggs. That coupled with habitat destruction of the coral reefs from climate change, there was a great need to protect and support these magnificent specimens.
Each day, we’d take out the small dinghy that we towed behind the mother ship, looking for the dark green discs darting below us in the crystal clear water.
***
April 2003
It was my turn as the jumper. I stood firm but nimble at the bow of the inflatable dinghy, holding tightly to the front rope for support as we cruised from five knots to ten. I saw him in front of us and to the right. He darted left, then right, then left again; trying to lose us. We knew all too well he’d have to come up for air sooner or later.
His disc-like shell was becoming bigger as he neared the surface. The Captain always told us they would be faster on their way up for air. With that in mind, the second mate cruised a bit ahead of the turtle, and I heard the lookout behind me yell.
“Jump!”
Without thinking, I dived head first over the turtle and grabbed him on both sides of his shell, quickly realizing he was much wider and larger than my own 90 pound frame. Holding tightly to his back, he dove down deeper under the water and I gripped my hands tighter around his mossy shell. This is for your own good, I thought to myself.
Just as I was about to run out of air, the large beast gave up carrying me on his back and headed back towards the surface. As we breached the water’s edge, I gasped for my first, new breath of air and quickly flipped the large creature onto his back, holding him out of the water as much as I could and letting my flippers below me keep us up above the surface. The dinghy quickly came to my side and the crew pulled him into the boat where we laid him on his back. We then headed to a small, deserted island where the others had collected the previous catches from the afternoon.
As I tended to the turtle in the boat, his massive front flipper and claw nicked my leg, leaving a scar I still wear proudly to this day.
“I guess we’re even now,” I said with a smirk as I pulled the goggles off my head.
As the dinghy landed on the beach, my crew and I worked together to carry him out of the boat, placing him gently on his back in the sand next to the others.
We took turns bringing buckets of water up from the shore; keeping them wet and cool as we did all our measurements and tagged their fins.
“He’s a big boy,” the Captain said laughing. Her leathery, tan smirk shining through her usually serious demeanor.
When it came time for the biopsy, I didn’t want to look. The Captain took a silver hole punch and stuck the circular shape into the neck of the turtle, leaving a dark red hole in it’s place. I rubbed the turtle’s stomach and watched tears come from his eyes; unsure if it was from sadness, the heat or both.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I told him assuredly.
***
It’s gonna be okay, I told myself, sitting in cold chair of the OBGYN a few weeks later.
My exam had come back irregular for the second year in a row and I was ordered to come back in for a colposcopy/biopsy as soon as possible.
I flinched with my head to the side as the doctor and her assistant did their work yet again, letting my thoughts drift back to the beach. I was sitting on warm, white sand of an isolated island in the Bahamas. I thought of the smell of the salt and the feeling of the Atlantic wind through my hair. I thought of the sea legs I had acquired; the soothing rock-a-bye of the ocean that now felt like normalcy between my feet. It was odd, I thought, that something so unstable like the sea could feel like my new equilibrium; so odd that it had become my land legs that now made me sick. Strange, I thought once again, how a feeling so unsettling to most had become my normal back then. I remembered feeling the dizziness on the stable ground of the beach, longing for the tumultuous and turbulent seas on the boat.
Turbulence had become my new normal.
But then, I thought of a new memory. I recalled the feeling when I let the turtle go; watching him freely swim back into the ocean, back into his home. He belonged in the turbulent sea and I belonged on land. For a moment I thought he had looked back at me. I sat on the beach, holding my arms around my legs, and rested my chin on my knee; smiling as he gracefully swam away into the deep blue darkness.
***
April 2019
The next month went by slower than any other. I was awaiting my test results and praying. I felt the familiar chest pains that would appear during times of intense stress. I needed just one of the problems to go away, I thought. I could handle the Monster. I could handle the potential of early onset cancer. But I couldn’t do both.
My body felt like it was failing. I needed to be rid of one of the cancers in my life. I considered how the toxicity of the pain I had endured emotionally was manifesting in my body through the growth of these precancerous cells. I needed to figure out a way to ease my pain and eradicate an emotional or financial burden.
I made one last attempt at a peaceful resolution regarding our shared condo. We hadn’t received any worthwhile offers and, with the monster still refusing to pay, I was beginning to drown in debt.
We shared the following e-mail messages:
***
Good morning Lindsay,
Hope you enjoyed the weekend and sorry for the delayed response.
That’s too bad about the verbal offer. And I’m surprised the cash offer never even countered/negotiated what we countered at.
