Woke up at three today. It had been a long night. All remembering. Too much to remember, never enough to drink. My head was ringing, an empty bottle rattling in my head, back and forth between the ears.
Why did she have to happen?
Before, we had loved each other. Picnics in the park, wind rustling the skirt on her sundress, you know? Days on the beach and long road trips, nice dinners out. We were young, I guess. Happy.
Until the positive showed up, I mean. The hideous little plus sign burned into the back of my retinas. The arguments began. Tragic, really.
"We made an agreement," I protested.
"What about my dad?" she barked back. Every single fucking time. Those parents and how she loved them and could never betray them. Their little get-togethers and the church and "faith." Spouting bullshit to a crowd of lost, lonely, sad sheep every Sunday. That's what her father did, I mean. Her mother just sat there. Little doll in the nice clothes. That's where my Holly learned it. Just sit there and smile.
She was never quite like them, though. Lucky me, she had a brain. But she did want to "respect their wishes." Too kind to ever betray them. The most daring thing she ever did was marry me. The dark, insightful eyes, the crooked teeth in her mouth, but you know, only the sharp ones. That's what I remember best.
Well I guess that's why it had to happen. I can't really blame anyone except for her. No, not her. The little whore that emerged from her like some kind of fucking conniving rat. If you could put blame on a cluster of cells.
We knew something was wrong not long into it. Our marriage was already straining, but her body wasn't handling it. The pregnancy I mean. The doctors told her it would be difficult, she might not make it out. Everyone got it except for her. Even her parents agreed with me at that point.
Well, she never did change her mind an awful lot.
It happened and she died. That was it. Out popped the ratty whore along with Holly's last lung-full of air. We all cried. The baby was left with the doctors for a bit. I had to bring her home.
She wasn't worth it, okay? That little fucking Mabel Anne. The name was her idea, not mine. I would've named her Bertha Hamsandwich or some such bullshit. She grew a bit. I did what I had to so she would live. Hideous child. Had my dad's small eyes and funny ears. None of her mother's features. A waste.
I started drinking. Well, I always had. But not like this. She was going to school now. Some mornings when I woke up on the table, I would find her door locked and it never felt right.
I would have much rather kept my Holly.
