Page 3

There I sit, staring at Marilyn Manson, trapped in a pee bed next to a toddler, wondering if I have the strength to get up and change her sheets.
You’re probably wondering how this all happened. I’m not referring to the poster, although that’s a question for another day, but the “single dad with two kids” thing. Where’s the mom?
That’s a long story. I don’t know if I can even put it into words that will make sense, but I’ll try.
She left.
Not what you were looking for? Fair enough. I suppose I can expand. I’ve got time, right?
You’ve heard this story before, more than likely. If not, you’ve been living under a rock, but I’ll give you the short version.
Football star, homecoming queen.
Still not enough? Okay, I’ll continue. He fucking loves her. Falls head over goddamn heels. And they fuck.A lot. She gets pregnant behind the bleachers of the stadium. He forgoes the scholarship he had to play college ball, and she gives birth to a baby girl that fall. The boy? The one who thought his life was over with two pink lines? He falls madly in love with being a dad.
And the girl in this story? She was never “small town” and wanted out of North Texas.
No, this isn’t the start of a country song, though I’m sure somewhere it is.
Because this story, the one of a boy who swore to give that girl he absolutely fucking adored everything she ever wanted, well, he works two jobs and still can’t give her what she wants. It doesn’t end happily ever after. It ends with her ring on the nightstand and my heart in the trash beside it.
Loving each other doesn’t mean a happy marriage. Hating each other doesn’t mean divorce. Liking one another doesn’t mean respect.
See where I’m going with that?
Yeah, me neither. It’s the middle of the night. I can’t think straight. But I can show you how it played out in twenty sentences or less.
I’m pregnant.
Marry Me.
Are we too young?
We can make it.
I do.
I’m so in love with you.
I’ll give you the world.
Why do you work so much?
I do it for you.
Are you happy?
I’m pregnant again.
I love you.
I’m unhappy.
I’m trying.
Loving me shouldn’t be this hard.
It’s not. I just don’t love you anymore.