Holding A Secret
anonymous
July 20 2016, 00:38:10 UTC
My character is a middle aged woman who struggles with the balance of wearing her many hats while all the while battling OCD and an eating disorder.
530 rings in the beginning of the second shift. The other job after the "high paying" job. The job description seems simple...homework, showers, viola practice, rides to and from basketball practice, laundry, dinner and dutiful wife obligations. I am in the middle of dinner prep when I realize I still have my purse on my shoulder.
One shot.The flavored vodka warms my throat as it travels through my system.
"When is basketball practice over?" I ask, knowing it will be way too late for me to even consider driving a car.
"Probably around 10".
Another shot. The work day begins to melt. I make jokes with my sons as we traverse the math problems, the reading comprehension worksheets, and the online assignments that seem like a great idea, but never work in reality. I email the teachers with reason number 10,001 why my son could not finish his research on the history of the muffin.
Third shot. We pick up the other neighborhood boys for practice. Another mother is bringing them home, thank God.
"Are you going to sit down with us for dinner?"
"Coming, Honey," I say,as I join my husband and youngest son on the couch for dinner. I mix my next shot with Diet Sprite. I move the food around on my plate, but finish my drink.
When did this happen? How did this crutch become a fixture? I pour out the Sprite and go straight for shots five and six. They say aspartame is bad for you anyway, so I don't feel bad about ditching the diet soda.
After the dishes comes the laundry. After the laundry my youngest practices his viola and then hits the rack.
"Feeling frisky?"
"Oh, hell no," I think. "Sure," I say.
One last look in the mirror before bed. How did it happen? How did vodka become the medicine?
530 rings in the beginning of the second shift. The other job after the "high paying" job. The job description seems simple...homework, showers, viola practice, rides to and from basketball practice, laundry, dinner and dutiful wife obligations. I am in the middle of dinner prep when I realize I still have my purse on my shoulder.
One shot.The flavored vodka warms my throat as it travels through my system.
"When is basketball practice over?" I ask, knowing it will be way too late for me to even consider driving a car.
"Probably around 10".
Another shot. The work day begins to melt. I make jokes with my sons as we traverse the math problems, the reading comprehension worksheets, and the online assignments that seem like a great idea, but never work in reality. I email the teachers with reason number 10,001 why my son could not finish his research on the history of the muffin.
Third shot. We pick up the other neighborhood boys for practice. Another mother is bringing them home, thank God.
"Are you going to sit down with us for dinner?"
"Coming, Honey," I say,as I join my husband and youngest son on the couch for dinner. I mix my next shot with Diet Sprite. I move the food around on my plate, but finish my drink.
When did this happen? How did this crutch become a fixture? I pour out the Sprite and go straight for shots five and six. They say aspartame is bad for you anyway, so I don't feel bad about ditching the diet soda.
After the dishes comes the laundry. After the laundry my youngest practices his viola and then hits the rack.
"Feeling frisky?"
"Oh, hell no," I think. "Sure," I say.
One last look in the mirror before bed. How did it happen? How did vodka become the medicine?
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment