Dearest Debbie,

As I write you this letter, my hands are still shaking from the
conversation we just had over the phone.  I understand your concerns as a
counselor with the handicapped, and I want for you so much just to please
give me one last chance. You know I would never want to hurt you, and you
know how important it is to me that you understand me as the person I truly
am, compassionate and kind. I am not the person coincidence would make me out
to be. I need to tell you this story, so we don't have another verbal battle
like we just had.
     Debbie, misunderstandings and tragedies happen in all our lives. We must
get over them. We cannot bury them deep inside or they will come back to
haunt us both. And I hope this one will never come up again. It is a memory I
told no one for a very long time. And only parts of it slipped out in our
conversation. You need to hear the whole story. It's buried deep inside of
me, and it's making me nervous, even now as I write these words. It's making
me nervous because it could destroy us. The last time I was engaged this same
thing brought my relationship down in tragedy. To this day, because of what
happened to her, I am not comfortable with other people around my family,
even old friends. I am not comfortable telling this story. But  I have to, in
desperate hopes that you will understand. This is my last love ended.
      It all started when she said "but I want to meet your parents." I could
not believe it. I had been through a full ten years of dating and there had
never been a girl whose parents I actually wanted to meet. But we decided to
get married, it was one thing she needed before she could go through with it.
Even though I loved her, I didn't want her to meet my parents. Families are
so tightly knit, that to bring someone else into that world is like some sort
of sick joke. Why should she want to meet my family? I didn't  want to meet
her parents;  why did she need to meet mine? It's not that I didn't want to
involve her in my life, for Christ's sake I wanted to marry her. I just
didn't want this tragedy to ever happen, and I don't want it to ever happen
with you. Letting her meet my parents erased every ounce of self worth I ever
had, and successfully ruined my life until I met you. I don't want this to
ever happen again. Everything about them made me cringe that day. My mother's
cackle and my father's bad breath. My brother's perverted sense of humor made
our stomachs turn. "I want to meet your parents." Yeah, well, I wanted to die.
     So I brought her home. Dinner should be safe. "How's school....that's
nice...Have you ever had Mononucleosis...that's nice, what do your parents
do? Oh, that could be nice I guess...you know he never lets us meet his
girlfriends." Mother, please. And she still wonders why I never bring friends
home. And Debbie, that's why you'll never meet them. Please understand. My
mother is relentless. In less than ten minutes my poor, now former,
girlfriend had to agree to a change in position on gun control, legalized
prostitution, and the Kennedy assassination.  I should have forewarned her,
like I am trying to forewarn you. No, I should have left before my brother
found humor in simultaneously scratching his genitals, and smiling at her. My
father wanted to show her how to fix the toilet. The sweat rolled out of my
palms each time my girlfriend said "Oh, thank you, but no thank you." Even
with all this it was harmless until the "Suzi" joke. After "Suzi" it was
tragic. If you don't get the joke, as my former girlfriends didn't, Suzi is
my FICTIONAL, quadriplegic, retarded, epileptic, deaf and blind, younger
sister. There's nothing sick and perverted that couldn't be said about Suzi.
She wasn't real. I never wanted her to be. This isn't my kind of joke, but
never-the-less I am stuck with it like a bad cold. Anyway, "Suzi" was a kind
of outlet for all our tasteless remarks. We had all joked about Suzi, but
this was the wrong time, as was my comment on the phone.
     There was a thump somewhere in the house and my former girlfriend asked
what it was. My brother thought it would be real funny to blame it on Suzi.
"Who?" she asked. My brother was ready. Referring to me he said, "He never
told you about his sister Suzi? We keep Suzi in the closet." That was it. It
was over. It was all downhill from there. Then Dad started in: "She tends to
make less noise in the dark." Confused, my girlfriend paid close attention.
Mom says to my brother, "But she still wiggles."
Dad smiles to my girlfriend, "No matter how much we beat her."
My brother had gotten the joke going again. "The drugs must be wearing off."
Mom says, "And she hasn't eaten in days."
My brother says, "It's fun to put the food just out of her reach and watch
her try and squirm over to it."
Mom: "She should enjoy these leftovers. But we can't let her eat inside. It's
such a mess."
Brother: "Yeah, when she eats she snorts, then spits stuff up, then vomits on
herself..."
Pale, my fiancee was pale, very pale. I should have known when she just
stared at the closet. My family continued.
Dad: "I'm not feeding her."
Mother to my girlfriend: "His father doesn't like to take the gag off."
At that point in time, my girlfriends eyes bulged and her face went blank.
Brother nudges his way back into the conversation and says to my girlfriend,
"She is so loud with the gag off."
