Leave

I’m supposed to be writing. Yesterday was day one — it was supposed to be, it had to be, I promised my sister that was the day we would start to change our lives, January 8th — but I feel no different today and I cried just as much as I did as every day that came before. Maybe I’m more alone than I thought I was. Or maybe I never stopped being alone. Or maybe I’m simply lonely. I’ve never been able to tell the difference.

I have my morning coffee alone. I eat my lunch alone at my desk while answering the phone in between bites. I eat my afternoon snack (a boiled egg with hot sauce) alone over the sink. If I eat dinner, I do so alone sitting at the low coffee table. I read alone. I write alone. I drive alone. I shop alone. I sleep alone. 

I’m supposed to be writing. Yesterday was day one. Today is day two. Turns out by giving up two things in one week I cut off both my arms and now I feel I can’t write at all. Nothing that comes out is good or interesting. Even this now is a pile of hot steaming stinking personal bullshit. 

Anyways, this one is pretty close to home and it’s called Leave. I wrote it armless. 

***

Leave

The isles in Kmart weren’t as filled with people as they’d been but that wasn’t surprising to Lily. The holidays were coming to an end after all. Thank god. The twins could go back to daycare in just over a week. For now they sat in the pram in front of her, one of them screaming it’s tiny head off. She didn’t look down to find out which one, Peter or Johnny, but she did give a sorry-smile to the elderly woman who made eye contact with a particularly disapproving scowl. 

Rob was inspecting tabletop candle holder in the adjacent isle. “There’s a few here I just love, honey. I’ll go and snag a trolley.”

Lily wheeled over to him quickly. “No, let me. You keep an eye on the boys —” 

It was too late. Rob was already striding away, shaking his head, a tabletop-candle-buying grin cutting his face in half. Lily cursed him under her breath and wheeled around the corner, away from the candles and the disapproving elderly eyes.

She crouched down and plucked two full bottles of formula from her nappy bag. One of the boys was still screaming — it turned out to be Johnny — but he shut up as soon as the bottle-nipple touched his lips. Peter took his own in turn, chubby little baby fingers clamping around the plastic, eyes staring straight at her, blinking slowly. He was a good boy but he always looked at her like he knew something she didn’t. And maybe he did. 

Lily stood up again and looked around the isle she had wheeled into. Rows of whisks and spatulas and tongs. Stacks of measuring jugs. Muffin trays. Mixing bowls. Casserole pans. All things that she used on a daily basis as she maintained their perfect life. Rob’s perfect life. Peter and Johnny’s perfect life. And wasn’t it just that. A Perfect Life. 

The boys were well fed and usually very happy. Their futures were looking bright. Rob was doing well at work, ate a balanced diet (no thanks to his own devices), hit the gym four times a week, and had his balls emptied regularly enough. Everything was just perfect.  

Lily slipped her purse out of the pram pocket and clicked open her phone. She checked her bank account — her personal one — and then thumbed through a few apps, turning them off. There was a small foldable shopping sack in then bottom of the pram into which she stowed her purse and phone and then slung over her shoulder. She bent again and put a hand of each of her son’s faces. There was nothing to be said. They were babies after all.

She turned and walked away in the opposite direction to the trolly rank at the north entry to the store. She quickly found herself at the south entry, showed her bag to the security attendant and walked out into the warm light of the setting sun. She had known for a while that it was time to leave. 

***

There might be more to come on this story, who knows. Lately there have been barely any beginnings and certainly not many endings. Now I must wait for two hours, alone, lonely, as it is not yet bedtime.