The Light at the End

Sometimes there just aren't enough hours in a day to think of every little thing you regret. That time you got caught skipping class and got a suspension, the time you jumped a fence and landed on your face, the time you had sex unprotected and had the worst pregnancy scare of life. Or maybe the time when you let your husband be as free as he wanted while he was still your very recent boyfriend, or when you let him take your virginity in the back of his small 1987 Chevy pickup truck.

Or perhaps your biggest regret was marrying him.

This was the third time I'd had that thought. Sure, my surroundings varied whenever I thought this but the idea was no less potent. First it was at the office while I was typing up that report but it was just an inkling then. The second time was in bed during sex (not lovemaking) and I just couldn't cum for the life of me. He gave up shortly after realizing this, he was doing that a lot lately. And the third was right here, right now; sitting on the cold tile floor of my bathroom with the lights off at 2AM on a Thursday morning.

As I poured the contents of my stomach into the toilet, all I could think was: This is not the life I want. Which is rather ironic because it is exactly the life I want. Wanted. Want. The two-story house with the two car garage that's perfectly framed by a little garden of azaleas and well-kept bushes. The 9-5 dream job with the health benefits and the paid vacations and bonuses.

The husband with the well-paying job and the athletic body; responsible and respectful. Sweet and thoughtful. Not anymore, just responsible and respectful.

And I have that. I thought to myself. Well, the image of it of course. Behind closed doors I had cold sheets from when my husband was out late and coral red lipstick stains on dress shirt collars. I had cold indifference and a damn good mask to hide behind when company was around.

I wonder where my youth has gone. I wonder where Michael went? The Michael that was always funny and sweet and exciting as hell? That Michael that I first married was not the Michael that was outside the bathroom door sleeping; undoubtedly awake but not interested enough to check up on me.

After washing my mouth out and wiping the clamminess from my hands, I went back to bed--crawling in as softly as possible.

"You ok?" Michael mumbled.

"Yeah, I just feel really unsettled." I replied. He gave a grunt but didn't ask further.

"I feel like we haven't talked in forever." I whispered softly, wanting to hold on to the semblance of conversation with my husband for as long as possible.

He took so long to answer that I thought he didn't hear me. I was about to repeat myself when he interrupted with: "I know. Not much to talk about though."

Really? It seemed to me there was much to talk about so I gathered my courage and asked, "How's Wendy? Did you get to see her tonight?"

I felt the air change as he went rigid beside me, "I'm not seeing Wendy anymore. Haven't for a few months." 

I felt my heart fly! Did he really leave her? I was about to turn and hug him hard but stopped myself after remembering a small tidbit.

"Makes sense." I say, leading up to my sucker punch.

"Does it?"

"Yes, the lipstick color on your shirts has changed." I closed my eyes and hoped I was wrong about my dreadful hunch.

He let out a deep sigh before responding, almost too low to hear, "Yeah, her name is Molly. Wendy doesn't wear that color."

And with that, my heart fell through the elevator shaft that was disappointment, my hunch creeping its ugly little head, holding up a scoreboard that read 1-0. It was clear that our pillowtalk had ended.

-o0o-

Gravity in the Mirror

I see you, do you see me?

Yes, me. The woman in the mirror.

I know who you are. Do you know who I am?

I am the woman in the mirror.

I look at you and show you what you dare not see,

I see the way Gravity pulls your face down.

Your hair limp. Your once perky breasts begin to sag.

Not to worry though, you are still the envy of women of all age groups.

Not for long.

I see the way you wish I were not staring back at you.

The way I mimic your every move.

I feel you touch my face, wanting to pull and stretch and knead

The laugh lines and crow's feet that have slowly but surely marred our face

You hate the way I know the truth. 

About you.

You hate who you are and you hate me for reminding you

"Carrie, who the hell are you?" You see me ask you

As you lean against the sink to get a closer look.

You retreat, you know that looking too close can

Hurt you.

"What does she have that I don't?"

And I whisper to you, Youth, vitality, fruitfulness...

Everything you don't have.

I see the way you look at me

The way I mirror your look of disgust when you see me.

But I am smug because I live behind the looking glass

Judging you judge yourself. I see it all.

More importantly, I see how you wish that

You and I

Were not one

And the same.