The Green Hills of Mission Trails

 
A simple request:

“Hi, could you pick the girls up at noon instead of 1:00pm?”

Leads to this:

“WHY THE FUCK DO I EVEN TRY!!!”

Followed by me hurling my cellphone at the laptop and throwing myself onto the couch, groaning.

“What’s the matter?” Michael asks and comes into the living room. He’s brave like that.

“WHY DO I EVEN TRY?!” I yell. “Every time I gather myself to write, something gets in my way. It’s like the Universe is trying to tell me to stop. And for the last few weeks I’ve tried to ‘let go’ and ‘go with the flow’ and ‘meditate’ and all that CRAP. I’ve tried to realize that perhaps it’s not time to write. That instead I should concentrate on my family. Or work. Or being absolutely still. But I want to write! So I try, and then something stops me. Work. Family. Christmas. A cold. Some event. Every time. EVERY FUCKING time!”

Michael tries to be helpful. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll pick up the girls.”

I take a deep breath.

“Because I want to see them. I want to see how their sleep-over went. I miss them. I just thought I had a little more time.”

“Stay here,” he insists. I’ll pick them up. You can see them later.”

“YOU’RE NOT LISTENING TO ME! I WANT to see them!” I scream and storm from the room. He follows me. Because he’s brave like that.

“Why don't you just stay here?” he persists.

And the nerve-ending is suddenly there and exposed and raw.

“Why?! WHY do I have to explain myself?! I’m ALWAYS having to explain myself -- having to justify my every action. ‘Melissa, why are you doing THIS? Why are you doing THAT? Melissa, why are you taking a SHIT? I want you over HERE -- not over THERE. Don’t do THAT -- do THIS. Melissa, why are you doing THAT? Why? WHY?’ BECAUSE I FUCKING WANT TO, THAT’S WHY!!! I want to do what I want to do and I don't want to justify it!”

At this point Michael starts to laugh. It’s either that or leave. But he doesn’t leave because he’s good like that.

I’m practically spitting. I’ve taken over the entire room. Michael laughs because I am an animal. I am like Klaus, the cat. Sometimes when Klaus played, a switch clicked in his brain and suddenly he was wild. Just like that -- wild. His white nose pulsed bright pink with blood. His pupils grew large. He craved flesh and bones and tundra. He craved Wild... Animal... Freedom.

So Michael laughs. Because clearly a switch has clicked in my brain, too. But his laughter startles me. Like a cold squirt of water to the face, I -- human -- return. So I laugh, too. And then cry. And then groan. Loudly. Because at this moment, it’s all TOO MUCH -- the holding in, the trying to be “good”, the “keeping it together.”

All I want to do is tear flesh from bone, but I’m too tame. Instead, Michael and I hold each other. We kiss. We cry. We laugh. Then, after I’ve caught my breath for the last time, I put on my shoes, grab the keys, and head for the door.

For a time, I am sad. Score one more for the Universe, I think. Goddamn. But what I don’t know as I drive through the green hills of Mission Trails on a wet afternoon, is that the Universe has dealt the final straw.

It has dealt the final straw.

The straw that brings me back.