Only Mostly Devastated

by Sophie Gonzales

All I’m saying is, I’ve seen enough horror movies to have a healthy mistrust of kids.

It turned out I got most of my positive energy from the thought of karmic schadenfreude.

It seemed ridiculous to me that they could be so scared of things like the dark, or trees rustling outside, and not the slightest bit terrified of the chipmunk costumes. Those wide, staring eyes and creepily stretched-out, half-open mouths … Nothing has ever said “I eat children” more than the face of Chipmunk Charlie, put it that way.

Thankfully, Mom and Dad raised me to aim low, to encourage a healthy contentment in hitting par.

It’s funny how you can spend weeks, or months, or sometimes even years preparing yourself for a nightmare that’s more “when” than “if.” Then just when you’re fooling yourself that you’ve accepted the world’s end, and you’ll roll with the impact when it hits … suddenly, it might be hitting, and you’re not rolling. You’re collapsing, sitting where you stood, totally overwhelmed by a loss you were never really ready for.

Goddamn, kids get excited about McDonald’s. Got to give that clown one thing, he knows how to target a vulnerable audience. Any other middle-aged man wearing a clown costume and luring kids in with toys and music and sugar would be arrested, but not good old Ronald.

Sure, you can forgive someone for hurting you by accident, right? But if they keep accidentally ripping your heart out over and over again, doesn’t mean they’re terrible people, but it probably means you’re better off getting to a distance where they can’t keep doing that. Accidentally or not.”

All this time, I’d been wondering when my needs would start to really matter to him. Maybe I hadn’t spent enough time wondering when my needs would start to really matter to me.

And life was too short to play chicken with something as important as the person you loved.