My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

She's Gone


Well, Dusty got on her bus, in the rain, and went off to school.

I did not cry. Not, that is, until I got in my car to go to work and heard Hall and Oates singing, “She’s gone, oooh-aaah, I better learn how to face it...” followed by the Beatles telling me, “Yeah, yeah, you’re gonna lose that girl!”

Quit it!

I removed that CD and inserted Heart. “Music Man,” “Dreamboat Annie,” and “Baracuda” made me feel better. My mood significantly improved when a beer truck pulled in front of me and ushered me to town. Just me an’ Miller passing school buses with other people’s children in them.

I hope she got there okay.

It reminded me of the time when Dusty was three and had to have tubes put in her ears. The nurse came into the waiting room with a wagon. Dusty climbed into the wagon and the nurse pulled her down the hallway toward the operating room. Dusty was calm; there was no fear. My husband and I stood there – I was pregnant with Red – and watched her be wheeled away.

And then around a corner out of sight.

And I had to trust that they would treat her half as well as I would. That they would understand they had my child. And were doing things to her I couldn’t see.

I had to trust all would be well.

All will be well.


9:11 a.m. ::
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