Hibernation

She sits alone, in a moment of silence from the chaos that is motherhood. She doesn’t remember the question but the answer has her secluded in this room. Feelings of confinement are the only thing that has kept her from floating away. It’s not that she doesn’t like being a mother. In fact, she loves it. It’s the closest she’ll ever get to religion. Because, based on her current situation, the concept of God doesn’t make a lot of sense.

A child calls for her in the distance and she stands. She walks to the door, of this small room, and sets her hand on thin door. Every time she turns this knob she hopes it will open to a new world. Her wrist turns slowly and the door opens. “Not this time,” she mutters and walks down the narrow hall of the “double-wide”.

She stops in front of a body-length mirror in the hallway. She looks her perfections that are paired with her imperfections. Both of which of long been forgotten by her husband. “Hmm, I was just too young,” she says quietly. Another call for mom comes from outside. She hates that the walls are so thin, you can’t tell if someone is outside or not from down the hall.

She gets to the door and her boy just wants to show her a toad he’s found. She gets real close to it like a scientist and studies. She whispers in too her son’s ear, “He looks like a fragile one. Make sure you’re very careful.” The boy replies, “Ok, mommy.” Then he runs off. “Damn, he looks like his father.”

Suddenly, she realizes that’s the second time she thought of her husband all day. She doesn’t think about him much anymore. Except in annoyance. He’s not cruel but he’s not loving either. She heard loving was good. She’s pretty sure she remembers the feeling, but she wouldn’t bet on it. “Do I miss it?” she asks the air where her son used to be. On one hand she does. With all the enthusiasm she can muster, she does. On the other hand she won’t find it here and she can’t imagine getting anywhere else.

Another man is like another country. In that same analogy, she hasn’t renewed that visa ever. She might meet carnal needs here and there, but she wants love. She needs love. These children aren’t being given all of her because part of her is not being fed. Therefore, it has retreated into hibernation.

She won’t let it die, though. Not yet. She just checks in on it from time to time. In that small room, in the back of the double-wide. Someday she’ll walk out of the room and the air will be different. He heart will beat a bit faster. She’ll walk past the mirror without a single thought. She’ll grab her suitcase and kids and travel “abroad”.