Until the river was swept into the ocean of all women who cry and bleed and live without ever knowing why or how, or for what the pain of their existence is all for. Watching myself grow rounder, fuller…feeling the life within me that brought with it fear and hope and complete uncertainty. Knowing as I know my own name that nothing could ever change what was happening to me…not knowing if I really wanted it to change at all. People watching me, people whispering…their eyes burning like demon fire. God how I wish they could walk for one day knowing what I know, feeling what I feel, feeling that life within me as it lives and moves and grows. I stare back to unsettle them, unblinking, unforgiving. They look away but the whispering continues. I have no one to whisper to. I have lost again and look away with eyes full of remorse and hurt and that glint of fear. Fear of the pain? No…more accurately described as fear of failure. What kind of mother will I be? Hands explore a surface so. Benson stood on my front porch with a look of contempt that I have never seen before. She looked at me like I was a murderer and I couldn’t think of a single thing to say.“Mr. Snead, what is going on?” she asked, her voice dripping disdain. “I saw Mrs. Swanson go into your room after our team meeting and then I saw you run out to your truck with someone wrapped up in a tarp.”I stuttered and lied by saying that I had been working a sculpture and I moved it to my truck because I didn’t have the space in my classroom. “That’s a horrible lie, Mr. Snead.” She tried to take a peek into my house. “Unless your sculpture has moving legs and feet, I think you were trying to hide someone.” She made an attempt to brush me aside and walk into my house. She tried to invade my territory.Mrs. Benson was able to take a few steps into the house too look around. “Mrs. Swanson,” she called out. “Lindsey, are you in here?”Silence, I knew Swan wouldn’t make a peek. I told Mrs. Benson that no one was here.
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