I think we should drop the price down to $329K and leave it at that price while Spring and Summer rolls along. We are then pricing to sell and we can entertain any offer $315K and above. Think about when we bought the condo…it was priced at $325K.
I’m not opposed to having you refinance and keep the condo. I’m not even opposed to discussing an alternative buyout amount from my original ask of my full down payment back. If you’re still interested in refinancing and keeping the condo yourself, let’s entertain the idea. We can even keep the condo listed, in case we do receive a decent offer, while you go through refinance process.
I understand wanting to move on, Lindsay. It’s been a really hard year on hearts.
I know we can work something out. Let me know your thoughts.
Enjoy the day. Miss you.
-The Monster
***
I nearly fell off my chair.
You miss me? No shit you fucking miss me, ass-clown.
My friends and I re-read the e-mail over and over, not quite understanding how in God’s name he had the right to miss me, let alone say it after all the games he had played. He filed a police report against me claiming credit card fraud, he filed a cease and desist, he claimed I cheated on him, yet he missed me?
What a joke.
Fine then, Monster. I’ll play along with your fucked-up game of fake niceties and politeness.
***
Hi Monster,
Sorry for the delay.
Honestly, I don't want to be here anymore nor do I want to have it in my own name. At this point, I just need to be rid of the asset and not paying for it anymore. Back when we had originally discussed the deed, it was the summer and I was going to try and get a roommate for a year or so and then sell it on my own to try and make my family and I whole. At the time, I really didn't think it was fair to take a $15K cash out refi to make you whole with my family and I being owed almost double that. Hopefully you can understand.
When we couldn't agree on the deed, we listed it, so I obviously could no longer get a renter in when it could have sold at any moment. I have done everything I can to keep paying and to keep our credit intact, but this is no longer financially feasible. At this point, the longer I keep paying the mortgage myself, the higher it would need to sell for me to make up the lost funds.
I understand you wanting to get your money out of the condo. You have new expenses now and your own things going on; I get it. I also want to get my $5K back from the condo down payment and recoup the funds lost from carrying the mortgage myself and lost from a wedding that I wanted to happen but that couldn't happen. I think we both need to come to terms that we will most likely not get everything that we hope for in this scenario.
I'm open to any proposal you have. If you want the condo for yourself to sell or as an investment property, I think we both know you are in a better financial position to take that on and I'd happily entertain an offer or proposal. If that's not on the table for you, then we need to agree now as to how proceeds will be split up when it sells; while keeping in mind that I realistically will not be able to carry the mortgage myself if it doesn't sell in the next month.
I have attached a spreadsheet of what would have been your half of the payments for all things Aldine related. I'm hoping you have an idea or proposal that is fair to all parties involved. You, my family, and I all just want what is right and fair. It would be nice to come to a friendly agreement and move forward. I look forward to the possibility of us mending our friendship and be able to grab lunch or a coffee when this is all over.
I hope you are doing well and let me know what you think!
Lindsay
***
Hi Lindsay,
Thank you for the follow up.
If you really want to sell the condo ASAP, then you need to list the condo at $329K...priced to sell. Not list at $337K, our most recent price drop. Dropping the price $3K isn't going to move the condo ASAP like we'd want. I suggest we drop the price down to $329K and entertain all offers $315K and up. AND, we can also go back to the cash offer and re-counter at $315K and see what they say? A take it or leave it counter.
Regarding how to split the proceeds - I suggest we split 60/40, 60% for you and 40% for me.
And the possibility of mending a friendship and/or grabbing coffee when this is all over...as much as I would like to do that, you don't have to say those empty words you don't mean. If you really wanted to move on and just be done with everything, you wouldn't be blogging about what all happened. You wouldn't be paying for advertisement of your blog. You wouldn't be posting pictures with hashtags that do not apply to our situation. You wouldn't have used my credit card last Summer. This isn't moving on nor a moment of clarity about possibly grabbing coffee one day, Lindsay. I have always been upfront regarding my down payment "buyout" from your refi. I'm sorry your lawyer never communicated that to you from day 1. I know we both want to move on and get this condo sold. So let's be real and aggressive about the listing price and get this condo moving.
Best,
The Monster
***
“He really is a piece of work,” Leslie said.
My attorney had reviewed all the messages he and I had exchanged; she, herself, unable to comprehend the lies coupled with the erratic and bi-polar nature of each correspondence.
“You know what to do.”
***
In May of 2019, I abandoned the condo.
