It was early morning when her husband left before he had to for work.
So she sat there once again; alone on the rim of the bathtub. Her face felt hot, but her hands were cold and humid with the numb sensation she had grown so accustomed to in the past year. She felt dizzy.
1 more minute...
She looked at her feet for several seconds. The pink polish was chipping at the sides. She couldn't remember the last time she had cared. Then Lila quickly glanced over at the thin plastic covering.
One pink line.
Silence.
She was empty. Her heart felt void. She could not stand it. It was a mute panic that arose in her a desperation she suppressed for fear of her soul exploding. No happy ending here. Just the deadened sense of who she should have been. Yet another year passes and it was so cruel.
She remembered having thought it before, in the middle of teaching her class.
Barren.
For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow, said Mr. Hughes. And she simply thought to herself, Langston is such a handsome name.
And she thought of her husband; his dreams. They were never her own. Everyone around them wondering why they hadn't chosen to fulfill their dreams; choose the stamp to seal the marriage. It was a slow realization of what would never be for him. He just couldn't; because it was not him.
It's me, she thought.
He had tired of being around on these days. The humilliation had become so routine, but he could not understand why. He could not explain to himself the lack of empathy or enthusiasm. He worked later and drank longer. Even their arguments had ceased, but his apathy consumed her. She was losing him. He slid out from within the grasp of their marriage--or what used to be. It had lost purpose and perspective. He had regret; a growing resentment toward her incessant tries to redeem herself and their matrimony. It had been futile.
She was not what he had wanted. A wife alone was not enough.
