19
Mar
09

SSDD?

When I heard you were still with your girlfriend, I was surprised.
When I heard our child had sat waiting while you had your pre-sex blood tests, I was disgusted.
At bottom, I was hopeful.
Not that she would cure you.
That you were moving forward, leaving some of the hatred and bitterness behind.

We’ve been waiting to hear from you about your plans for Christmas break.
“Maybe he’s on his honeymoon,” my mother said.
“Maybe he’s busy attending Lamaze classes because his girlfriend is pregnant with triplets,” my mother said.
I said that you’d better name one after me in gratitude for the vasectomy you never got.
“Maybe he’s in Federal prison,” my mother said.
“Maybe you should stop making up stories about my father,” Anna said.
I considered how often we are different people when we’re with different people.
Your answer must be delayed because you were so busy, your life so full of new people and new growth.
I was even a little envious.

Tonight, at last, you called.
You’d been waiting to see what your schedule would be and where our child might fit in.
I learned that while we have both changed our addresses only one of us has changed location.
I am now living in the tense called anticipatory future:
Our daughter might job-shadow an engineer.
It looks like I will finish all the presents before Christmas Eve.
Will you really have fireworks for New Year’s?
You are still living in the accusatory past:
I have raised our daughter to be a fearful, neurotic mess.
I have lived in such a way that she has no valid model for male/female relationships.
I have manipulated information and the Social Services system to wrongfully gain custody of her so that it is impossible for her life to be any less wretched than I have made yours.

Prozac, poetry, and frequent exposure to babies flinging lemon gelatin changed me.
Et tu?
What will it take?
Honeymoon?
Lamaze classes?
Triplets?
Federal prison?
Lobotomy?
I remain
Hopeful.

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