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on a good day she leaves the house wanders through the aisles of the supermarket looking at food she has no appetite to eat she buys a new toy for Alison she goes back to the house and takes a nap before her daughter gets home from school dinner is cereal and toast or canned soup and crackers when they talk it is about things that happened to to Alison at school or about tv shows they watch together they don't talk about him after dinner Dawn has taken to spending hours in the bathtub drinking whatever alcohol she can find in the house while Alison watches cartoons in the next room tonight it is whiskey last night it was wine she takes hot baths watches her skin turn red and wills herself to stay put until the bathwater is cold and she is shivering her hollowness is growing spreading in to every corner of the house the whiskey burns her throat hits her empty stomach like a punch Alison has started climbing in to bed with her at night like when she was a toddler she tries to comfort her but she can't even comfort herself instead they are just lonely together Dawn has lost so much weight that hugging her daughter hurts he used to yell at her for things like this letting Alison crawl into bed with them at night when she couldn't sleep letting her leave the light on because she was afraid of the dark Alison would cry and Dawn would have to sleep on the floor of her room he didn't speak to her for months after that she never understood why as if having compassion for her own child was an unforgivable weakness he wasn't a good husband he wasn't a good father and now she isn't a good mother she takes another drink from the bottle then another one until her eyes start to water a terrible thought works its way inside her and starts to blister what if she was only good in comparison to him? the water is cold Dawn puts the bottle on the floor draws her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them she has to get up go be a good mother now but she doesn't know what that is anymore she doesn't know who she is anymore Dawn presses her spine into the icy porcelain and prays that it grinds her bones to dust
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AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
June 2023
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