I don’t want to be that girl.
Oh God, who am I kidding? I am that girl.
I believed in you, Stephen… in us. Was that so wrong of me? Since I was six… five… it just seemed like the perfect end to life involved two rocking chairs and a collection of anniversary gifts my failing memory couldn’t attribute to the years anymore. We were that. Weren’t we? We were going to be that someday.
Look at me. Some days I hate Daddy more than others. What would the harm in dolls have been anyway? I’m sure if I’d been allowed to play with Bridal Barbie, I’d have been through this years ago. Postal Barbie could have torn Cheater Ken’s arms off and stuffed them up his anatomically-corrected… and I probably wouldn’t be sitting here crying.
Daddy! Oh my God, I can’t believe I have to call him! He’s going to be so mad at me. Stephen meant more to him than I ever did. He’s going to blame me. Somehow he’ll make this all my fault. He always makes it my fault. He’ll tell me I drove Stephen away.
Maybe it is my fault. Maybe I spent too much time dreaming about meaningless anniversary knick-knacks and worrying about things like wedding dres… Oh God, I had my dress picked out and everything. I was going to look so beautiful. Why?
Why Stephen…? Why?
You need to get a grip on yourself, Annie. It’s not your fault. He’s going to be home. You can’t let him find you like this.
Oh God, what am I going to say to him?
I don’t understand. We had the perfect life. Didn’t we? I thought we had the perfect life. We both had our careers. We both wanted children. We were young. We were happy… Five years. We’ve been engaged five years!
She doesn’t even love him. He’s so stupid! You’re so stupid, Stephen! I would have been a good wife. I was going to… be… so… beautiful… I hope you know what you lost, Stephen. I hope you know what you lost…
Come on, Annie. You don’t want to be that girl.
I have to go. I can’t be home when he gets here. I can’t face him. I can’t be home… Oh God, where am I going to go? This is my home. This is… my home.
I’m not that girl.
I’m not that girl.
Oh God, there’s his truck…
© 2012 Anne Schilde