"Don't you also have a son?"
A falter, a misstep, a hesitation of some sort must cross my face, because before I can answer, I see her retreat, confusion crossing her face.
"No, just my daughter", but it is too late, the innocent conversation has become awkward for a beat, I feel something like embarrassment coming from her. She doesn't know what she did, just that she did something.
Thankfully, we move on in mere seconds, though it feels longer. We continue to talk about reading to our daughters, hers just a few months behind A. That, and the fact that I like her, has made me try to reach out more to her when I see her. Maybe we can be friends, I think. God knows I need those.
Maybe not. The short hiccup in our conversation leaves me feeling exhausted, reminded of how strange and different I am. I don't even know how to answer simple questions anymore.
I watch her walk away a few minutes later. Feeling sad, I try to remind myself, one day, this will feel easier than it does today. At least, I hope so.
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2 comments:
I hope so too.
And you are not strange.
I thought it was just me who always felt like a freak. I mean I act "normal", but inside, I know I am just different now. It's hard to describe, but I think you did it justice. Sorry you feel this way too.
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