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Marriage: An Illusion... But Who’s It Fooling?

Joined: 2/19/2011
Posts: 1
The ride begins. After seconds of stillness the movement starts with a sudden and harsh jolt, as if reluctant then powerlessly shoved face first. Apprehensively, the woman plays with her bracelet, wrapping the clear elastic around her finger until it warms with purple coloring and bulging flesh. In shock, she pulls her finger fervently, and the fragile thread snaps. The beads lay around her on the elevator carpet, once united and now singular, once spelling “Ilovemommy” and now a mess of pieces with no bond, no association.
Ding. The jolt of reaching the top flusters the woman, and she reluctantly stares down at the scattered beads on the floor and stands stagnant with a sharp jab of guilt and shame overbearing her courage. As the doors open, a tear falls from the woman’s eye to the elevator carpet, immediately soaked in along with the thousands of other forgotten emotions.
She walks down the short yet perpetual hallway, as if walking the plank; a surrender, although this time disposed and purposeful. She enters the room, the space was old and putrid, with tasteless pale green walls and cracked wooden doors. She is greeted by a distorted lemon scent, the grungy cleanliness of hasty cleaning, the man sitting, staring back at her, smirking. She speaks softly, “Thanks for meeting me.”
He snickers, “My pleasure.”
She slips out of her black heels. “This time will be shorter, my family’s waiting at home.”

It was a beautiful day; the air was hot but light and a small breeze continuously blew, softening the heat and giving fluidity to the warmth. He started in the backyard, mowing the overgrown grass in the sun, refreshed by the clean tingle of the cool wind on his glistening back. She was in the kitchen making charming meal of cut up apples and snap peas, triangles of grilled cheese sandwich, and iced tea with lemon and swirly straws. Next to the kitchen my sister and I played in the living room; sprawled out on the floor with a mess of beads and tangled string, enveloped in the creation of art.
“Mommy, look! I did it for you, do you like it?” I asked with pride, waiting to be credited, praised. But it did not come.
“Thanks Sweetie, now go eat your sandwich, Mommy’s leaving now.”
“Do you love it, Mommy? Will you keep it forever?”
“Forever, Sweetie. I’ll be home soon.”
I watched her leave; standing perched on the couch long after the car was out of sight. My father came in and read the note, his body tensing with disparity and anger.
“Girls, where did Mommy say she was going?” He asked eagerly, hoping for an answer that would defy his underlying certainty, while knowing one would not come. He ran the cold water over his hands and splashed it on his face. His eyes stung with despondency and tears fell off his face in the same rhythm as the dripping water.
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Comment by bugcandy

Joined: 11/5/2008
Posts: 286
I wanted to let you know that your essay for our February writing contest about marriage was one of the finalists. Megan, our PR Coordinator, will be in touch with you (if she hasn't already) via email.

We'll be announcing the winner later today or tomorrow. I personally look forward to seeing more of your essays/writing on

Thanks for sharing your point of view with us!


Presient & CEO,

P.s. Did you enter the current student writing contest?
Posted: Thursday, March 24, 2011 4:32:04 PM
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