This is life.
You come out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on the dishtowel, calling out for husbandkidsvisitingrelative, for dinner is ready and the table needs to be laid.
You come out of the kitchen and you see him standing there and your words die out in your throat.
There’s something in his face. Something he’s going to do. Or has done.
You stare at him, the dishtowel hanging limp, almost helpless in its impotence. You want to scream at him. What have you done? or maybe Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.
And you’ve reached that point. That point where you aren’t afraid to beg.
But he goes anyway. He has tied a scarf around his head, he picks up the party flag. You watch him close his eyes (eyes filled with violencehatefury) as without a word he leaves.
Goodbye mother, he may have said. I’ll see you soon. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
I dunno why, but I’m not happy with this. Can anyone point out where its just going wrong?