Happy Anniversary, Voldemort

      Today is the twentieth wedding anniversary of my ill-fated marriage to my second ex-husband, the man I fondly refer to as Voldemort (from the Harry Potter books).Technically, though, he was more like a dementor. 

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling; every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."—Remus Lupin, character, from the Harry Potter series

    Actually, my husband could not help being a dementor because he was born of Norwegian descent and somehow mistook me for his mother. (Aren’t all mothers generally responsible for the antisocial quirks of their family?) Not that all Norwegian descended men are dementors but their stoicism, combined with their naturally flat affect, makes one feel that more cheer can be found in a graveyard. Voldemort used to say to me in a blunted expression statements like, “I am happy, so happy. Can’t you tell how happy I am?” Additionally, he would sometimes say things like, “I am angry, so angry, can’t you tell how angry I am?” Truthfully, judging from his facial features and tone of voice, I could not tell the difference in affect. Being from Minnesota, I thought I fluently spoke and understood men of Norwegian descent, but Voldemort was from Seattle.This slight genetic derivation made a huge difference by lulling me into a false sense of security. I was oblivious to the fact that I was not dealing with an affectless Scandinavian but a soul-stealing, merciless phantom.

      Dementors are not easily recognizable when in the guise of a work-hardened welder who was seeking a second chance as a social worker wannabe. Their sincerity obscures the sucking sound of one’s spirit being drained from happily dancing to the tune of their unemployed perennial student artifice. The gradual fatigue which initially sets in from consorting with them is not easily connected to their malevolent torpidity. Like Dracula, the hypnotic allure that one day my dementor might be gainfully employed made me offer my carotid arteries gladly. 

     Ultimately, the hemorrhaging of my emotions became evident when my friends pointed out I looked and acted pallidly impassive. Several of them would call me and just say, "Run!" Voldemort, sensing his loss of power struck back at my rising resistance by seizing photographic evidence of our wedding, vacations taken, and other life events involving our family and friends. Nonplussed by his feeble attempts to strangle the sentiment out of me, he notched it up by absconding with all of the paper products in our home. Now that was truly horrifying. (I will say that abruptly being forced into a paperless household made me rethink being a tree hugger and ponder the detriment of this to society.) Undeterred by his wood pulp reprisal, I formulated another strategic plan of escape.

     Unbeknownst to him, I had intuited he had been having an affair with a fellow social work student at Hogwart’s School of Dementors. It’s hard even for a dementor to pull the wool over a behavioral psychic’s perceptive eyes. I knew Voldemort’s next devotee would gladly sacrifice her carotid, femoral, aortic, or any other arteries to get her hands on my house which was close to the very schools she desired for her fatherless children. My only hope was to get him to feed on her instead of me. Soon I began to refer to her as Mrs. Voldemort #2, visualizing, that with her continued pressure for connubial bliss, my freedom from a prolonged divorce would soon materialize. It worked: within six months we were divorced. Mr. and Mrs. Voldemort #2 were married within a month following the end of what would be a bloody divorce coup. The cost of being drained from his insatiable punishing sucking nearly did leave me “with nothing but the worst experiences” of my life. For years, Voldemort did “drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around" me, but at least I walked away alive with the ability to recognize a dementor when I next see one.

     So, Happy Anniversary Voldemort. Good luck with your latest wife-I believe this one is Mrs.Voldemort #4.