The Opening Bell

The morning comes, as reliably as ever, and it is a crisp, sunny, humidity-free day. Thank God. If I have to make some kind of effort with my hair before leaving the house, I would prefer a better than one in a million chance of not looking like a cat toy when I'm finished.

I reacquaint myself with my makeup bag. I've worn little more than sunscreen, lip gloss and mascara for weeks. It has been a nice little vacation from the usual spackling and painting required. Sun and fresh air have transformed me.

I have to find an outfit that does not include running shoes or a jog bra. Or shorts and flip flops. Or a bathingsuit. I open my closet door for the first time in a long time. It feels like I just opened a tomb. Whose clothes are these?

I begin to try on crisp summer outfits that suggest that I am not a deadbeat without also suggesting that I have money to burn. That never goes over well in a support situation, and you never know who you need to talk with. You have to walk the fine line between "living in your car under the overpass" and "snooty well-heeled bitch." It takes a little effort.

I find that most of my pants have become too big (all that walking having turned me into a bean pole) and I struggle to find something that does not make me look like a heroin addict. I settle on a cool pair of white jeans and a 3/4 sleeve pink, brown and white patterned shirt with gold buttons. It is the perfect combination of casual but pulled together. I am grateful that both pieces fit. I had already assembled two large piles on the floor next to the closet: One for the tailor and one for charity. I close the closet on a bunch of clanking empty hangers.

I jam my feet into sandals, grab my purse, pour a cup of coffee and take a deep breath before heading out the door. Before I do, I take a photo of my right thumb, which at the moment is adorned with my father's gold ring. A thick band of gold that used to bear initials, but is so old the initials have rubbed off. It had been in his jewelry box when he'd died. I always wondered whose it was before it was his. His father's? His beloved grandfather's? I used it as a talisman. I channeled his strength when I wore it. I posted the photo to Facebook. "Wearing Dad's ring, as I always do when the stakes are high."

The reaction was immediate. Most of my friends wished me good luck thinking I was interviewing.

Including Craig.

He'd ignored the question about being mean, but evidently had decided not to be so anymore.

He sent me a text asking if I was interviewing. I told him that I was not, that I was filing for child support, and that frankly, I was a nervous wreck.

He asked if I had a lawyer. I told him I had hired one on Friday. He seemed relieved and pleased. Almost proud.

He asked why I was nervous. I told him what I expected from Lars. How exposed I felt. How worried I was about his reaction. How even though the law was the law and proceedings were just proceedings and I had a fully capable and willing lawyer that I really liked to fight my fight with her words not mine, I was afraid. I dreaded how he'd react, how he'd make me feel. How he'd scare me. This is the Lars I knew so well, whose reactions I can predict. Who sheds the tame, refined exterior and becomes a streety thug when threatened.

He asked if I had the kids. If I had a place to stay. Did I think he'd hurt me.

No, yes, and I have no idea. I have not really poked the bear like this in a long, long time. I had no idea how far he'd go sailing over the edge of reason, just that he would.

I filed. I endured the humiliating intake session with someone who is studying to become a minister who felt compelled to give me snippets of advice straight from God Himself, while she recorded my most personal factoids in her system.

I met with my lawyer. We had a long conversation over a light meal and got to know each other. She laughed at my more comical marital stories. She got herself up to speed on Lars and his lawyer and their usual antics. And then we were off to the courthouse again, to get to the real business of the day - getting in touch with Lars'lawyer and getting the hearing moved off the docket for this week.

And what followed throughout the day, was a vivid reminder of the kinds of people I have in my life. Craig, Terry, Charlotte all were attentive and supportive. Asked for updates. Cheered me on. Craig told me I had to be the toughest version of myself and told me he knew I could do it. I am smarter than most and stronger than I know. I needed to hear that.

But still, as I clicked up the steps to the court liaison's office, a pang of angst rang through my gut. Once we were there, there would be no turning back.