This photo was taken at the top of Looking Glass Mountain near Asheville. Annoyed with being the one to always plan family outings, I left it up to my husband to figure out the day’s activity. At the time, we were both overweight and out of shape. So what did he come up with? A six mile hike, straight up a mountainside. Sweating profusely and out of breath, we finally reached the summit to find this outstanding panoramic view.
Terrified of heights and “edges”, I stood in the background and captured the moment. My daughter, who was 8 at the time, ventured fearlessly onward and sat atop this precarious perch (it’s not as bad as it looks).
I was pregnant with my youngest daughter on this day, but wouldn’t find out until the next week. She must have been wondering what kind of crazy family she had gotten herself into!
We sit on the sofa at night, three feet apart. But it might as well be three miles or three hundred. Yet, there’s a kind of comfort in it. I’ve come to know your profile like my own skin. The strong, square jaw with a day of salt and pepper stubble. The curly brown hair that you’re so proud of. I never tell you that it’s thinning up top; we like our illusions, after all. You always wear that stupid, sleeveless t-shirt while I’m bundled up in layers. Hot and cold. So many opposites between us.
You stare straight ahead at the television. It demands nothing of you. The constant drone of voices fills the chasm that we gave up on years ago. I hear myself telling you the same mindless details of my day as a silent scream wells up inside, trying desperately to escape. “I hate you!” But it’s not really you who feels the pounding of fists and the deep cuts of rage. It’s me I hate, for allowing myself to be buried like a tulip bulb planted with the promise of Spring. Only planted too deep, and forgotten. I should have been a glorious flower, admired and prized. Instead, I could never break through to the freedom of the light.
“I’m going to bed”, you announce.
I glance at the clock….8:30. Maybe tomorrow I’ll find the courage to end this suffocating funk and know what it means to be alive.
“Ok, good night.” I go back to my tablet and the safety of my denial.
This week I’m cheating, using this for both the DP Weekly Writing Challenge and the Trifecta Writing Challenge. I only have so much free time:)
No umbrella drink in sight.
Worst beach trip ever!
Lost both boobs one day.
Crazy two for one special;
Think I’ve changed my mind.