my maryjane
| December 24, 2007 | Posted by caroline under freeform, Uncategorized |
my baby’s skin was rippled when i first had her. blistered, red, scathed from being born in hot water..i was sure i could take her, and love her. i was young, and she was born old, withered and of ill-repute. i thought, i’ll show them all that this is not a mistake, and is instead something i can’t do without. i watched her take her initial steps, first carefully. what a wonder, when she found herself flying. she giggled, she cooed, she would tell everyone where she was headed. she didn’t have to say anything, they just understood. sometimes we’d walk into a room where she was meant to be studying, or reading, or even sleeping..and she’d be dancing..fluttering around like a rows of corn, she couldn’t stay still.
her skin began to glow. people would stop, questioningly. curls started to frame her face. people asked what had changed, why did she smile so wide? even i began to have hope. i would wake up every morning like i was in love with the world.
they still retorted, isn’t it hard, having a child that won’t ever speak? a child that won’t ever marry, won’t ever love? silently, i knew people had been tutting away at her. the bastard child that would never amount to anything. that bastard child that is scorned in print and set aside by high society.
i had her for a reason. i wanted to pull at every strand of tristesse and expound it. i never even looked at her father’s face, i just took his wares and left. i wanted to soothe her burns and prove her right.
this week, i left her on a corner. i told her i’d be back, and she smiled trustingly. i didn’t kiss her cheek, i didn’t even let our hands linger in an extended goodbye. i did not say goodbye to the child i can not keep.
