There are words inside me which never make it to the page. When I sit down to write, every thought, every sentence I might pen, is held onto for a moment and tasted, like one rolls a sour candy around in their mouth before deciding to bite.
What if there is reprisal?
This is not how I like to write.
Inside my gut, I feel the dull edges of long silent truths rock up against each other and settle back into place. More often than not, I simply close the computer.
* * *
Our divorce trial is set for February, almost two years after the process began. Two full days have been set aside by the court to deliberate the spoils and obligations of a ten year marriage.
The detectives have said they plan to offer his criminal case to the Feds by the end of January and that, in the unlikely event the Feds turn it down, the County has already agreed to prosecute. Finally, charges are imminent.
What will happen if he is charged? He will be arrested, bail will be set, he will pay it and be out of jail within days. His job of 25 years may or may not be there when he gets out, I don’t know.
But the gig will be up. The news will have hit the papers.
What this will mean for me and the children remains to be seen.
These two events, the divorce trial and the criminal charges, both so long coming, are like two visitors that have been held up in transit, finally arriving long after the dinner plates have been cleared. I see their shadows on the horizon. Sometimes I regard them and think about how their arrival will impact my life. Mostly, I just look away.