A Lonely State of Education
Sitting alone at my kitchen table holding a glass of Cabernet, I feel my shoulders release from captivity. Staring at my grandparents' mission style table, its dark wood and deep scratches from a century of abuse, straw no longer poking out of the wooden chairs I've since recovered, I remembered my dad tried to repair the wood; long gone are our table conversations. It's Valentine's Day and my husband is of course working late, because every day is Valentine's Day after four kids and nearly 24 years of marriage, right? I breathe a sigh of relief. At least the three boys are playing Wii in the basement; their noises of negotiation ensure me I am safe to let down my guard. Dinner can wait. I swirl my glass of wine watching it lap the sides of my stemmed glass. God damnit, why is she still affecting me? The bitch, the teacher who questioned my judgment, walking away and waving me off like a child today. Staring at the deep groove in the table that sits six, a ...