My Box

I could tell you story about the boy who bit me in a dance class. Not really, we were dancing to Thriller and it was a pretend zombie bite. But that, small moment was the start of the changes to my life.

There isn’t much story to tell though. We were always in the right place, at the right time, but we did the wrong things. And I was left waiting. They tell me it’s been almost ten years since he died, but nothing feels different to me. I’m still waiting.

He took me to a party once. At a house of a friend of his, where I didn’t know anyone. Something happened, he got mad, we left. We went to dinner with some mutual friends once, but after that we didn’t go out with other people. We watched movies alone at his place or mine, we fucked when no one else was around. He built me a box.

I went on with my life while in that box. Waiting for him to return and open the lid. Waiting for the moments when he didn’t need me, just wanted me. I built my life inside that box. One day someone else came knocking, and I thought that I had escaped the box. I didn’t, and because I was still in the box waiting, I fucked it all up. And I will blame the tequila I was drowning in, I will blame that in that moment of my life I forgot about the box. I will admit that it was my mistake that ruined a life, destroyed trust and love for that other person.

And it has been almost ten years. I have moved on with my life. But late at night when everyone is sleeping, I still live in that box he built for me. The one where he kept me safe from his secrets, where he could keep me as only his. I am still waiting.

I almost remember the words he texted me. Telling me he was sorry for the way he treated me, that he loved me and that nothing was my fault. I knew what it meant, and I broke my phone trying to call him. I didn’t know where he was living, because I had turned him down when he asked if he could live with me. I remember standing in my kitchen, my phone on the floor, not knowing what to do. And then the baby cried.

Once when visiting his parents, I looked through his phone. To see if the text was still there. It wasn’t, no texts or calls, no pictures of our baby I sent him. What I found was that my number was under the name “Do not answer”. And then I knew why, why he texted me, why I was the only one he reached out to. At that time, I didn’t know any of his friends names, I didn’t know his parents names or how to reach them. I didn’t know where he lived. We weren’t even friends on Facebook. Because of my box, I couldn’t save him and he knew it.

So I sat in the box, waiting and hoping, holding the baby with me. Until I found it, one Halloween night in my basement. I found the obituary online. And it didn’t say it, but I knew what he had done. I knew he left me in the box with our son.

And someday, someday I will have to tell him.






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Mom, wife, artist, writer and witchy woman

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