Another flailinghypocrit post. I’m not bothering to archive there, so whatever I bring over is all that will remain. I don’t feel like I’m flailing so often, but the hypocrite still shows herself from time to time.
She sets the stick on the vanity and stares at it.
Prays, “Please, God, please, God, please…”
She remembers the first test she took–the excitement and anticipation as they waited together, hoping, praying the same desperate prayer, but for a different outcome.
The second one she took alone. She wanted it to be a surprise. It was.
They were together again for the third one. He was excited as the pink lines etched their way across the windows. She was almost resigned, her main thought being, “One more time…I can do this one more time.”
Today, she doesn’t even look while she waits. It’s been so many years since she had to change a diaper or get up in the night, so many years since a wee one depended on her for life. So many years…
“Please, God, please God, please…”
Nausea swells from the pit of her stomach. Nerves, or something more? She picks up the stick, holds it over the trash can. Puts it back on the counter. Ignores it for another minute or so. Reads the directions again, not wanting a misunderstanding–a false hope. One line: no; two lines: yes.
Musters up her courage and looks at the two windows.
And just a little disappointment.
She hides the stick in the trash and heads to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.