Drive him to school. The silence is so thick we can taste it. It clings to my mouth, making me want to gag up forgiveness. I want to curl up beside him and scream forgive me, forgive me, forgive me....and just have him there, holding me, letting me know that this isn't all over. One turn to the left, two to the right and I've lost my chance to tell him I'm sorry today. I've never seen blue eyes look so sad.
I arrive at the home of laundry detergent. My mother would never let her house look like this but she has. And now for another four hours its all repitition. Wash, dry, fold, repeat. I study myself in the long horizontal bathroom mirror. I look all grown-up now. Not too thin or chunky. Maybe I'll even admit to myself that I've grown a little prettier. Maybe not. He doesn't see it in me any more, I think.
The smell of warm pumpkin spice and warm autumn rain always chill me this time of year. And still everything is repetition. Breathe, sign, wake up and do it all again for whatever mood suits out.
Arrive home. Silence all the way. Uncomfortable and consuming. Not even a look my way to say "what are you thinking." I keep trying to avoid the sudden rush of thought.
Staggered to bed, ready for an explosion of words.
I crawl into bed and apologize with my hands. Stroke, soothe, and calm. Wrapped up together, finally a decent rest where my harsh words won't give wake to another night of distance.