A week into 40 and I have been…reflecting. Maybe that’s too nice of a way to say it. I’ve been thinking about the past, decisions I’ve made, and if my life is moving in the direction I want it to.
I don’t know that it is. So, I’m trying (valiantly) to get into alignment with my goals, with the things I say I want.
Getting into alignment is necessary but not necessarily easy. My friend told me to just take everything one step, one movement at a time. So, that’s what I’m doing.
Today’s story—
I wrote this one back in undergrad. I think I was 19 or 20. Many of my stories then (and now) drew from some personal inspiration— a conversation, an event, or in this case, a moment. I am a person of words, but in this moment, I didn’t use them. I guess I could say that about this entire relationship. I sat on my feelings, afraid that if I ever revealed them I would be rejected in some way. Now, at 40, I feel so much hurt for that girl, so scared to say what she wanted to say, admit what she wanted, feel that she was worthy of love. So much I’m still unlearning.
Anyway, check out the story. Hope you enjoy it!
Less Than
By Katrina Mitchell
The sun was hiding behind a few small clouds; the rays shown through the breaks. We sat in the glow, trying to soak up as much warmth as the sun was offering that day. I knew I would need it.
There was a small picnic table in front of the lake. We sat there; me on the table, him on the seat between my legs, the way we always had. The last time I’d seen him, I’d hated him, but being this close to him, I loved him. He laid his head back in my lap and threw his arms over my legs. I stroked his hair, rolling each of his tiny locks between my fingers.
“You should wash these,” I commented. He ignored me.
The wind blew lightly. Family after family passed in front of our table. “If we had a daughter, what would you name her?” he asked.
“I’m not having babies with you,” I said coolly.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Pretend like you don’t love me.”
I didn’t answer. I stared of into the lake. A mother duck and her babies crowded around the edge of the lake where a few little girls were throwing pieces of stale bread at them. I twisted his locks with my fingers.
The wind started to chill my body. He wanted to lay down. We walked back to the car.
“Y’all were gone for a long time,” a woman shouted to us. Her southern accent was prominent. She sat on top of a picnic table under a huge tree. Spread out in front of her was an array of crafts, yarn, paints, and more. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. But there were no kids around her. “I saw y’all when y’all came in, and I was wonderin’ when y’all would come back.”
I smiled. We walked on.
The sun had broken through the clouds and followed us to the car. I put the keys in the ignition, turned on the radio, then joined him in the backseat. He laid his head on my lap and stared up at me.
“Last time, you left on bad terms,” he said.
“Yeah,” I agreed. I knew he wanted an explanation, but it didn’t matter what said. He was gonna be who he was. I couldn’t ask him to change, no more than he could ask me to. He didn’t push either.
He touched my face. I tried to move away. I wanted to withdraw inside and cry again. I knew what I needed to do; I didn’t want to do it.
A tear slipped past my barrier; he noticed before I could wipe it away. “What are you crying for?” he asked.
I turned my head away from him. He sat up and turned me towards him.
“What’s going on with you?”
The sun was falling slowly out of the sky. My tears blurred the most beautiful sunset I could have ever witnessed. You, I thought.
