As he drove home the lights flicked passed. His vision focused, his mind trained. The route to his home a routine. For him it was always a routine. His route, his marriage, his day… His life. A tedious, practical life is more like it. It had become all he knew. At one point it was all he aspired for. To see his boy waving from the window as he pulled up. To walk into his home and have his love greet him. Hmm.. His very own 1950s routine of a life. The American dream, yes? Hardly. The only true exception to the dream was that of his son. The rest… An ache. She’d become his torture. His harness. A bitter part of each dreaded day. She became the modern day version of Annie Wilkes, the broken knees… His marriage. Broken. Held by despair of reality.
Entering his home there was no blissful greet. Instead a shudder of disappointment. “Good you’re home.” For a moment he thought she was happy to see him. There was a glimmer of hope. “Ricky needs some essentials for school. You don’t mind picking it up do you?” His brows furrowed. “Yeah, I kinda do. You couldn’t call me on my way home?” He asks now growing in frustration. “I forgot.” She says. Her response careless. Turning to walk back out. “Oh and I didn’t make anything… You know, since that’s your area.” his back already turned, his hand rests on the knob and he grips. Bowing his head, containing the aggravation. “Yep. I’ll pick something up.” Walking out he returns to his car and gets in.
Sitting, he turns on the engine. His eyes shut as the car runs and he takes in the moment. The quiet peaceful moment of just him in his space. In a breath his mind wanders to her. Not the shrew that remained in the house. But… Her. The one that got away. She was perfect. Head to toe, gorgeous. Her flaw… she was perhaps a bit too intense. But with the memory of her. The intensity she carried was a part of her beauty. Was part of her DNA. With a name of a flower she was one he’d never forget. The only one to fill the void. She was his sanity. She was… His Lily.