Page 8 of Choices

FUCK. Why is this so hard?

Me: Rico, this is Hannah. Thank you so much for taking care of me last night. I really do appreciate it.

Fuck, that sounds lame, but what else do you say to the jefe of the Columbian mafia?

I drop my phone back on my nightstand before stripping my stinking clothes off, then the sheets, and dump them in the hamper before hopping in the shower.

Last night was so stupid. I'd gotten in my head about the choices I'd made that led me to last night - to get me on the radar of the mafia.

The most obvious choice was reminiscing about the “old me”. The kids were at my mom's, Alan was at his mistress's (girlfriend's? affair partner? whatever the fuck she's called) and I spiraled, alone with my thoughts.

I started thinking about who I was before, and who I am now, and at what point did shit go sideways? I didn't hate everything about my life - I love my kids more than life itself - and nothing was ever forced on me...just...somewhere in the last fifteen years led to my current state.

Exhausted. Un-appreciated. Soulless.

While thinking about life "before" I remembered my "carefree" years, smoking pot behind Bishop O'Connell High School. A private, Catholic school.

On a whim, I found an old friend from high school on Facebook who seemed like she still smoked and messaged her, asking for her dealer.

It was the last week of summer break, and the kids were with my parents. I had the house to myself, and could really indulge in my "old life" without any consequences. The implications were astounding.

I was hoping a little weed, a tiny vacation back to the "good days" might give me some insight into what went wrong. At the very least, it was a quiet rebellion that wouldn't hurt anyone.

Sarah gave me the info on how to get in touch with her dealer and when and where to meet him.

A bitter part of me spoke up. Of course, the one time I decide to do something for myself, I get almost murdered for it.

I massage shampoo into my hair.

Okay. If every choice leads to an alternative reality, it must have been one of these choices that got me screwed up. But which one?

I go back to being a teen. That's when it really started to feel like my life wasn't my own. I had wanted to go to Virginia Intermont College and get my bachelor's in equine studies*. But my parents convinced me that a business degree from a more respectable, closer college would be better for my long-term career goals.

They made a good argument and I caved - figuring if I had a business job, I could afford my own stables and horses.

So I went to the George Washington School of Business.

It was fine. The classes were boring, but it was important to my parents, so I sucked it up.

I wonder if that wasn't the first choice to set me on this path.

Because at GWSB, I met Alan. We dated, and I had stars in my eyes. I introduced my well-bred, well-educated college boyfriend to my parents, and finally got the approval I'd craved from them.

Dating Alan, led to marrying Alan. Marrying Alan led to three beautiful children, a comfortable home, and a husband who doesn't give a shit about any of it.

The rich all swim in the same ponds, so as long as he had a "former" Calahan on his arm, he got social leverage from our marriage. The rest was a fucking sham.

Or was it the choice to accept his insistence that I quit my job to take care of the kids?

The joint bank accounts?

The late nights at the office?

The perfume on his shirts?

The way he didn't even make it to Vivian's birth because of an important work meeting?

I rinse my hair and wash my body.

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