"You know, he's not really your
son." She closely scrutinized her fingernails while talking - a chip on
the right index finger made her frown.
"What?" He had been absently staring at the young blonde cashier. His mind slowly returned to the woman on the other side of the table - a woman he thought he knew, or thought knew him.
"I'm just saying, you know, biologically he isn't yours, so there really isn't any legal reason for the attachment." She gently rubbed the chipped nail before holding it up to compare with the others. She seemed satisfied with it as she met his gaze.
"I guess." He felt the stomach muscles tighten as her red lips turned upward to flash a smile. It was a smile that had meant so much only moments, seconds before, but the spell was suddenly broken.
"Don't get mad. I know you are attached to him, but he'll be okay. You know, you could think of me from time to time." A nail file appeared in her right hand as she pushed back and forth against the ugly duckling of her nails.
"Yeah." His mouth moved but the voice was barely audible. All of his air was suddenly gone, like he was back playing little league and had the wind knocked out of him.
"You okay?" She reached over and touched his hand.
"I'll be right back." He quickly pulled his hand away. It was a touch he never wanted to feel again. The room was spinning as he banged against the restroom door. He didn't bother lowering his pants as he plopped down on the toilet. With head resting in his hands, he leaned forward and tried to process what had happened.
He could not believe her words - her nerve. He wondered if she had ever listened to anything he had ever said. Their many conversations rolled through his mind like a home movie. A pattern slowly materialized as everything seemed to be focused on her. He sat upright and realized everybody had been right, he had been so stupid to miss it.
The cool water felt good as he rubbed his face. He slowly wiped the water away and wadded the towels into a ball. He tossed the paper ball from hand to hand while staring into the mirror. The ball slammed against the brushed aluminum trash can as the door closed behind him. She was talking on her cell phone as he returned.
"That was Jose. You okay?" She unsuccessfully tried to grab his hand while waiting for an answer.
"Yeah, I'm fine." His hands rested in his lap while she continued to speak. The words were unimportant as she talked endlessly about her day at the office. He scrutinized every line on her face, each blemise and imperfection suddenly revealing themself. He felt sick at how far he'd gone, gone with her. The mind switched gears, contemplating the next move.
"So, I told them, it was me or him. And, you know, I'm serious, I am not going back if he is there." She stabbed at the air with her index finger - the crack in the nail polish still evident - to drive home the point.
"No doubt." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he now knew it didn't matter - as long as the stage was hers, the focus on her, she didn't care. He suppressed the overwhelming urge to reach across the table and force the last breath from her still moving mouth. He craved the moment where her windpipe collapsed, but he knew it would have to wait. He had watched a documentary where a quick punch to the throat was outlined by a former hitman. He made a fist and examined it while she continued to speak.
"Look, I know I shocked you with what I said, but somebody had to say it. I mean, you've been living a dream and he is old enough to take care of himself. You need to think about me and, of course, yourself."
"Don't worry about it." The words made him smile as he knew she worried about nothing but her own future. Her words had poisoned his brain. Hate and disgust slowly filled him - pushing the idyllic love from his system. He had thrown away everything for nothing. He now knew she was no different than the rest.
"You know, I love you, I want you to be happy and you can always visit him. No matter what happens, I want you to be happy." She smiled and waved, as if she had said something funny.
"Yeah." He recognized the all-too-familiar downward spiral of his mood, but he wanted no medication or doctor or anybody. He wanted to feel the pain, experience the trauma, to remember. Hate and disgust were old friends he welcomed back into his world. He slowly calculated how to bring it to hers.
"What?" He had been absently staring at the young blonde cashier. His mind slowly returned to the woman on the other side of the table - a woman he thought he knew, or thought knew him.
"I'm just saying, you know, biologically he isn't yours, so there really isn't any legal reason for the attachment." She gently rubbed the chipped nail before holding it up to compare with the others. She seemed satisfied with it as she met his gaze.
"I guess." He felt the stomach muscles tighten as her red lips turned upward to flash a smile. It was a smile that had meant so much only moments, seconds before, but the spell was suddenly broken.
"Don't get mad. I know you are attached to him, but he'll be okay. You know, you could think of me from time to time." A nail file appeared in her right hand as she pushed back and forth against the ugly duckling of her nails.
"Yeah." His mouth moved but the voice was barely audible. All of his air was suddenly gone, like he was back playing little league and had the wind knocked out of him.
"You okay?" She reached over and touched his hand.
"I'll be right back." He quickly pulled his hand away. It was a touch he never wanted to feel again. The room was spinning as he banged against the restroom door. He didn't bother lowering his pants as he plopped down on the toilet. With head resting in his hands, he leaned forward and tried to process what had happened.
He could not believe her words - her nerve. He wondered if she had ever listened to anything he had ever said. Their many conversations rolled through his mind like a home movie. A pattern slowly materialized as everything seemed to be focused on her. He sat upright and realized everybody had been right, he had been so stupid to miss it.
The cool water felt good as he rubbed his face. He slowly wiped the water away and wadded the towels into a ball. He tossed the paper ball from hand to hand while staring into the mirror. The ball slammed against the brushed aluminum trash can as the door closed behind him. She was talking on her cell phone as he returned.
"That was Jose. You okay?" She unsuccessfully tried to grab his hand while waiting for an answer.
"Yeah, I'm fine." His hands rested in his lap while she continued to speak. The words were unimportant as she talked endlessly about her day at the office. He scrutinized every line on her face, each blemise and imperfection suddenly revealing themself. He felt sick at how far he'd gone, gone with her. The mind switched gears, contemplating the next move.
"So, I told them, it was me or him. And, you know, I'm serious, I am not going back if he is there." She stabbed at the air with her index finger - the crack in the nail polish still evident - to drive home the point.
"No doubt." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he now knew it didn't matter - as long as the stage was hers, the focus on her, she didn't care. He suppressed the overwhelming urge to reach across the table and force the last breath from her still moving mouth. He craved the moment where her windpipe collapsed, but he knew it would have to wait. He had watched a documentary where a quick punch to the throat was outlined by a former hitman. He made a fist and examined it while she continued to speak.
"Look, I know I shocked you with what I said, but somebody had to say it. I mean, you've been living a dream and he is old enough to take care of himself. You need to think about me and, of course, yourself."
"Don't worry about it." The words made him smile as he knew she worried about nothing but her own future. Her words had poisoned his brain. Hate and disgust slowly filled him - pushing the idyllic love from his system. He had thrown away everything for nothing. He now knew she was no different than the rest.
"You know, I love you, I want you to be happy and you can always visit him. No matter what happens, I want you to be happy." She smiled and waved, as if she had said something funny.
"Yeah." He recognized the all-too-familiar downward spiral of his mood, but he wanted no medication or doctor or anybody. He wanted to feel the pain, experience the trauma, to remember. Hate and disgust were old friends he welcomed back into his world. He slowly calculated how to bring it to hers.
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