More Kelly

In college her life had been a constant drama. It was the boys. She had been such a nobody in High School, and suddenly there she was, guys falling all over her, calling her, talking to her, suddenly kissing her when she least expected it, catching her completely off guard and sending her into a whirlwind of emotional highs and lows. She was flattered. She didn't know how to turn them away. She wasn't sure she wanted to turn them away. Not all of them. Not most of them. She fell in love with ach one she settled on, enough to have her hopes dashed, shattered beyond repair, each and every time the relationship inevitably crumbled, like a sugar cube dipped in coffee. You know it's going to dissapear, but when it does...


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She couldn't make coffee to save her life. She fumbled with the filter, forgot how many scoops to put in, and the end result was a watery substance that reminded her of cigarette ashes. She found herself remembering cheap morning-after breakfasts.

Greg never woke up early enough to go to breakfast. By the time he made it out of bed the rush had begun, and he refused to wait even fifteen minutes for bad coffee and cold eggs. Besides, with the kids it was just easier to stay home. Kelly agreed, but she loved going out to breakfast. The smell of the coffee - or was it the cigarette smoke - mingling with the heavy scent of bacon and syrup, catching in her hair so she would smell it for the rest of the day. A smiling lover across the table sipping hot coffee. She ordered eggs and bacon. Maybe a cheese omlette. Toast.
These days she never made eggs. The kids didn't eat them - Jimmy threw up the last time he has tried them. It was always cereal or frozen waffles, and that was the extent of the breakfast fare. Greg sometimes joked that she nver cooked breakfast anymore, but she didn't like cooking breakfats when it was almost time for the boys to have lunch. Besides, cleaning up was always such a letdown.

***********

She shifted John's weight to her other hip as she looked down the road, both ways, for any cars that might be coming. Which was silly. There were never any cars coming down their road. But she always went through the motions, setting a good example for her boys. She pretended they would learn to look both ways, too, and that otherwise they would get mowed down one day in town.

The mailbox stood there, a presence. She almost held her breath as she helped John lower the little door and they peered inside. She didn't know what she expected to find - a letter, maybe. Something besides junk mail and bills. A postcard from a friend on vacation - from one of her friends that still took vacations. A letter from someone who missed her, or just remembered her. Someone thinking of her.

Sometimes she did get cards or lettersm and when she did her heart warmed with the silent thrill of it. The high lasted through the afternoon and evening, coloring the second half of the day with the thought that someone might be thinking of her at that very moment.

But more often than not, there was nothing, and she was surprisingly dissapointed. Like checking her email basket and finding nothing but Spam or forwards. It made her feel invisible, as though she had been banished from the real world, as though she were forced to live in her house, with her kids, and her life, instead of it being her choice to do so.

The mailbox wasn't empty. A form letter from her Alma Mater asking for money. The town newspaper, photos from a pancake breakfast on the front page. A catalogue of guns and outdoor gear. A credit card application.

Kelly sighed and handed John the credit card application. He happily took it and tried to open it, delighted. She smiled, kissing the side of his head. She glanced beyond the house into the yard where Jimmy was diggin in the patch of dirt where she was trying to grow flowers. Jason's carrier was right next to him, the baby sleeping, the occasional clump of dirt landing on his blanket.

"I'm invisible" she whispered to her middle child, and immediately wished she hadn't. Even though he was only two (almost two) he might catch the emptiness inside her, or worse feel responsible for it. She wanted nothing more than to hide this feeling, the existance of this feeling, from her boys.

"I love you, "she whispered to make up for it. And also because she meant it. "You boys are my everything."