And things got complicated
January 28, 2014 @ 1:10 p.m.
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†††††††Not at first of course. No. At first I was too busy having a paradigm shift- and perhaps a minor existential breakdown. Because I was not freaking out about the quickening in my womb (imagined quickening, of course, it was too early then). And if there was anything I knew with certainty, before I became pregnant, was that parenthood was a very big not-happening for me. And here I was, pregnant. And calm. Contemplative. Because I actually, kind of, liked the idea. But I was not suppose to! If I could not depend on what, for a decade, did not want to be, then who was I? Were there no parameters to me at all? Could I accept anything?
†††††††Could I accept him? Could I be a wife?
†††††††Because there was my other conviction. Marriage. My other big not-happening. And, if I knew Nikolaos, he would ask. So I tested the idea in my head. Tasted it in my tongue. Toyed with it every time I held his hand. Because obviously I had no strength of character: when the time to use them came, my convictions went out the window.

†††††††It was at his cousinís wedding when things got complicated. Standing in the ornate church hearing vows I could not understand. Then at the reception, where the grape vine let us know the bride was pregnant. And it was a bucket of icy water.
†††††††I would not marry him.
†††††††There would always be some part of me resisting. Resisting the role of a wife. Disregarding and hiding. Hiding a heartbreak his shame and almost anger caused. Wondering if we were only together for that child. No. I could not live a double life. One inside, one outside. I would not. But now I was at a loss. Did not know what to do. And what do I do when I panic? Smile, shrug, and pretend. And then run away.
†††††††So I did not tell him.
†††††††A week later, standing at the airport, just before passing security, he held me as I cried. It was just too much. It felt like treason, my never coming back. And it felt like that time. Like the time I was shown a pendant of the kanji for love, then told it was something I did not know. Well, just like that time, I thought as he held me that no, I still did not know love. Not even with this man. The father of my child. Oh I cared for him. And I grieved the bitter loss. The loss of him. The loss of us. Of what could have been. And when I landed I could pretend it still could be, but I knew it wouldn't. Even though the pressure in my chest said I cared more than plenty. And I still do.

†††††††I always will.


(This was very difficult to write, donít know why. Ok, I know why. Iím breaking a bottle I held tight for seven years. But if I am going for honesty, then honest it is. Please donít judge too harshly...)

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