I thought I saw Jason the other day.
I was
picking up some groceries on my way back to the motel, and I just caught a
glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye, standing in the dairy aisle. He had
that shiny hair and ratty green coat that I know he took when he left. And for
a second – just a second – I thought I was seeing my boy again and I felt this
panic in my chest.
What if he
still resents me? What if he wants nothing to do with me? What if he screams
and throws things and tells the whole world that I’m a terrible mother?
I don’t
know if it would hurt more to know the truth or to never have my fears
confirmed. To just sit in “plausible deniability” for the rest of my life, all
the while knowing in my heart that I failed him.
More than
anyone else – more than Sandra, more than Casey, more than my sister – I failed
him because he doesn’t know… who I am, who we are, and he still hates me.
So, I hid.
I followed
him around the grocery store for what must have been twenty minutes before I
finally got a good look at his face. It wasn’t him. Of course, it wasn’t him.
He promised that I would never see him again and I believe it. But I still let
myself hope. I enjoyed the fantasy for a little while. That’s what this all is:
this blog, my family, my life.
It’s a
fantasy.
I can write
whatever I want and you’ll believe it because you have to. I kill because it’s
an escape from the things that are weighing me down. And my family is a strange
amalgamation of people who choose to be together out of necessity. We don’t
want to be together; we have to. Because being apart is so much worse.
Sandra is
gone. Jason is gone. Heather is gone. My sister is gone. And now James.
I feel my fantasy
slipping away from me.
I don’t
know who I am without it.
As always,
dear readers,
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