damik's Diaryland Diary

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The power of Tuna

When my mother got devorced for the second time I wasn't real sure how we were going to make it. He was the cook, he was the one who gave the house structure. How was I to believe that we could make it without him?
To this day I don't really remember how it ended. We all knew it was comming, we could see it comming, but to me, it seemed like one day he was there and the next he was gone.
My mother and I sat at that glass table in the dining area and I wondered what we were going to do now. My finger traced some food residue on the table. I was comforting her. I often comforted my mother, something I never quite learned to do for myself.
The evening shadows had fallen and the time for dinner was fast approaching.
I'm not sure if the worry in my eyes wasevidant, if she knew or could see that I thought we would fail as a family. Its not that he was good for us. Not by any streatch of the imagination. Its just that he had always been theree. By always I mean sence I was three and in my world, my mind, that was always. He provided for us, cooked and paid for us to be clothed. So he was mean sometimes and I was uncomfortable with even the most casual of touches, or that his idea of affection was pinching the back of my neck untill I felt like my knees were about to give way. He was my idea of securaty, and he was gone.
She was in the kitchen now, fixing us something to eat. How could she do that, I couldn't so much as recall her fixing us a PB&J and now she was going to make dinner?
What was it going to be? I recalled such things as "Gourmet" hotdogs that truely anyone could make. I knew my mother could boil a dog, even I could boil a dog, was that what we were to live on?
But the smell comming from the kitchen wasn't that of a hotdog. It was warm and buttery. The inviting smell of cheese beconed me into the kitchen with her.
She had a plate ready for me, the tuna melt still steaming.
We sat together at that table eating silently. The sound of tuna, cheese, and bread between us. I looked up at my mother, she was smiling. As I licked a string of cheese off my chin I smiled back. I knew somehow we would be alright.
Now I'm on my own for the first time in six years. I'm sure I'm feeling some of the same fear and doubt she must have. And I only have cats to look after.
All alone time after time in my own little apartment I wonder how I'm going to make it. Modern wonders like the sandwhich maker turn a simple task like a tuna melt into something increadably easy, but I don't have bread, or mayo, or cheese. So I sit and eat plain tuna from the can while the cats drink the juice.
Sunlight streams through my windows onto the brand new hardwood floors, I don't even turn as the heater clicks on. The sounds of loneliness are the quiet songs playing from my computer. No conversation just depressing country love songs as background noise. For a moment I'm glad I don't have an analog clock. I check my phone be sure its still on and charged. Make sure I do have service in this little apartment of mine, though I already know I do.
As I take the last bite of tuna I frantically wonder if I've made the worst mistake of my life. Sure things are set up the way I want, the chess set is out on the table. I don't need to fight with anybody as to where the computer goes or worry wether I'll get in trouble for leaving a book on the desk, but still. Still he loved me and I loved him, and I can't bare to think one day that might not be the case. Or to think of the time when he won't be there for me, like I have't been there for him.
I throw the can away, a little act of domesicity I would have never done while we were together. I think of the differences that tore us apart, how I needed light and people and he needed shadows and only me. Could we ever have bridged the gap? Could we have found somewhere in between?
How lost my mother must have felt that night at the table. A strange mix of fear and determination. Four kids and what I'm sure felt like a lifetime alone for her.
As I gaze into my future do I see much of the same things she saw for herself? Did she wonder too if she would make it? A single woman, solitary, alone. Were they dirty words for her, too? Or did she see them as a pillar of strength?
I ponder asking my mother where she found her determination. Wondering if mine might be found in the same place.
I think of the man I love but can't live with. Of everyone who hurt me and used me, and thoes waiting in the wings. Will they hurt me, too? Will I strike first and hurt them before they can? I hate not being able to see the path ahead. I hate a future so uncertian.
My cat hops into my lap, his fur still smelling of tuna. He rubs his cheek on mine and I hold him closer. Then somehow I know that I will be just fine.

9:55 p.m. - 03-8-03
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