Mom says, "The deaf girl doesn't know how annoying those screams are."
Dad says to my brother, "You could at least take the bag off her head."
Mother begins again, "She's blind, it doesn't make a difference."
I tried to soothe out the fear and hope she would come around and lighten up.
But when I placed my hand on her knee from under the table, she quickly
jerked away.
My girlfriend whimpered: "She's blind to?"
My brother says to my guest, "Blind, deaf, the whole thing. It's killer
funny. You should see her on the leash, now that's hilarious."
Dad: "Trying to keep up with the car, there's humor for you."
Mom: "In a wheelchair none-the-less!"
Dad says, "On the turnpike in Ohio, that was classic."
So my brother must of course top him, "Or in the wading pool when she has a
seizure!"
Mother tries to bring the conversation down to civility, but has little
chance, "We don't keep her in the closet all the time, we're not cruel."
Brother begins speaking directly to my girlfriend, as if she isn't ready to
scream, "Dad suns her in the summer."
Dad smiles again, "But she burns a lot."
Mother has lost all hope of bringing civility back into the conversation,
"That's just because you won't get up off the couch to turn her."
Dad: "That's because she smells."
Brother: "That's because you won't bath her."
Mom: "So I have to go out in the yard and spray her off with the hose."
Dad: "Then she screams again."
Mom: "Then I have to put the gag back on."
Dad: "Then we put her back in the closet."
At this point in time I should have left. I should have realized there was no
way her poor nature could withstand such laughter at the sake of another. My
brother began again as if his job wasn't completed. "She used to make a lot
more noise when she still had that one arm" he said.
My mother turned to me, "She would still have it if you hadn't left her in
the street."
I was innocent. I swear. But this routine had been done so many times that I
had to fill in my line, "My hands were full."
She shrieked. My girlfriend just let out a terrible high pitch and let into
me as if I had done something terribly wrong, as if I actually did leave her
there, "You left her in the street? You just left her because your hands were
full?"
My mother tried in vain to defend me but keep up the conversation. "Ah,
what's one appendage when you're already missing three?" My mother always
cared about lively conversation at the table, so I cannot blame her. It was
more important to her that we kept talking than it was that we talked about
something nice. But my brother was truly relentless. He said "Honey, the
difference between one arm and none is only about 1 mph on the turnpike, on a
leash, with a turned over wheelchair."
They all laughed. I sort of giggled. My girlfriend just stared at her plate.
     I couldn't help it. I had to laugh a little. I had been joking about Suzi
since I hit puberty. But how could she know about this part of my life. How
could I have ever prepared her sweet nature for his? Then again, how could
she believe that I would leave my deaf and blind, quadriplegic, epileptic,
three-limbed, younger sister in the street to get hit by a car? My
girlfriend's face was a strange shade of yellow. I smiled and swallowed. For
a brief second I thought the joke was over and we could go back to the
regular harmless embarrassment. Then my brother told my girlfriend that she
could see Suzi as long as she promised not to untie her. All hope that she
might get the joke vanished as she got up from the dinner table and ran
strait to the bathroom. I have never seen my family laugh so hard as when the
vomiting sounds came from behind that closed door. She wouldn't let me into
the bathroom to help her. She just kept crying, "Go help Suzi!" This my
brother thought was the absolute funniest thing he had ever heard. He began a
play-by-play, enacting the sounds of what it might sound like to drag a 14
year old gagged quadriplegic out of a locked closet.  My father knocked over
a chair to add more sound effects and yelled, "Honey get the leash, we're
taking her for a drag!" I looked at my mother; I was helpless. She just
shrugged as if she didn't understand. My brother stuffed some food in his
mouth and started wailing like a deaf chorus. The resounding joke continued
while I tried to think of some way to explain. Banging pots and pans,
whipping the floor and screaming "down-girl!" my brother and father continued
the roaring laughter in the kitchen, while my girl cried in the bathroom.
There was nothing I could do. I caressed the locked door she hid behind and
begged for her to come out. "It's just a joke baby, please baby."
     I never mended that relationship, and she still won't speak to me. The
phone calls from the child abuse foundation have finally stopped, but it
still hurts that someone thinks Suzi is in pain. I just don't want you to
hurt like that over a prank played by the people who both raised me and have
continued to torture every last ounce out of my sanity. I am in fear of what
might happen should we not be able to work this out. You have never met my
family for this exact reason. Dumb jokes like this. I know your patience is wearing thin, but, finally, this is why you have never met them.. I can't explain to her exactly what happened on that day, but I haven't lost the chance with you. I did my
best to explain. All I can hope for is that you will answer the phone after
you get this letter. I miss you already.