The Floral Bedspread

Running. Running. Running. Putting one foot in front of the other. Movement gets harder and harder. Air feels like its gliding over me and my lungs can’t keep up. How much farther can I run?

Where is my destination?

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I hear loud cries as the sun streams through the window. Why is there so much crying? My mother cries. My sister cries. I cry in the shower, in my car between shifts, when I think no one can hear the cries of sorrow that escape my soul. Being so young and under such intense pressure. Its worse then death itself. Death is a peaceful slumber for the righteous I hear.

But what becomes of the sinners?

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My morning routine is always the same. Feed the husband. Feed the in-laws. Feed the child. Always such commotion in the mornings. Morning is the time of peace and tranquility, but in this home its chaos and yelling. Constant chatter. So much to do before societies call is too much.

Why so much noise?

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There was a time when we were in love. Early in the morning with my hair in carless tendrils all across the snow white sheets, my husband watching me with a carefree smile as I awoke from a peaceful slumber. Sleepy kisses and sweet words shared between lovers. Our secrete admissions of love traded under a mountainous floral bedspread. The declaration that I was with child. Such happiness under those blankets. Such warmth and love.

How does that go away?

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The night of the fight started our like any other fight. Shouting. Things being thrown. Broken keepsakes. The wedding photo smashed. The baby crying. Why does this always happen. “I love someone else. I’m sorry”

Life was shattered.

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The first night was the worst. Always seeing his peaceful face asleep. The snores that used to keep me awake at night. Its so silent. Then the baby cries and I realize I will always have a peace of him.

It disgusts me to my core.