Woman

April 13

Dear Diary,

April 13

I miss him, or do I miss the memories. He used to be a good man, a caring man. What changed him? Is it me? Is he repulsed by my appearance? Am I not good enough? Why doesn't he love me anymore? I look at my reflection and see a completely different person. The person in the mirror cries in the shower. The person looking in the mirror, doesn't shed a tear.

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It's a Tuesday morning when I finally walk into my office. A month of mourning. And that still isn't enough. If I could, I would quit this job and do what I wanted to since I knew I loved it. Cook. When I told Emmanuel that, he pulled off my clothes and stood me in front of the mirror. 'Look at your reflection bitch. Even that's running away from you. Why would you want to be a chef? You're already a fat ass.'

I hate these people. I hate their upright postures, their fake smiles, their eight hundred dollar suits, their entire demeanor, the way that they fool everyone into thinking that they're fine. I hate them. Then, I look into the mirror and realize I'm only hating myself. I'm exactly what I hate.

I don't recall when I changed. When I started to care about the opinions of others. When I stopped smiling, real smiles. My father, he raised a strong woman. On the of my wedding he said, 'Adira, this man, is a good man. Stay, no matter what. Remember Adira, a strong woman leads herself but an even stronger woman allows a man to lead her'.

I'm going to listen to daddy. I'm staying. There is something I'm doing wrong. I'll figure it out and Emmanuel will love me. He will love me the same way he loves that other woman. He will.

"Morning Mrs. Michaels." Ms. Tori, a middle age black woman greets from behind the receptionists' desk. She's a heavy built woman, hair full of grey and no kids but she has a motherly spirit. She comes from behind the desk and hugs me. I don't hug back, I just let her hug me comfortingly and I want to cry but I have to hold up. "Asemia was the sweetest little girl. I'm sorry."

Sorry? Sorry? As if she's the one that took my daughter away from me. As if she understands how it feels to loose a child. As if she can do something to bring my baby back. Sorry. How I hate that word. That's all it is. A word.

I paste a smile on my face and pat her shoulder. "I'm fine Ms. Tori. People have to die. It was just Asemia's time." I've gotten good at hiding what I really feel. What I really want to do is scream while crying on her shoulder and say 'I feel like shit Ms. Tori! Why do people have to die? My little girl was too young!'

She watches me confused, then shrugs it off and smiles. She goes back into the receptionists' area and sits in her chair. "You're dealing with it well." No I'm not. "Have a good day Mrs. Michaels." These days are never good.

"You too Ms. Tori." My three hundred dollar heels click with each step as I walk to my office. Heels. Three hundred dollars. You sit and ask yourself, is it really worth it? Is putting up with everything really worth it? Is life really worth it?

I place my bag on the bag rack and put the other one in my drawer. Then, I sit down in the plush, black office rolling chair and turn it so that I face the windows. I love California but, I love Louisiana more, way more.

My family had moved up here with me when I had gotten into UCLA. We own an enormous space of land and the bayou that sits there in Louisiana. I miss down there. I miss going for sails in the bayou and running in the field next to it. I miss Louisiana's character and rich cultures. Personally, California is boring.