Trapped

I stare at myself in the mirror, pat my lips with a wondering palm. Cracked. They are so dry; as dry as my feelings inside. The running water in the bathroom sink doesn't help much. The little drops trickling beckon me. I sip but nothing. Pain and thirst is all I feel.
The pain of thoughts, wishes and memories. My stomach has been heaving all night and my head reels with exhaustion. And my teeth...akh! Not again! I might as well leave them with the dentist so he can hang them for display. I have never had any patience with illness, however trivial, so probably I would find this frailty irksome as I did even if I and him were dwelling in the blissful realms of a fulfilled and happy union.

I think of when I was a child: Nine years of nothing but innocence and mischief. I have felt mud between my toes, as we puddle the river that ran down the rocks. As we trespassed the heavily manned forests trapping grasshoppers and searching for lilies and poppies. If I could be a child forever! My life would be full of laughter. Not this pain.

Retreating to my congested room, I sat up gingerly. I walked to the window, leaning out to draw deep breaths of fresh air that would soon be heavily stale as the sun rose. I'm disturbed. The tightness of my breasts makes me long, long to run in the wind. Long to soak in the rain. Long to bask in the sun. Long to be free. Free like a child's spirit inside me, the soul that renews my strength whenever I'm drained.

See, I am a mother and a child. Oh, and a wife? I should play both...all perhaps all roles appropriately. A child in my spirit, a mother to my daughter and perhaps a wife to this man I seldom know. Yesterday he promised to find me an appropriate man to call a husband. He didn't like the responsibilities that came with the title. He woke me up at half past midnight and exclaimed "Men, we are either gay, jerks, mama's boys, into kinky sex, cheating on our wives, drug users, pimps, liars or actors- the worst kind." He was in a drunken stupor...as usual, so I buried myself into the blankets and faced the wall, with my eyes wide open, till morning thinking to myself, " I'll dance and cook at the same time...a mother and a child"

I think of my first love. He's here inside my head, locked in my tiny heart. Sometimes I think my thoughts will pop out through my tongue if my eyes won't give me away. I miss his commanding voice. I remember running to the window to peep whenever I overheard him across the fence. His air of remote authority unmistakable. It is a much pleasanter mental exercise to think of him than worry about the other. Always gone and back with a lash. Sometimes am so engrossed in that world I barely notice the world around me. I keep the memories solemnly. Praying for someday. One day sometime. Because his motive was always crystal clear: To love and protect me forever.