by Marissa Bosenko

Created on: August 17, 2009   Last Updated: August 19, 2009

Carry Grace

The whirring of the sprinklers as they rained droplets of water upon the bright green grass, the slick liquid landing like diamonds on these fragile blades sheared so close to the earth, contained in such a neat plot. The ground smelling of miracle grow and petunias deviously hid small footprints of creatures from fairytales and happily ever-afters. The whispering of a car's motor droned nearer, the headlights became like a spotlight on the stage; the actors caught mid costume change. The light illuminated a woman leaving her home clad only in a bathrobe she waves dreamily at the droning mechanical audience as a smile passes her lips. The sun takes in this early salute while gulping its first breath of morning. Yawning it stretches outwards to the tiled roofs and white washed walls and penetrates into the crevices aging the beige sidewalk. No morning coffee, no toasted bagel, just the hues of yellow, orange, and blue to drink in, to quench her, to awaken her sleeping body and groggy mind.

There was a time when she questioned this life, when she scorned the idea of shackles: marriage and baby carriages. But that already felt like an eternity ago. Now she caressed her ball and chain, stroked the precious saviors love had made, and longed for the moment she could lay down and save her family the way they'd saved her.

The sun came up to rest upon her upturned face and she breathed in its vigor, strength, and happiness. When her heart was filled to the brim and her eyes stung from the rising sun she stepped back into the shadows of her drooping overhang and turned her brass doorknob, creeping through her darkened living room to steal back into her plush bed. Currently it was filled with two small girls who believed that only this bed could ward off nightmares and were convinced that being sandwiched between mommy and daddy was the safest place should the monsters decide to prowl through the house. Cuddled up against the girls' warm bodies she could just drape her hand on her husband's dark and sweat matted hair. The sweet scent of Browyn Rose's shampoo gently permeated into her being and the soft snoring of Cary Grace trebled into her existence. Fantasies began to unfurl in the recesses of her mind; her dreamscape became their playground, her imagination their toys.

Hours later the alarm clock would buzz, Nathaniel would gently kiss the inside of his wife's palm while sliding from the bed. Coffee would be brewed,

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