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By @Madison
In my dream that night
I return to the soap opera
That is the life of my older self
And her offspring.
This time, she stands in the middle of a sunlit kitchen
Downing a cup of coffee.
Her little girl is nowhere to be seen
Probably in the custody of some next of kin
Whom she had previously never met.
Todd Junior, however
Is still there
Flashing a gap toothed grin
As he watches his mother from across the table.
His evergreen colored irises sparkle when he looks at her.
I can almost believe he’s forgiven her
As he polishes off a bowl of colorful cereal.
The thought that he loves her enough to do that makes my chest hurt
Once he finishes his breakfast
He stands up
Rounds the table to stand in front of his mom.
“I’m ready,” he announces
Voice small but sure.
His mother nods
Sitting her lipstick-stained mug on the counter
Before taking his hand.
Unlike her hand on her daughter’s temple a few nights ago
Her touch is gentle
As she lets her son take hold of her thumb
While he leads her out the door.
The way their hands interlock
Almost seems loving.
Together, they cut their way through the yard to the sidewalk.
As her son adjusts the straps of his backpack
My older self bends down to press a kiss to the soft skin of his chubby cheek.
“Be good,” she mumbles.
He smiles
Kisses her cheek in return.
“I will.”
A car approaches
Coming to a noisy halt
On the road they’re facing.
Smiling in the front seat of a convertible
Is a much older, much cleaner Todd Swanson
And, in the back seat
A small girl
With a pair of golden pigtails
And one bright red cheek.
Todd turns to the mother of his children
Offering her a devilish grin
Forever the sly fox.
“Candace,” he greets her.
“Long time no see.”
The woman nods with a hard swallow
Her icy eyes vacant
As she watches the miniature Xerox copy of the man before her
Climb into the convertible.
The boy secures his seat belt
Smiling at his father.
“I’m ready,” he says
Just as he did earlier
To his mother.
Todd takes that as his cue to speed off
Not offering a chance for goodbyes.
With that
The shell of a woman who was once me turns around
Starting back for the door
As what was left of her family
Vanishes into thin air.
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