The bags are packed-they smell of clean laundry. Another business trip. Another state. The sun has yet to rise over the roof of the house, regardless he’s off again. The girls beg, “Daddy don’t go”. But he kisses their forehead and wraps his fingers around the soft leather of his suit case.
A piece of toast. A cup of coffee. A half glance in my direction and the door slams. I mask my tears with a smile. With a wave. In a couple years we will be happy again…just give him a couple of years. Am I a single mother? No, although many disagree. A soccer game he has yet to see. And to make time for a date with me is only something I can conjure up in a dream.
I track his flight like I’ve done so many times before. The girls awake, I pack up their back packs, fix them breakfast, and send them on their ways. Past the kitchen window the yellow bus rolls.
Alone again-the floor boards creak and my soul dies a little with each breath. Ring Ring goes the phone. My heart jumps and my fingers twitch as they wrap around the receiver. Through the phone a voice whispers…” The towers are burning, the towers are burning.”