how he nods

It wasn’t a major issue for everyone except her. This whole future father-of-her-children figure scared her to the extent that she didn’t want children. She was hopeful and sure she was going to be a good mother, but how can she trust someone who says he’s going to be a good father to be one?

“I cannot relive my childhood with my kids, I don’t want an alcoholic husband.”

And everyone continued the talk, and indeed, once again, it wasn’t a major issue for everyone except her.

She dreamt of nicer memories of him, and held onto those, and made the other ones go away. She didn’t want to remember anything she heard him say, anything she saw him do, anything she smelled in the room or anything she dealt with when she grew up. The topic was her scariest nightmare, and the nightmare chased her. And love and hatred mixed up in bowls to become so homogeneous and so hard to tell apart. Where was the thin line? Was she going to cross it? Can he feel her even though he’s dead? Can he read her mind? Does he know what she really thinks about it? Does he know she blames him? Does he blame her? Why did it have to be so tormenting?

It was a Sunday night, and Sunday nights are all about chilling without worries and efforts. Chilling, yes. But why was she worried?

Every glass of Famous Grouse sipped was a denser thought of him. The voices around her fluctuated between whimsical and hazy.

His voice was clear, and she was able to hear him agree once with someone, disagree and argue another, and tell a funny story about his childhood another. He was light-hearted, and he nodded when they were asked if they were planning to continue together. Why was he so proud and why was she unconfident? Why was he so at ease and why was she scared? She sang “we’re not broken just bent and we can learn to love again” as people continued to talk, and she switched from one foot to the other in his lap.

Her biggest challenged flashed right through her eyes: you either trust this man and be transparent, or not trust him and live I doubt. She lit a cigarette and swallowed her smile with an answer.

She held onto his arm, whispered “I miss having a father” and rested her head on his shoulder.

And the world continued to look beautiful.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s