Send

~Send~
299 words


The kids are asleep, I feel numb. The same numb I’ve been feeling since my crying jags stopped.

My yarn, unwound and tangled is strung through the living room. It looks as though it struggled. On the floor, a yellow pile of mucus covered vomit is saturating the carpet next to an empty bag of microwave popcorn. And on the sofa, next to a baby doll with a chewed off face, sits the dog, green around the gills, her head resting on her forepaws, a strand of worsted weight hanging from her teeth, too tired from her escapades to run from me.

I sit down next to her and let her put her head in my lap as I survey the house. Open floor plan, perfect, everything I wanted. Somehow, in the fight for all of that, I’ve lost my marriage. Rather, someone else had gained a love I never thought I could lose. I think of his text, asking me to consider reconciliation, but I don’t know if I can forgive him, it hurts so much.

The dog makes an odd sound, and I pull the string out of her teeth. I look at the destruction around me. Even the dog knows the house isn’t a home without him. What we’ve lost was not worth the battle toward middle class, not worth the nights of overtime. Not worth losing what really matters. “It’s ok girl,” I say to the dog. Her ears perk up at the normalness in my voice. “I miss him too.”

And so I pull up youtube and record our song; The Eagles, “Love Will Keep Us Alive,” on my cell phone. I take a picture of the lonely looking dog. I text the words, “Come home.” And attach the picture and the song. Send.