I had snuggled up with him as he half dozed on the couch. His hand circled my waist.
"Such a cute tummy," he said sleepily.
"You mean my gut?," I asked.
"Don't call it that," he said.
He was so simple. He never really understood me. He had no idea how that ball of flesh tormented me. It settled in around age 14 and never entirely left. I imagined cutting it out, fleshy, white and red and raw, and setting it before him, with blood running down my legs.
"It's mine. I'll call it what I want."
"Such a cute tummy," he said sleepily.
"You mean my gut?," I asked.
"Don't call it that," he said.
He was so simple. He never really understood me. He had no idea how that ball of flesh tormented me. It settled in around age 14 and never entirely left. I imagined cutting it out, fleshy, white and red and raw, and setting it before him, with blood running down my legs.
"It's mine. I'll call it what I want."
even those closest to us sometimes have NO clue
ReplyDeletei can relate. of course.
ReplyDelete