Heart's Desire
[OOC -- Ahhhh, er. Yeah. I don't exactly know where this one came from. It's not me and I'm not sure it's really Bonnie either, but, um, yeah. The bunny hit like a Mac truck, so who am I to argue. If anyone has any clue who I'm channeling here, feel free to let me know. ;-) ]
Heart's Desire: Think about something you once wanted so badly but never acquired. Write about how you think your life would’ve been different if you had received what your heart desired.
I have this image in my head of a woman who looks a lot like me except that she’s put on weight, looks harried, and has bags under her eyes from making use of her ability to somehow keep going on no sleep. She’s chasing after a toddler and trying to ignore the baby who’s crying up a storm in the crib upstairs. She loves her kids, but she also feels so inept most days that she wants to cry - and that’s not a feeling she’s used to. She use to be known for being in control and being competent. She used to feel like she was an expert and she misses that.
She hears the garage door open and her anger flashes. She can’t help it and she hates that she gets like this. It’s nothing more than a bad habit to yell at the people she loves, but it’s a habit she’s found harder and harder to break.
Michael comes in through the garage door and her hands find her hips. The fact that he’s still got a smile on his face despite a nine hour trip is enough to push her over the edge. A nine hour day with the kids is enough to break her sometimes.
“Hey, beautiful,” he says out of habit.
She doesn’t reply because everything that pops into her mind is scathing. It’s been a bad day, a bad week, and here he is fresh from a case and happy. He gets to leave and she doesn’t. He gets to see Kitt and she doesn’t - the car seats don’t exactly fit in the back.
They had talked about it of course. It had even made sense at the time. They couldn’t have kids and both keep traveling. Obviously one of them had to stay home. She had foolishly thought that she could do programming work part time, that she could be a self-employed consultant. She had had no idea how much time the kids would take, or how impossible keeping a train of thought would become. She had quickly given up on that idea.
She never would have thought that she’d look forward to Foundation fundraisers. They were her only outlet -- her only chance to mingle with adults.
Devon used to call. He used to ask her how things were going, listen to her stories about the kids, but he doesn’t much anymore. They don’t have anything in common and she doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to hear about trying to potty train the toddler or how the baby always spits up after her feeding.
Michael hoists the toddler up to his chest. “Hiya Mikey,” he says happily. She knows that he’s a good father, a good husband even - when he’s around. But instead of being grateful, all she can be is angry and jealous. She wishes she could be happy again.
Or this is the story she tells me anyway. But I don’t believe her, really. I think she’s exaggerating. Just like I don’t believe the other images in my head: the Woman Scorned, the Widow, the Woman Killed, the Woman Whose Children Became Hostages. I don’t want to believe them. The problem is there aren’t very many of the Happy Ending Women. They get overpowered by all the sad, tired eyes and dire warnings.
“Be careful what you wish for,” the Dire Women all say.
But my heart doesn’t hear them. No matter how hard my brain might try to say otherwise, my heart thinks it knows exactly what it wants.