Tell Me How to Fix You
Thursday, August 30th, 2007She is disappointed. Mostly about everything. Her husband, their marriage, their finances, their house, her job, her mother, her mother-in-law, the weather…
She is disappointed. With herself. But she doesn’t seem to know it yet.
She wakes up in bed alone each morning. Her husband is not there to say good morning. He has already moved on to the next job, the next town, the next second chance. She waits for their house to sell in a life past it’s shelf date.
She spends her days teaching children about fractions, reading comprehension, rocks and minerals. They ask her to watch them race at recess, sit by them at lunch. She drives home in silence.
The dogs are there to welcome her, but they don’t bring a smile anymore. She lets them outside. When they come back in, they run away from her and find trouble together.
She heats up dinner for her sons if they’re there. She washes dishes, folds laundry, grades last week’s spelling test, reads People magazine. She sits on the back patio balcony and decides it’s too hot out even for that. A fire-ant finds its way to her ankle and she swears at the welt that’s already formed. She goes back indoors.
She changes clothes, puts Caladryl on the bite. She calls her daughter and cries when they hang up. Lifetime keeps her company until the remote falls from her hand.
The days are long while she waits for darkness to come. For compassionate sleep to whisk her away from herself.
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