1:07 p.m. - 2005-05-24
Escape Rant
Languishing childless under the pink tree, I rehearsed my escape. Visions of liberation all involving Jose, my unwitting accomplice. He would uncharacteristically confess his long suppressed love for me, proposing some reckless nihilistic plan. Of course I would protest at first, citing all that I believed myself to be. At last I would succumb to the compelling force of all that I was not, as reflected in those black, black eyes. His offhand comment became the soundtrack to my life, the melody that sustained me. "I know what you are capable of". I didn't want to hurt Fred, to hurt anyone, but I wanted desperately to know. Sometimes I would envision Jose and I stealing away some random moonlit night to a small fishing village with a name I couldn't pronounce and air the fragrance of plumeria. We would make sweaty love in the dirt, later feeding each other ceviche with our fingers and licking tequila and lime off of one another's salty arms. Other times, I would simply walk away from the house that contained my spirit like an injured dove caught in an ornate trap. Simply walk with the clothes on my back to that tiny apartment in Van Nuys, near Head Start. In this fantasy, he would squint to make out my face haloed in light as he opened the door to his darkened, musty room. Breathless with the recognition, he would eagerly welcome the person I was always meant to be. Sometimes in the fantasy he would even initiate, deliberately taking the broom from my hands like Cinderella as I pretended not to watch him from the classroom steps. We would drive and drive in that white Mercedes that had seen better days. Drive off into a future with no recognizable signposts. Reversing the course of my unintended life. Leaving behind any reminder of the way things went wrong. So suddenly wrong. Instead, I wrote a letter to the Beaureau of Adoptions. They had earlier rejected Fred and me, thinking us too young. This I could not understand. All of my friends were pushing strollers. It seemed that every month I was invited to a baby shower where I would sit humiliated, on the outskirts of this much coveted secret club. I would smile my excruciating smile and play their ridiculous party games, incrementally dying inside. I would cry all the way home and vow not to attend another. Then I would attend another. So I wrote a letter. A very heartfelt and convincing letter. And we received a call, scheduling the first of several interviews on our way to becoming parents. And the thrill of this eclipsed my thoughts of Jose, my loneliness, my boredom, my sense of failure and betrayal, my loss of faith, my lack of purpose, the shame of my barrenness, my disappointment with Fred, my disappointment with God, my disappointment with myself. This was alot to ask of a baby.
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