Tuesday, January 12, 2010

An Escape

It is dark when I wake up.
The alarm hasn't gone off, and so I lay there, waiting.
For what, I'm not exactly sure-but not just for the alarm.
That I know.
Something I think I will always be waiting for.
The daily routine-lather, rinse, repeat-is done on autopilot.
I watch my shape in the mirror-rather critically-
My skin is dry and crackling, dark circles underline my eyes.
It is still dark when I leave the house.
The routine is so simple-so monotonous-
6:42 a.m. is when I leave.
Every day.
Light is peeking through.
I drive down my street, and my attention is drawn to the left.
There's that car.
That car.
It's still running, it's headlights bounce off the white garage door.
I want to look away.
I need to look away.
But instead, I stare in.
The big window stands open as a mom hands over her most precious item.
She hands her baby to someone.
Someone she must trust.
She leaves the baby here each day.
At the same time.
At 6:42 a.m.
This could be me.
This should be me.
I should be stopping.
I should be turning left, pulling in, carefully taking out MY most precious item(s).
But I don't.
And I can't.
And I may not ever.
Instead, I drive.
And every.single.day.
As I get to the next intersection,
I see an airplane.
It takes off, pulling up its wheels.
Shooting up, up, up in the sky.
Irony at its finest.
How I wish I were on that plane.
Going away, away, away.
Somewhere away.
Anywhere away.
I wish I were turning left, pulling into that driveway.
I wish I were on that plane.
Instead I drive ahead.
I enter my silent classroom.
And I pretend.


Kristy said...

Lots of *hugs* Christy. I wish I could take away the pain. xo

Mary said...

It is amazing how our dreams change? In the beginning, we are so excited for what we have, and then, we want more than anything else to be somewhere, someone else. I understand, all too well. Sending prayers to you this evening...

Catherine W said...

Oh Christy. I'm so sorry. My heart breaks for you, entering that silent classroom. Sometimes I find that it is the routine things that are the saddest, just because they are done without them. xx

Tina said...

Me too Chritsy...me too. xx

Jen said...

I am sorry..you should be pulling in..and I agree with Catherine that the routine things are the saddest/hardest..like walking past the church nursery window and NOT taking my baby in, or the no needing to go to the diaper/baby aisle at the store..these things are much harder than the things one would think would be.. anyway..HUGS..

margaret said...

I struggle too. It's difficult even with a live baby because you still miss what could/should have been. Sending you hugs

Nan & Mike said...

Just sending hugs, I know honey, I know....beautifully written. love to you xo

Nan & Mike said...

Just sending hugs, I know honey, I know....beautifully written. love to you xo