The Tell by Linda I. Meyers

Author:Linda I. Meyers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2018-06-05T04:00:00+00:00

The kids were great little guys. I loved them. I loved the hugs, the smushy kisses, the smell of their little bodies after a bath. I loved watching Sesame Street and reading books together—but it wasn’t enough. It was supposed to be enough, but it wasn’t. There must have been something wrong with me, or it would have been enough. Maybe if I’d liked being a wife? Maybe if I’d liked being Howard’s wife? What if going to the supermarket with two kids in the cart and one holding my hand was fun and not an exercise in courage? What if the fourth dinner of the week was salami and eggs, and it counted as a real dinner instead of a cop-out meal? What if I made a needlepoint that said HOME SWEET HOME over the picture of a house with a little red chimney instead of the one I designed that said FUCK HOUSEWORK in Roman letters over a broken broom? What if I could go to college at night and get a real job, one that paid a salary instead of a clothing allowance? Maybe then I would be a good enough mom. Howard and I fought. We fought all the time. He felt the weight of my disappointment. He knew he wasn’t living up to my expectations, but I don’t think he was living up to his own either.

When the kids got sick, and I couldn’t get out of the house, life became unbearable. One fall each of the kids got chicken pox consecutively. I’d been in the house for three weeks straight. I no longer bothered to get dressed in the morning. I’d been up during the night changing diapers. Giving meds. Begging them not to scratch their scabs. Kissing their foreheads. By the time Sunday came, I was ready for a padded cell or a great escape.

I fed them breakfast. Then I went into the bedroom and put on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. A little makeup and lipstick. Came out and announced to Howard that I was going to the movies.

“You’re going out. I worked all week and now I’m supposed to babysit?”

“Babysit? They’re your kids.”

“You’re not going to the movies. Women don’t go alone to the movies.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

I walked out the door. I felt frightened and exhilarated. I was the teenage girl escaping out her bedroom window to meet her date. My date was Dr. Zhivago, Omar Sharif. It was a three hour and twenty-minute film, the longest I could find. I looked around and didn’t see any single women, but I didn’t care. I didn’t need a man to go to a movie. I loved every snowy moment of that film. When I got home, I got big hugs from the kids and silence from Howard. I went into the kitchen, made salami and eggs, and served them with a smile.

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