(no subject)
Shit.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It had all been planned out, she had X amount to do between noon, as long as she was on the road by 12:30 she would be able to make it back home to catch Junior's game.
Not like it was a real game.
The thought made her feel like an even shittier parent then she had previously thought.
The second hand on her watch ticked away endlessly bringing the afternoon closer and closer to a close as she tried to breathe easy and avoid the car breaking down in the middle of the highway. In moments of high stress and anxiety that's when the classic car tended to protest the magic that consistantly seeps from her.
It was that goddamn statement that took so long, she should have cut the man off much earlier when she realized just how useless his view of the crime had been.
Now she was stuck in traffic, her forehead on the sun warmed steering wheel, missing another moment in her son's childhood.
Goddamn parent of the year here.
***
Lawn chairs and water coolers were already being packed up by the time she pulled into the gravel lot next to the field. The two teams were split on either side, drinking their water, snacking on snacks while their coach gave them their end of the game speech.
Good job, nice hustle, our next game is next Saturday, okay guys? All hands in, on the count of three...
Jacket over her shoulder, sunglasses in place, Margaret shut the car door with her hip and took long strides toward the tall, well built man that was her husband.
Even among the parents that were more progressive, a little more hippy, they stood out. Justin, even off the estate looked like the Lord of a Mannor and Margaret, his wild thing of a wife, with dark skin and weird tattoos, always trying to blend in with the mild and blond soccer mom's and dad's.
As the gap closed between her and the group she searched for her boy, dark haired and fully of serious energy.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
It had all been planned out, she had X amount to do between noon, as long as she was on the road by 12:30 she would be able to make it back home to catch Junior's game.
Not like it was a real game.
The thought made her feel like an even shittier parent then she had previously thought.
The second hand on her watch ticked away endlessly bringing the afternoon closer and closer to a close as she tried to breathe easy and avoid the car breaking down in the middle of the highway. In moments of high stress and anxiety that's when the classic car tended to protest the magic that consistantly seeps from her.
It was that goddamn statement that took so long, she should have cut the man off much earlier when she realized just how useless his view of the crime had been.
Now she was stuck in traffic, her forehead on the sun warmed steering wheel, missing another moment in her son's childhood.
Goddamn parent of the year here.
***
Lawn chairs and water coolers were already being packed up by the time she pulled into the gravel lot next to the field. The two teams were split on either side, drinking their water, snacking on snacks while their coach gave them their end of the game speech.
Good job, nice hustle, our next game is next Saturday, okay guys? All hands in, on the count of three...
Jacket over her shoulder, sunglasses in place, Margaret shut the car door with her hip and took long strides toward the tall, well built man that was her husband.
Even among the parents that were more progressive, a little more hippy, they stood out. Justin, even off the estate looked like the Lord of a Mannor and Margaret, his wild thing of a wife, with dark skin and weird tattoos, always trying to blend in with the mild and blond soccer mom's and dad's.
As the gap closed between her and the group she searched for her boy, dark haired and fully of serious energy.