I swirl the glass of white wine and watch tiny bits of cork travel in circles on the surface. It requires too much effort to dig out those fragmented pieces. It's the lie I tell myself, even if my damaged heart welcomes the companionship.
A person shouldn't feel such anxiety when visiting their childhood home. I suppose I'm not like most thirty-eight-year-old women. I am alone. Raised by a single mother and born out of wedlock, I know nothing about my father. Fierce resistance met any inquiry into his whereabouts.
The physical bruises may have disappeared with time. It's the deeper emotional scars that remain a mainstay in my life. Doctors insist the cause of my mother's death was a heart attack. I suspect excessive alcohol consumption played a significant role in her demise. The liquor cabinet disguised as a side table was like Pandora's Box. Whenever the latch closed on that cupboard door, it triggered an impulsive response. I prepared for what would soon follow. Sometimes it was courtesy of a leather belt. If unlucky, it came from the backside of a right hand that should have stroked my cheek, not slapped it.
I'm sorry for your loss, Claire. Time will heal you. That's the recurring message I heard from neighbors and guests after the funeral service. I wasn't the least bit sorry nor was time healing a single thing. I put on a plausible façade, but resentment overpowered my veiled grieving. Ignoring the cold-hearted thoughts seething inside me was impossible. I need not pretend any longer.
It's now only me, a glass of wine, and a houseful of belongings to empty. If only I could dispose of these painful and repressed memories with the same ease.
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Fly Away Home
RomansIs running away from your troubles the best path to a fresh start? Claire Perkins struggles with her past, even as a thirty-eight-year-old woman. While attending her abusive mother's funeral in the town where she grew up, Claire discovers a deeper...
