Thursday, June 30, 2011

Ain't this position familiar, darling? (old prose)

It was freezing rain outside of the toasty car, and as we drove sixty miles per hour on the icy interstate, our breath fogged up the windows.  Neither one of us talked.  The fog on the windows soon turned into a thin layer of ice that I would scrape off with my fingernails, and watch the ice melt at my fingertips.  The frozen breath looked like feathers and fingerprints on my window.  He cracked his knuckles and asked me what I was thinking.  I couldn't put into words my anger and frustration, or most of all how I'm just so tired of everything.  I'm tired of the phone calls that go nowhere and are about nothing.   I'm tired of waking up at every hour of the night while I know he is warm and asleep in a bed a million miles away.  I'm tired of wondering what could have been.  I don't love him anymore.  I'm not sure if I ever really did.
So the rain froze on the ground, and the cars in front of us kicked dirt up onto the windshield, and our tires would slip a little bit as we passed under bridges.  And I'm not sad.  It's nice to be able to actually say that.  Not sad, just disappointed in the man I am sitting next to who is driving fifteen miles under the speed limit just to make sure that we're safe.  He's not the person I met a year ago.  He's not the man I made him out to be in my own mind.  And I've changed.  I don't care that he stopped loving me ages ago.  I don't even really mind, all that much, that he hid it for so long.  But for the rest of this car ride, I'll just sing lightly to the cassette in the tape player, and try to ignore all of the degrading comments about my emotional reactions.
The ice on the window looks like feathers and fingerprints.  My little boy lays asleep in the back seat, warm and toasty.  

I am alone.

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