It was raining. Not hard just lightly, the kind of light rain that just mists your hair and casts halos around the street lights. It was the kind of rain that you could stand outside in and not get very wet just a layer of damp on your clothes, on your skin, on you everywhere. I didn't even notice the rain at first as i stood in complete stillness, bambi trapped by the light, and lost in silence. I was submerged from the world bathed in my own underwater tomb. The silence began to fade when i noticed the rain, when i saw the halos from the mist. Then the empty nameless faces of the people all around me. My legs began to shake and it hit, and i came up for air from this underwater place. The limbo i sometimes find myself in just before i realize i have been somewhere, or done something unfamiliar. Jason wasn't here and the warmth of the blood that flowed down my thigh had reached my calf as i stood exposed in his over sized sweater, my boots, and my hat (when did i put those on). His sweater always made me feel warm though the streets where wet and cold with November's night air.
Blood, “blood!, that is bad that is very bad”,
where was i, search the faces, the street signs for a familiar name.
“There! three blocks from home thank god, i hate this, i hate this, and the blood, that is so bad, so so bad”.
Shaking, and cold I ran most of the three blocks, but i could not ignore the pain in my belly, the nausea creeping up in my throat. The door to the apartment was open and the warmth from within pushed up against my damp skin with pins and needles. The tears welled up in my eyes, it was only 11:41 and Jason would not be home until 3am. His nights on as bar tender at the local watering hole where locals bellied up to wash away there discontent, always left me antsy. The time alone was never good and though I baked, i knitted, i cleaned, i surfed the web and reached out to any soul that would fill the void, the overwhelming loneliness was sometimes to much to keep in the shadows and sometimes it would blanket over me covering my eyes in a shroud that was often called by some other name. Who was here tonight, i needed to clean this up before he got home before he saw the blood and what had been done. what had been done?
On the sink in my tiny pink bathroom with it's Fifties tiles, lay the wrapper for that pill, the one i could here Samantha talking about taking, the one she almost convinced me to take, the one that gets rid of that beautiful life growing and rooting deep in my womb. All week I knew how upset Sam was over the news. Jason didn't even know yet, I was going to tell him tomorrow night when he had off and we could go to our spot on the roof and i could hold his hands and feel the strength of his shoulders. He didn't even know yet, but Samantha knew and she did not want this for us. It would ruin everything.
She protested holding up my fears, "the sex would suck, the writing would suck even more".
"Who can write with a kid" she yelled in my ear and whispered while i was asleep, "writers, write what they know", she told me.
"how can i write when all i will know are play dates, diapers, laundry and baby fucking Einstein"
" who will read that shit"
" no one of any interest anyway".
Part of me knew she was right, but Jason wanted this, he wanted it so badly, this bond that he and i would have. Something that he thought would plant my feet on the floor and maybe he would not have to worry so much about the nights he was gone if I had something bigger than myself to focus on.
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