This is a macabre little something I wrote several months ago. I found it today and thought I would share it....He left her on a Tuesday. The day seared her like a brand.
A heavy plastic bag of groceries hung in the fold of each arm as she fumbled with her keys to unlock the front door, her toe-headed twins ambling behind her on the lush, winding walkway.
The living room was dark; the air stale and balmy, like no one had breathed it in for years. She called for him questioningly, but he did not answer. She crossed briskly to the kitchen and snapped on the light with her elbow. The bags slumped as she dropped them on the kitchen counter. Tomatoes and cucumbers tumbled out and rolled to a stop at the edge of the sink.
“Go watch TV,” she said to the boys, who scrambled, cheering, to the living room and within seconds sat glued to the screen, its white plasma glow illuminating their content faces.
His key ring hung on the hook on the kitchen wall. She dropped her keys on the table, slipped off her snakeskin pumps, and walked in what felt like slow motion down the hall. It was the last door on the right; the place where it all began four years ago. Where they first expressed their love, and soon after, conceived their children.
She called out to him again. Her heart pounded as she turned the knob and opened the door.
She gazed in horror at the claret trail sprinkled across the tan Berber carpet from the bathroom to the bed. The bed side table was a messy plate of works to feed his habit. A bloodied straight razor lay abandoned on the bathroom floor.
And him, laying face down on the bloody white sheets, his dark blond hair pasted against his sweaty brow. His thin frame was bare and clammy; his Levi’s slumped down around his hips revealing his crack. Blood trickled from his spindly wrists and dripped in small drops, soaking into the carpet.
“Oh my god… what did you do?!” she cried, leaning over him, pleading for the answer she already knew. “Oh my god…”
His head flopped to the side as she rolled him over. His aqua eyes were half-moons. His breathe shallow. She ran to the tall dresser and pulled out one of his white undershirts. She bit into the fabric with her teeth and then ripped it into jagged strips and fashioned a tourniquet around his wrists.
The black butt of the phone stuck out from under a bed pillow. Her trembling fingers frantically pressed 9-1-1. It rang and rang. Seconds felt like weeks.
She climbed into the soggy bed and propped his heavy head against her thigh. She rested her head back against the headboard, and cried short, deep sobs, the phone resting on her chest.
He was her Romeo. Her poet. Her crash. She had hoped, and he had tried. But she knew. She knew he would not keep his promise. This thing was bigger than him.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?,” the operator asked calmly.
“My husband tried to kill himself…” she gasped.
He would live, she told herself. He would not die today.
But he had left her. He had gone, again.
I don't like wine (I've tried to no avail) but I love cheese. I'm not a fromage connoisseur by any means, but I'm learning. 
I want to send this shout out to my far-away BFF Shana for her constant support, and for being one of The Paper Posy's most loyal readers - and commenters! 
You've got to hand it to Sir Richard Branson. The Virgin mega-tycoon is living proof that doing your own thing, thinking big, and being slightly crazy can truly pay off.
Since I was six months pregnant with Jake, it's been my dream to create my own line of cool, innovative products for moms-to-be and new moms.
I also have an array of nursing covers by Bebe Au Lait in fun and fabulous patterns, with matching burb rags to boot. I have the new pink organic style, as well as the turquoise Monaco brocade pattern. It's gorgeous!
If I had the kitchen of my dreams (and one day I will), I hope I'll have other options that the typical stainless steel appliances, dark wood cabinetry, and granite counter tops.
