7/12/18 – Day 6
eggbeater | ˈeɡˌbēdər |
noun
a kitchen utensil used for beating ingredients such as eggs or cream.
• North American informal a helicopter.
The paper bag ripped and dropped all its items—mostly canned goods—onto the granite countertop with a teeth-gritting clang. Elaine stared blankly at the mess, externally unfazed. Without her being fully aware of them, her arms moved to scoop up the mess and restore order to the kitchen. As she finally placed the last can into the pantry, the front door burst open and two boys ran through, pulling each other’s hair.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hey, Mom!”
“Hi.” Elaine looked around for a moment to reconnect to her surroundings. The boys had already run off to their rooms, or maybe the game room. Who knew?
Mallory came home next, a book in her hand and smile on her face. She also greeted her mother and walked in the direction of the living room.
For a moment, Elaine sat there, elbows on the counter and head empty. Some vaguely sentimental music played through the radio and managed to help Elaine keep her subdued mood. She stared at the wall in front of her, painting dull pictures in her mind.
“What’s for dinner?” Blake asked as he strolled into the kitchen.
“French toast.”
“Oh, awesome! When’s it gonna be ready?”
“I’m starting on it now.”
“Yay! Thanks, Mom!”
Elaine watched as her son left the room. She really did have a good life.
Glass bowl, egg carton, loaf of bread, pan, cinnamon, and eggbeater. Elaine cracked a few eggs against the bowl, feeling the odd sense of power that came with destruction. The emotion faded quickly, and she turned on the eggbeater and simply watched as the yolks and whites blended into a soupy mess with no more distinction.
Dip the bread. Toast it on the pan. Sprinkle on the cinnamon. Flip. Remove. So painfully simple. So ridiculous repetitive. So numbingly enjoyable.
The kids came into the kitchen to eat, thanking their mother and telling her all about their day. Elaine paused for a moment to contemplate. Everyone else may assume these three to be spoiled brats, but they were not. Rich, pampered, and privileged, perhaps, but kind, considerate, polite, and sweet children who loved their mother and father and each other. How could she ever have been blessed with them? Heaven knew she didn’t deserve it.
The sound of helicopter blades broke through the chattering in the kitchen, and every young person jumped up, screamed for their father, and ran outside to welcome him home.
Elaine froze, her breathing increasing every so slightly. She loved her husband, so, so much, but lately, it hurt to see him. It hurt to see everything he was. It hurt to see how . . . how . . . how much he succeeded where she had failed.
Four careers. All failures. She never had the motivation to finish what she started. Passion was not something she possessed. She couldn’t work hard to make her dreams come true. That had always been the case, and it hadn’t been hard on her until she married a self-made millionaire and was constantly reminded of all the ways she failed.
Not that her husband treated her poorly. On the contrary, he loved her immensely and reassured her that she was still an amazing person. But she couldn’t buy it. He was just a good liar. He had to be. She was such a failure, and he was not.
She had kids, and she mostly raised them on her own. A nanny here and there, but Elaine was their mother first. She knew it was rewarding. And it had been. And as she said, somehow they were turning out all right. So far. But that wasn’t her doing. It couldn’t be. She was a failure.
Elaine was a mechanical robot. Emotion had escaped her at some point in time. Everything she did seemed purposeless. She was just drifting. The only thing that seemed to bring her back was . . .
“Hi, honey.” Greg’s soft kiss on her cheek was like a bucket of ice water thrown straight in her face. She jolted awake and turned to kiss him back.
That. That made it worth it. He made it worth it. The fact that he loved her made her worth it, even if she didn’t feel worthy of love. His kisses and soft words and kind expressions and sweet gestures. When he made her feel like she could do anything and be anything, and even when she believed his words empty, somehow, they still worked to keep her strong.
But he would leave. And she would be alone. And it would all go back to nothing.
But in the meantime.
“This is good French toast,” Greg said as he slathered his next bite in syrup.
Elaine stared at his bluish-green eyes slightly tinged with red from the long week. She loved him. He loved her. That love kept her afloat. It kept her alive.
Even when she failed, somehow, he still loved her. When she sank into nothing, he pulled her out. At the end of the day, Greg, and Mallory, and Blake, and Eric made her who she was. They helped her be a real person.
But she was also still her.
And Elaine’s eyes drifted from those of her husband back to the wall, and she began to paint dull pictures in her mind.
—————————————————————————————————
Word of the Day is a personal task for me to get me writing each and every day. I want to share these short, daily stories with you so that you can see more of my writing style. Review my Word of the Day rules here.
Rosie's Writings 