I Killed Him....

I can't lie and say that it was an act of rage or passion.

I won't say that I regret my actions and wish that I could undo them.

Today, I committed murder with malice and plenty of forethought. Once it was done, I was glad that I followed through on my thoughts and murdered the father of my child.

It wasn't an easy decision, but it wasn't a hard one either. For so long now, I've had to live with so much anger and rage and I finally feel as if that burden has been lifted from me. Of course there are plenty of things that I will never be able to say to him.

Even more things that I'll never again hear him say to me or Bird....but I'm really and truly ok with that.

It's been six months since the final conversation between the two of us and with the way things have deteriorated, I know without a shadow of a doubt, there wasn't any hope for reconciliation.

So he's dead.

At least to my daughter and myself.

I killed him off in my head. In case you were wondering, I pictured him as the victim of a horrific car accident where he was thrown from the car and severely mangled and dismembered, although he didn't die until hours later from his internal injuries. I pictured a lovely memorial service for him as well.

I know it seems drastic to say that someone is dead, however...

It has been six months.

Six months of me wondering if he'll ever pick up the phone to acknowledge the existence of his child. Six months of waiting for some type of support or financial assistance as I care for her. Six months of wondering why I don't even receive common courtesy and respect from the person who once called me their best friend. Six months of watching him coo and adulate his new daughter and become so enthralled with his new family.

Six long ass months.

That's a long time to have salt rubbed in your open wounds.

So I decided that in order for me to heal and stop wondering why he didn't call, I had to provide him with a good reason for why he couldn't call.

And everyone knows that dead men don't know how to use cell phones....

Magic Stick

A magic stick changed my life.

Actually, make that TWO magic sticks.

And yes, I mean EXACTLY what you think I mean when I say that.

The first magic stick was what got me into this mess. I became infatuated and stayed around, loooongg past the time I should have.

The second one, well, it was my fault for playing with the first too long.

I'd just returned home from an impromptu visit to see my baby sister off to prom. All was wonderful and she looked and felt like a princess going to the ball, which was exactly what I wanted for her.

I have NO idea what made me take the test. I wasn't late. I wasn't having mood swings. I had taken more naps than usual while I was home, but I attributed that to the fact that there was simply nothing of interest to do in my wannabe-big-city, small town home. I guess this would be the point where some say my motherly instinct just kicked in.

So there I was, in my house R.Kelly-ing a thin white piece of plastic. I wasn't worried or tense as I waited the requisite three minutes for results. To be accurate, I wasn't anything more than curious at that moment. Not just to find out what the results would be, but how I would react to whatever they were.

One minute....

Two minute....

Three minute....

Four.....

I finally pick the stick up from its horizontal position to decipher the results. Negative. Life could go on as it had been going on. While I pondered if I was excited or disappointed because once again, I had proof that I wasn't fit to be someone's mother, I put the stick back on the counter, arranged my clothes and went on about my business.

I ran errands, even left the house and returned. Finally went into the bathroom again about five hours later and noticed the debris from my earlier misadventures. I sat down again to handle another round of business and as I went to grab some tissue something caught my eye.

At first I couldn't pinpoint what was amiss.

No one had been in the house since I had left.

Nothing was out of place, everything just as I'd left it. But Something was different.

I picked up the pregnancy test from earlier and sat there trying to decipher what was wrong. And finally it came to me. Where earlier, one line had appeared meaning that I had correctly performed the test and received a negative result, there now appeared two lines. One so faint, that had I squinted hard enough, it would have disappeared. One line that I would bet my life had not been there earlier, but was indelibly there now.

I put the stick back down and reversed every emotion that I'd experienced earlier.

I thought about throwing up, but I didn't want to be the stereotypical pregnant woman.