The Choice Not Taken Read Online Free Page A
Author: Jodi LaPalm
rather than uplift my spirits as it would any other time. Making great effort to be sincere and speak when prompted, I just couldn’t remain focused on who was talking or even what they were saying.
This, to me, became a glaring sign something was terribly wrong.
Leaning close so only he could hear, I whispered to Alex I’d rather leave after the match and skip the pizza party. I used the excuse of preferring to drive to my sister’s while it was still daylight. He nodded in agreement, and I impatiently waited for the game to end so I could be alone.
Mitch scored one goal, but his team lost. The boys seemed unfazed, however. With its arcade games and prizes, it was apparent the local pizzeria held more allure than victory did at the moment.
Hugging the kids tight against my pounding chest, they each wrestled free once I prompted them to obey their father. Having a few days alone with Dad was a rare treat, and I was disappointed to know they’d follow my instructions.
I secretly wished Alex could get the full experience of just one frustrating day as a stay-at-home mother. Instead, it would be one long play-date in which the kids were best of friends, nothing got broken, and Daddy reigned as the coolest parent ever.
“Have a safe drive, call when you get there, and give everyone a big hug from us,” Alex spoke into my ear.
I struggled to let him go.
“I will. I plan to be home Saturday night,” I choked before kissing him goodbye.
The three of them stood by Alex’s car, cheerfully waving while I backed from the stall. Looking in the rear-view mirror for one final glimpse of my beautiful family, I noticed my eyes.
Filled with watery tears, I worried just how long they’d actually been there.
hollow
My sister Jen’s house was exactly one hour and fifteen-minutes away from mine. Seventy-five minutes without work, home, or family to occupy me meant I couldn’t elude him.
Philip.
The first time we crossed paths was unremarkable and would have likely gone unremembered if it hadn’t taken the turn it did.
I was only twenty-three but an old twenty-three. Aged beyond my years by events out of my control, I felt I’d already lived four lifetimes. And yet, without the presence of such intense memories, I would have almost believed it to be the life of another person. Not mine.
Spring Break of my final college semester, and I could still recall how Mom and Dad insisted on paying my way to visit my older sister in Florida. Jen moved there right after Christmas to begin a teaching job, and my parents feared she was homesick for family and the Midwest.
I tried to assure them that while she may miss us on occasion, she most certainly didn’t long for the sub-zero temperatures of a traditional Wisconsin winter. They didn’t listen, however, and went to visit her one week in February. And with the precision of a high-ranking military strategist, my mother scheduled me to visit in late March and for Jen to fly back again once her initial school semester wrapped in early June.
Sitting in one of two terminals in our run-down local airport, I waited for the flight to depart my gray, slushy hometown of 75,000 and land in Jen’s dry, sunny city of more than a half-million. I crouched in the stiff plastic corner seat, away from presumably gawking stares of strange men and out of view from lonely others who might seek social interaction on any level.
From beneath short lashes, I watched the man walk into the waiting area, search for a chair, and finally settle in the far opposite corner. Slowly exhaling between clasped teeth, I continued to ignore him and everyone else around me, pretending instead to have great interest in my paperback, and adjusting my stereo headphones to further prove I was unapproachable and otherwise preoccupied.
Whenever the loud-speaker squawked arrival or departure announcements, I’d reflexively lift my head to
This, to me, became a glaring sign something was terribly wrong.
Leaning close so only he could hear, I whispered to Alex I’d rather leave after the match and skip the pizza party. I used the excuse of preferring to drive to my sister’s while it was still daylight. He nodded in agreement, and I impatiently waited for the game to end so I could be alone.
Mitch scored one goal, but his team lost. The boys seemed unfazed, however. With its arcade games and prizes, it was apparent the local pizzeria held more allure than victory did at the moment.
Hugging the kids tight against my pounding chest, they each wrestled free once I prompted them to obey their father. Having a few days alone with Dad was a rare treat, and I was disappointed to know they’d follow my instructions.
I secretly wished Alex could get the full experience of just one frustrating day as a stay-at-home mother. Instead, it would be one long play-date in which the kids were best of friends, nothing got broken, and Daddy reigned as the coolest parent ever.
“Have a safe drive, call when you get there, and give everyone a big hug from us,” Alex spoke into my ear.
I struggled to let him go.
“I will. I plan to be home Saturday night,” I choked before kissing him goodbye.
The three of them stood by Alex’s car, cheerfully waving while I backed from the stall. Looking in the rear-view mirror for one final glimpse of my beautiful family, I noticed my eyes.
Filled with watery tears, I worried just how long they’d actually been there.
hollow
My sister Jen’s house was exactly one hour and fifteen-minutes away from mine. Seventy-five minutes without work, home, or family to occupy me meant I couldn’t elude him.
Philip.
The first time we crossed paths was unremarkable and would have likely gone unremembered if it hadn’t taken the turn it did.
I was only twenty-three but an old twenty-three. Aged beyond my years by events out of my control, I felt I’d already lived four lifetimes. And yet, without the presence of such intense memories, I would have almost believed it to be the life of another person. Not mine.
Spring Break of my final college semester, and I could still recall how Mom and Dad insisted on paying my way to visit my older sister in Florida. Jen moved there right after Christmas to begin a teaching job, and my parents feared she was homesick for family and the Midwest.
I tried to assure them that while she may miss us on occasion, she most certainly didn’t long for the sub-zero temperatures of a traditional Wisconsin winter. They didn’t listen, however, and went to visit her one week in February. And with the precision of a high-ranking military strategist, my mother scheduled me to visit in late March and for Jen to fly back again once her initial school semester wrapped in early June.
Sitting in one of two terminals in our run-down local airport, I waited for the flight to depart my gray, slushy hometown of 75,000 and land in Jen’s dry, sunny city of more than a half-million. I crouched in the stiff plastic corner seat, away from presumably gawking stares of strange men and out of view from lonely others who might seek social interaction on any level.
From beneath short lashes, I watched the man walk into the waiting area, search for a chair, and finally settle in the far opposite corner. Slowly exhaling between clasped teeth, I continued to ignore him and everyone else around me, pretending instead to have great interest in my paperback, and adjusting my stereo headphones to further prove I was unapproachable and otherwise preoccupied.
Whenever the loud-speaker squawked arrival or departure announcements, I’d reflexively lift my head to
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