Today's writing

I didn’t think I was innocent when I met Jack. I was long married, the mother of a young son. I’d traveled, lived abroad, gotten down in a sex club for God’s sake. I was 43 years old. Innocence was in the rear-view. My life was purely in the present.

What I didn’t know at the time was how one person can blow you open and leave you questioning every fiber as it waves in the wind.

Congrats on all your accomplishments he wrote over Facebook. It took me a moment to connect the name with the person, and still I couldn’t dredge up a memory of his face. That’s awesome! Just wanted to cruise by and say hi.

What I didn’t realize was how corners conceal. One minute you don’t know what’s around that bend; the next you’re getting hit full in the face with the entirety of its being.

Thanks, I wrote, and turned away to change my son’s diaper. When I turned back, I found myself writing want to get some coffee at some point?

Innocence is not recognizable in the present. It’s lodged in the past, embedded in the look backward. It’s in that reflection, the oh-God-that’s-how-I-was.