She hasn't told anyone. Not her friends, co-workers, not what's left of her family: a brother, an Aunt Mo, a father in a nursing home. Her father would be the easiest because he wouldn't understand anyway. He rarely remembers his own name these days, three months since he has remembered hers. But then there's the nurses, the cleaning staff, the other visitors visiting. What if they heard her? What if that reverend heard her? No thanks, that's too many people and any audience that includes God is far too big for her.
But it screams up from her belly at the worst times. When her mouth is full of muffin, or when she's in the grocery store's meat department, or at a red light during rush hour, too many times to count at work. Swallowing a scream burns the whole body. She's popping into bathrooms a lot more these days because if a scream can't roar out the mouth, its gonna leak out of somewhere. Come to think of it, her ears have been hurting lately too, like those mad cartoon men with smoke steaming out the sides of their heads The longer the guy doesn't call his kid, the more she smoulders. It's been a month of this now. Soon, if she doesn't snap, she's gonna snap.
Thank god it is just her and Kevin. It's hard enough to deal with the 11 year old emotions, giving him the words for betrayal, shame and blame and explaining why he should feel none of it. It's fucking hard. Maybe her son should feel some of these things. It's not good to always reason away everything bad. If there were more kids, she is certain she couldn't cope. It's getting harder to walk by unoccupied rooms and not lock herself in to cry, fry, crucify, nullify, hang it out to dry.
Wasn't she too old to be failing at this too?
He offered her nothing. Certainly no answers to her questions. The worst part is not knowing for how long. He just gathered up his clothes and left. Disappeared. She figures that must be easy to do when you don't have a job. She is envious. Only once she called his mother, but the woman offered no answers either. She just kept repeating that she loved her son, until finally Karen blew up. "Well, you shouldn't. How can you love someone who treats people this way?" Karen knew that Janice knew exactly where her son was. And that nothing much would be said to him about this phone call either. Her husband's ears had long fallen deaf to his parents and they knew it too.
The church at the end of the block starts hosting Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. It's on their lit-up sign, chained close to the front doors. Tuesdays 7:00, Saturdays 3:30. She wonders if she could get away with going to one. She figures if she calls her husband Whiskey that she would be believable enough. Too bad there isn't an Adulterated Anonymous,she thought to herself. Or...
The next day, during her lunch hour, she makes a few calls. "Free Trail Period, eh? Set it up." The next day Karen places an ad for Saturday's Expositor.
Adulterated Anonymous
Did some jerk do it to you? Need to talk?
Call: 519-885-2062 Wednesday 9:00 pm
Women Only!
But it screams up from her belly at the worst times. When her mouth is full of muffin, or when she's in the grocery store's meat department, or at a red light during rush hour, too many times to count at work. Swallowing a scream burns the whole body. She's popping into bathrooms a lot more these days because if a scream can't roar out the mouth, its gonna leak out of somewhere. Come to think of it, her ears have been hurting lately too, like those mad cartoon men with smoke steaming out the sides of their heads The longer the guy doesn't call his kid, the more she smoulders. It's been a month of this now. Soon, if she doesn't snap, she's gonna snap.
Thank god it is just her and Kevin. It's hard enough to deal with the 11 year old emotions, giving him the words for betrayal, shame and blame and explaining why he should feel none of it. It's fucking hard. Maybe her son should feel some of these things. It's not good to always reason away everything bad. If there were more kids, she is certain she couldn't cope. It's getting harder to walk by unoccupied rooms and not lock herself in to cry, fry, crucify, nullify, hang it out to dry.
Wasn't she too old to be failing at this too?
He offered her nothing. Certainly no answers to her questions. The worst part is not knowing for how long. He just gathered up his clothes and left. Disappeared. She figures that must be easy to do when you don't have a job. She is envious. Only once she called his mother, but the woman offered no answers either. She just kept repeating that she loved her son, until finally Karen blew up. "Well, you shouldn't. How can you love someone who treats people this way?" Karen knew that Janice knew exactly where her son was. And that nothing much would be said to him about this phone call either. Her husband's ears had long fallen deaf to his parents and they knew it too.
The church at the end of the block starts hosting Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. It's on their lit-up sign, chained close to the front doors. Tuesdays 7:00, Saturdays 3:30. She wonders if she could get away with going to one. She figures if she calls her husband Whiskey that she would be believable enough. Too bad there isn't an Adulterated Anonymous,she thought to herself. Or...
The next day, during her lunch hour, she makes a few calls. "Free Trail Period, eh? Set it up." The next day Karen places an ad for Saturday's Expositor.
Adulterated Anonymous
Did some jerk do it to you? Need to talk?
Call: 519-885-2062 Wednesday 9:00 pm
Women Only!
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