soapboxdiner

I'm so sorry.

Rape is such an ugly word for what he did. I don't like it, and I don't want to believe it. I don't want to look back and see the years we spent together as a culmination amounting to his ruination.

It is so hard. I go into his art room to put away ugly things of his I don't like - things that his family will one day soon have to come and collect, and I see his calendar filled with Xs and checks on events he was planning. And it hits me, He Had Plans. And my mind shoots back to Saturday night, after he was done, laying on top of me crying. We cried together but for very different reasons.

And when he finally let me up, I ran to the phone, naked, to call 911. My son was right there, seeing my disheveled, naked, crying person reaching for a phone I couldn't find. Mr. T came out, and begged, down on his hands and knees, "SBD, don't do this. Tell them it will be all right."

I didn't.

And he's in jail now. An unreachable bail is set and in the morning, The prosecuting attorney will be seated at my dining room table to interview me. The detective assigned to our case will be in another room, interviewing my son. And all I want to do is cry and cry and cry and cry. I want the threat of his life in ruins gone in a poof. I want him to have a life and his cushy job and his dreams.

And I should be working right now, because without him, my income only covers two-thirds of what this household needs. And I look to my present, and I see 70 hours work weeks. And I see my son who is too scared to let me out of his sight to even sleep in his own bed.

And I'm very, very tired. I don't want to have to tell another person and see the look of pity. I don't want any more questions. I don't want to give any more explanations. I don't want to describe to another soul the hows and whatfors and whys.

I tell myself that victimhood is a luxury I cannot afford. I have a household to support and the very real chance that if I do not succeed, I will lose my home. I tell myself that, but I still can't bring my mind to work. All I see is the pleading in his eyes, the check marks on his calendar, and a future on the witness stand, looking at the man I care so much for, heading for prison.

And you know? He's not such a bad guy, just a desperate, wayward, misguided and sad man who didn't want to lose his comfortable life. Twenty years is too much out of his life to lose or a night of bad choices. I don't want his life to be this.

8:27 pm - 03.06.07
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