“My, My, My, Mr. Wonderful”

What a lesson I learned during my college years. It was 1985 and his name was Greg. We met the first day of class, as both of us were lost in the hallway. We helped each other locate our respective classrooms, and within a few weeks, began dating. He was aiming for veterinary school and I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with my life. My father was pushing me to major in business. My mother couldn’t understand why I didn’t go away to school; choosing a major was irrelevant.

The relationship went along smoothly for a year or so. I was taking several psychology and sociology courses and considered becoming a social worker. By this time, Greg set his sights on becoming a pediatrician. Oh, and yes, with perfect grades and admiration from faculty and students alike, he was on his way. My, my, my, Mr. Wonderful.

I suppose that’s when it began: The control. Little by little, it happened slowly; over the next ten months or so, I no longer had my own identity, but instead, was labeled as Gregory’s girlfriend, his paper doll. The more confident he became, the more controlling he became. All the while, telling me that I was a very lucky girl…and how “every girl’s dream is to marry a doctor.” These words haunted me.

We were approaching our junior year. My parents sold their home and were moving to Florida, as planned. I can still remember that day as if it were yesterday. I watched as the moving truck drove down the block, followed by my parents, in their car. I stood in the driveway and cried. I then got into my 1977 Chevy Nova, still crying, and drove to the house where I’d be renting a room for the next two years. I was working part-time at a real estate agency, filing, typing, and answering phones. Financially, I would be okay; emotionally, I wasn’t too sure. I was pretty much alone and Greg knew it. Divide and conquer.

Then, I got my lucky break. While having dinner at a restaurant, “Mr. Wonderful” informed me that he and his family were going on a spur of the moment vacation. He commanded me to go to visit my folks in Florida while he was away. I suppose he was worried I might find a REAL man. Timing was poor, as I was still settling into my new place and trying to get financially organized. After explaining this to Greg, he grabbed my purse, and walked out of the restaurant. There I was. No cash, car, or way to get home. So I waited. He came back one half hour later, and after much arguing, I agreed to his demand. Within one week, I was on the airplane.

Free at last! The “old” Lisa emerged from the paper doll he created. I used this time to think. I especially thought about the words that haunted me: “Every girl’s dream is to marry a doctor.” In other words, I was to take anything and everything he dished out, because someday I might hit the jackpot, thanks to him. I imagined my possible future as one of his material possessions. I felt scared and trapped and knew my life would surely be ruined.

When I arrived back in NY five days later, my decision was clear. I drove to his home and told him it was over. He didn’t believe me and wanted me to say it in front of his family. It would be my pleasure, I assured him. His mother wanted to “discuss” the matter; his father told him to let me go; his sister called me a bitch. I walked out and got into my car. I started the engine and prayed it wouldn’t stall, as it so often did. While pulling away, he banged on the window yelling, “But I’m gonna be a doctor!!” I kept going and never looked back.

All of our mutual “friends”, with one or two exceptions, stuck by Greg. After all, HE was going to be a doctor. He led; they followed. The whole damn fan club.

On graduation day, I enjoyed every moment of the glorious ceremony, in spite of the fact that Greg was next to me. Alphabetically, that is.

Many years later, Greg’s name was brought up by an acquaintance who had spoken with his mother. Did he ever become a doctor? He most certainly did. He married one, as well. According to his mother, the one regret he had in life was the day I said goodbye.

Thank God for that ’77 Nova.

-30-

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