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That’s how an A grade paper ended up with an F. She looked at the F which summed up her f-ing life, and understood why Van Gogh had sliced off his ears. Life simply sucked. And if that was not all, nothing mattered anymore. Her husband of many years had just told her he wanted to leave. And she was mourning the loss of a lousy sexless ten year marriage. At 34, nonetheless, and with no kids to show for it, either. ‘I guess it’s good-bye then,’ Matt had put a hand on her shoulder, just before getting into the car with a smug smile. ‘Yes,’ she had replied, praying to God she would not cry in front of him. At least not until his car was out of sight. What she wanted to say, was: ‘Please don’t go, Matt. I beg of you.’ But, those words never came out of her mouth, and she wouldn’t have let herself live if they had. All she knew now was that her life was worth nothing anymore, now that he was gone. And she was still trying to understand why. It was not that he had found anyone and fallen. Someone else will own it, and do with it what they wish. The inside of the house is in an uproar. Boxes all over the place, bags of trash lining the front porch, waiting to be taken to the end of the lane. Load after load of things taken from there rests in our garage and basement. The merging of two households into one isn’t as easy as it seems. I walk through the house, frowning at the empty walls. Most of the pictures have been removed, and the house stands uneasily, as if it knows it’s been stripped of something special. I head for the barn, and am surprised to find my hands shaking. This isn’t as easy as I planned. The workers have cleared out trash and junk, so that all that’s left is more junk that’s in better condition. I smile as I run my hand along my old wooden high chair, eyeing the streaks in the dust through my tears. Taking a few deep breaths, a stack of books draws my attention. Stepping carefully, I make my way to them and smile as I look at the dates inside. 1942,.
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