Maternal

Chemically dependent, independent enough to get pregnant. Holding the seed of life to the cocaine flame without rights. Fight but might as well die with no chance of truly living. Maternal instinct is about giving not suffering. Shivering in disdain needing another line of cocaine to breathe again while the selfless unborn passes the poison through its veins. Heartless mother addicted with no shame. Heartless, the furthest from maternal, shadow cast with no one to blame.

Fifty-Three Years

He was 16 when he first met her. She was only 14 almost 15 when she met him. They were high school sweethearts. The only man she's ever known the touch of and the only woman he's ever felt such warmth from. They've known each other all their lives, but finally decided to start dating.

He proposed to her the day after graduation. After a slightly rocky teenage romance she still felt compelled to say yes. Two weeks after she graduated high school they tied the knot. Through out the years this couple had 5 kids and 12 grandkids.

He put up with her draining bickering. Arguments over how much overtime he should have. Questions such as, "Why he hasn't taken out the trash in time?" For 53 years he's heard her talk down to him. He did nothing more than grin and bear it, smile and say, "Yes honey, you're absolutely right." He supported her through the tumultuous torture of 5 pregnancies, 15 bed ridden days from the flu, and even during her fight for her life with breast cancer. The whole time he has done nothing but support her. Supported her the best way he knew how with a silent, firm, but compassionate love.

She dealt with verbal abuse, threats of assault from the man she's loved for 53 years. Sure many of these were empty threats and her mind learned to adapt to any situation. He was the love of her life, the one and only man she ever pictured being with, but there was that dark side of him that many had no idea of. His exterior layer could fool most of those who had no idea how hot of a temper he had. He would explode over the simplest of questions, such as, "Why haven't you taken the trash out?" When she simply asked him to make an attempt not to work as much overtime, he would sarcastically say, "Yes honey, you're absolutely right!" Yes, he was the one who was around during 5 pregnancies, 15 bed ridden days of the flu and even during her fight through breast cancer, but it was an empty support. He felt obligated and she could see it from his body signals and through the tone of voice he used.

So finally after 53 years she gathered up the courage to walk up to him and say, "My bags are packed I'm leaving you."

Death Of Roses pt. II

While driving up to the Super 8 parking lot the phone beeps. A text message appears. Knowing exactly who this was, but not sure if it was something that was good or bad, I look hesitantly.

-Let's talk. Please come home.

Not sure if the mayhem will ensue on the trip home, I still pursue the room just in case there is a chance I may need it. Flirting with the clerk, trying not to look like too much of a jerk she finds a way to give me the room for just a small fee, but she says...

-When my shift is over will you please me?

With a horse voice of a shrill I plea,
-Of course I will. How much time you have left here at work?

-Be off at two, be by your room then?...

-Works for me. Just gotta run off and do something, but I'll be waiting.

What have I done? Setting up a date before I go and speak to the one will ultimately bear my children, not just this one. Wondering how could I truly love her if I so easily would be willing to set a date with someone I've only known for such a brief period. These secrets will undoubtedly get the best of me one day, but hoping not soon, for I have the true date with destiny that I flee to. Scurry off back to the house, open the door and there she is, my beauty queen, my spouse sitting on the couch resting her eyes looking better than ever.

-Hey there sleeping beauty?

-I'm...I'm sorry. I don't know why I've come to such conclusions. I just... just need to learn to trust.

-It's o.k baby. Get some sleep. We can talk about this in the morning.

Helping her to bed, hoping she can rest comfortably with no stress. I watch her fall asleep. Hoping she dreams sweet little things about me and this puts her mind at ease. Looking at the clock, watching the time go by, and it's now almost 1:00. Time for some fun, the magic has just begun. Thankfully she's a deep sleeper, and me well I'm a creep about to get into something deeper...

Death Of Roses

Looking desperately at her forehead, not wanting to bow any further to look into her eyes, I notice a few beauty marks that if connected make a cube. As she lay into me with such eagerness, I stand with a stern face. Not a trace of fear showing, but inside I'm glowing with rage. I don't want her to know how pissed I truly am. Still unaware of what crime I committed, whimpers from within become apparent.

-You f**ked her didn't you? Answer me! You must of. Hanging out with her so much, you must of.

-But I only have eyes for you. What do I need to do to show you this? She's just a friend.

Hoping she buys into the world of make believe I weave with thoughts to leave, but for some reason I can't go. I must stay, if not for me, but the upcoming baby. Her pregnancy seems to be a trying one. What shall be the outcome? Will she finally be fed up with the deception? Her lonely nights without me as I use the excuse that I'm working "late." I can see the pain, but don't want to shelter it. Maybe, just maybe, I'm the one who should cry like rain because I never wanted to plant my seed in anyone else, but felt this need to spread myself thin.

-You want me to f**k her don't you? You know what? I don't have time for this s#!t!

-NO! Wait...*whispers* don't go...

I may be the guilty one, but her pain is too much to bare. I care enough to know when she's had enough, but now I make her feel guilty. Feel guilty enough to plea for me to stay, to not leave on such terms as these, but please lord there has to be another way. I grow tired and weary of the mind games. I want to play in another field away from the dramatic times. It seems the good times have passed us by and in a mental picture I rewind to all those memories when I feel the need to anger myself when leaving another strange bed with a sleeping beauty beside me. Leaving a bad taste in one's mouth, but for some reason, on impulse I had to...

On the porch she stands while I drive off...

-If you leave now don't ever come back!

Painstakingly Obvious

She said she fell again. Slipped on some vegetable oil that was accidentally spilled on the kitchen floor. She's so clumsy. I mean to fall so hard that an arm is broken to go with her black eye. Poor girl, maybe she'll learn to be careful...



Her only escape, her refuge from the bare white walls of her house, that personal prison was work. For those eight short hours she was able to find solace, comfort, an understanding ear. These were the only times she didn't have to hear the screams, the threats of how she doesn't respect him, doesn't love him enough. Just another way to hide the pain behind the facade of falsity. She admits he can be unbearable, somewhat of a tyrant, but she married him for better, or for worse. He needs someone to take care of him. If not her, who? It's just what a woman needs to do, right? Stand by her man, no matter the cost, what he says goes. "It's just the way he shows he loves me," is what she said to me once. Stating submissively, "He just needs a way to vent, and I'm the only one he can talk to,"

I'm never one to judge, so as she shrugs her shoulders and walks away, I can only wonder. Hope for the best, pray her eyes open to what's going on. It's painstakingly obvious what she's going through. I know she didn't slip, but I played it off as if that's what indeed happened. She always seems so confident, assure of herself, someone who would never allow someone to control her in that matter. Who am I to say their relationship is wrong? Maybe that's what works.

In the following weeks of work, the slips, excuses for bruises become harder to believe. Blaming anything from the dog getting in her way, to how her child accidentally hit her in the nose with his kid Craftsman Hammer. Then one day, she no longer worked there. Disappeared from my world into another world unknown. No one really knows what happened. She never picked up her last check. Never said good-bye. She just quit working.

I always wonder if there was something I could of done, maybe helped in some way, Let her see the light. Allow her to know that a woman should be respected, not tormented or neglected. But who am I to judge? I'm just one man curiously pondering the where abouts of what was painstakingly obvious.