Sometimes I can see myself there. A new apartment building with no bones or ghosts, the smell of cigarettes and fake fragrances in the carpet. I am alone and he is there too. Playing video games, drinking a beer. I stare at him with contempt. His scrawny limbs and sunken eyes. We moved here to this place without trees so that he could make more money in the oil fields but I am still refilling shitty coffee and serving microwaved slices of pie at the diner in town. The disdain I have for him and this life is eclipsed only by one thing, my shame. I could never admit that he had outsmarted me, out maneuvered me, took advantage of me. So when I began to throw up in the mornings, I pretended it was love and I made a life out of what was left.
At my feet there is a little girl, crying and searching for a security blanket, something to hold on to. I love her, she is of me but I did not want her. I will never tell her this, of course, but she will know and she will treat the world with the hurt of the unwanted. Throwing stones and breaking things because her mother was empty.
That is not where I am because I had a choice. Because I ended her story before it began. I did that because I loved her but I did not want her and we both deserved better. And as for him, he is only in my blurred past, occasional glimpses sparked by stale cigarette smoke. I do not know where he is or how he feels and I am so grateful for that.
This story is poignant and meaningful. Our choices about our futures and our children's futures mean so much. We all should be able to make the best choices. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you. You share a story many are not able to share and there are so many reasons why this is so. Thank you Adele.
on second and third and fourth reads... your story comes through ever stronger. Thank you for sharing this.
Thank you so very much for sharing.
Love you.