Misunderstood Miracles

Through Strange Conversations

The tree in the apartment was close to death. Her mother had noted this during her monthly visit. “Why did you buy a yellow tree?”

“Because I can always paint it green.” Mairi shrugged deeper into her jacket. The room was freezing; the gas company had shut off the heat when Kennan, irate at the price, had refused to pay the bill. “Besides,” she said, “I thought it had character.”

“Well,” her mother said, frowning, “You’ve never been a good judge of that.”

Mairi rubbed her eyes. Her mother couldn’t get past her mistakes. It defied how she had been raised, she said, a willfully stupid choice. And so it was. Mairi would not admit this; just like she would not ask for help, even though Kennan had been growing more and more restless, creeping closer to the breaking point.  

“Who said I’m unhappy? I made my choice –”

“Yes, you did.” Her mother said. She stepped closer and stared into her daughter’s eyes. Wrinkles sank deep between her brows. Disappointment had hastened the process of age. “And where has that choice taken you?

Mairi looked at her stomach. A few more weeks and the bump would surface. Then, it would expand until it was something she couldn’t stop, until Kennan would be forced to decide whether or not he was going to love her for life, or at least try to. What would come of things if he didn’t? Would he leave? More importantly: did she want him to?

She was silent. From the hopefulness deep inside of her, her belief in miracles kicked against the back of her throat, sprung past the prideful shut of her mouth.

Then: “On an alternate route,” she said.