Crystal died so fast.
She never knew what to make of me. Our daughters had been best frenemies since age six, their squealing little naked bodies careening through our small house, slipping on laminate, streaking from their daring “night swim” in our inflatable Intex Quik-Set into a hot shower.
“…when I hear women saying that the cards are stacked against them because of the Patriarchy I think, “Yeah no shit. Welcome to the world, Princess. Stop stomping your dainty little foot sniffling “not fair!” Grab the fucking deck and reshuffle.”
You did it again, I told myself. Spread open your arms, pointed at your vital places and said, “aim for here…it will hurt best here.”
Tomorrow is Monday. I got nothing scheduled tomorrow. So I can spend one more day trying to sleep off this cold. I’ll watch Supernatural on Netflix and Adventure Time on Hulu, the two shows I’ve chosento see me through this month. When I’m uncomfortable, I like to watch shows so removed from reality that I…
My son’s not on your spectrum, your stupid rainbow of pain and awkwardness.
We can’t all be good mothers. It just doesn’t add up.
I put him to bed tonight. I tried to tickle, hug, sing, play. Slow, gentle; I know not to smother or overwhelm him. Interspersed between each new attempt was the constant refrain, near tears, “Get out! Get Out! Get Out!” pointing at the door.