2 April 2022 1337hrs BST:
Do I remember where I was when the Argies invaded the Falklands? No. Life with Crusty was already 'scary' by April 1982 and I knew better than to show any interest in anything British. Point of fact, he took such a bitterness against the British that I hid my English-Scots accent the entire 17 years we were together. It wasn't easy, that, and I had to be very careful to avoid stress as my real accent would slip through. I tried to keep up with the news, sneaking out to the news stands (vending machines stood on sidewalks in America, remember those?) or the international section of book stores. I knew better than to show ANY interest when television news reports about the Falklands or anything British was on.
As the years went by his feelings towards Britain and the British increased sharply. I'll never forget being at work one night at the Coco Beach Hilton (I worked for the landscape company holding the contract to maintain the property landscaping including the interiors), standing outside at one of the service taps filling my water jugs when a young Englishman struck up a conversation about my work and it going on to discussing the Falklands War.
Saying his trying to talk about the war inspired total terror in me is an understatement - by then (summer of '93) I'd discovered Crusty was paying private detectives to follow me around, was hiding listening and tracking devices in the house and on the car. I was genuinely afraid he would hear I spoke well of the British saving the islands from Argentina and equally afraid conversing with a fellow Brit would bring my real accent front and centre.
All these years later I am still deeply ashamed of the way I spoke to that young man - rudely, dismissively, shrugging my shoulders when he tried to tell me about a friend of his who'd been part of the mission and had suffered some physical and mental injury as a consequence.
I can still see him standing there on the pool deck, moonlight causing his blond hair to glow as his face fell when I was so unkind. At the time all I wanted was for him to go away before Crusty could find yet another reason to make my life miserable.
(To newer readers, you'll have to trawl through previous, years old posts to discover why I didn't leave - suffice it to say every time I tried to leave he'd put a gun to Fox's or my head. Literally)
Do I remember where I was the day the war started in the same way I remember where I was the day President Kennedy was murdered, no. But to my everlasting shame I remember that night on the Coco Beach Hilton pool deck and OH how I wish I could explain why I was so ill-mannered to that young man (who is now my age or possibly more, we didn't talk long enough for me to discover his age), how I wish I could apologise for my fear keeping me from expressing the sorrow I felt hearing about his friend, and how for the rest of my life - to this day - I have prayed for his friend.