I was scared, but it was the only choice. Ben and my relationship continued to flourish and we knew that I emotionally and financially needed to rid myself of the home I once shared with a crazed sociopath.
We knew that, as a financial advisor, the Monster would never risk losing his career on a foreclosure. We knew if he didn’t pay and thought I was bluffing, that it would ultimately tank both of our credit scores. We knew this but took the risk because, at the end of the day, I would still have a job. But the Monster? He would be reported to FINRA and the SEC, the regulatory bodies whom monitor individuals in his line of work. In that world, someone who cannot manage their own finances is not allowed to work in the industry telling others what to do with theirs.
Truth be told, there are days I wish he thought I was bluffing.
That month a few of our friends helped Ben and I move into our new shared apartment together. It was a downsize for sure; a small but brand new one-bedroom in the heart of Lincoln Park. It was the change Ben and I so desperately needed.
As we began to unpack our boxes, I felt a sudden sense of peace. Ben hugged me from behind and kissed the top of my head. He didn’t need to say a word for me to know we both were thinking the same thing. In the matter of an instant, the Monster had begun to fade away. I unpacked empty picture frames and placed them on the walls; restoring them with pictures of Ben and I, my family and, unapologetically, the cats.
We fused our lives together, neatly setting books in shelves and mixing and matching our sheets together. It felt like after so many years I was finally coming back home. It was a hodge-podge of things and stuff, but it was ours. I loved every bit of it. And just as my heart began to heal, I received an e-mail from my doctor.
“Your tests came back normal.”
I looked at Ben, put my head in my hands and began to cry. He ran over to hold me, maneuvering through the boxes and tissue paper thrown about the kitchen.
Normal, I thought.
That’s all I ever wanted.
***
The summer went by as quickly as it came. Ben and I enjoyed our newfound home and embarked on countless travel adventures from Texas to Arizona to Ohio and back.
The condo had yet to be sold, though it appeared that the Monster was making payments each month. I knew it wasn’t over, but in many ways it felt like it was. Other than the weekly blogging, I didn’t think about it during the day and I found peace in knowing that eventually he would be gone for good. Perhaps, I thought, I might one day forget it all; deliberate amnesia.
***
Thursday, October 10, 2019
As I climbed into bed, I did my usual checking of e-mail. I searched through e-mails from clients, readers, and perused through my blog statistics. As was custom, I ended the night checking my blog e-mail.
There it was.
A message from a girl named Sarah.
I opened it.
***
Hi Lindsay,
I’ve been sitting on this for awhile now.
I have zero bad intentions - and also accept that you may not find me relevant in any way shape or form.
I have more information to add to your story with the monster. The monster I’ve been referring to as a sociopath since 2012.
If you have no interest in this, please say so, and you will never hear from me again. If you do, please know I am an open book.
Most of all, please know that I see you, I hear you, and I applaud you. I am an ally to you, despite what my past may say.
You fucking go girl!
***
Her note took me by surprise; however, it didn’t rock my world like it would have in the past. I calmly wrote back, explaining that she was not alone. I explained that, in fact, over ten others had come forward regarding abuses they, too, had endured from the Monster.
She wrote back the next day saying she’d need to gather her thoughts but would reach back out soon.
I waited patiently.
***
Monday, October 14th, 2019
8:00 a.m.
My alarm went off boisterously. I shut it off and gently outstretched my arms over my head. Halsted came up from my feet to greet me with his usual, morning head bumps. It was sunny Monday morning, the air seemed light and crisp and the weekend spent with close friends had revitalized me.
As I laid in bed, I checked my work e-mail, making sure there wasn’t anything urgent or pressing before I hopped into the shower. As I swung my legs over the side of the bed, I saw it. It stopped me dead in my tracks.
Sarah had written it all out. Her story.
Our story.
Her note read,
“Here goes nothing. I attached a Word document. It's....wordy. But if I'm sharing my story, I'm going to share it all. Go big or go home has always been my motto.
I hope only positive things can come from this.
Please know I am open to any and all emotions you may have regarding my truths. Please know my door is open for whatever support or questions you have.
I hope there's a big glass of wine and some chocolate to accompany this novel!
Thank you, for providing this platform for healing. Thank you, thank you.”
I opened up her word document on my phone and there, sitting in bed; pants-less in my over-sized Santa Clara sweatshirt, I read her part of the story. I didn’t have to read it to know what it was. Regardless of the circumstances, I smiled. She had even titled it.
“Making Waves”
I immediately thought back to my friend; Chelonia Mydas.
Let’s set you free.
***
