Here I sit, in the pick-up line at my children’s school. The cars have hemmed me in. I feel I’m a sitting duck.
I see his truck across the lot. He has every legal right to be here, and he exercises that right every chance he gets. It’s such a disturbing feeling to know he’s here, probably watching me from a window somewhere. I hate the thought of what goes through his mind when he sees me. I’ve seen his eyes, the sheer hatred, his eyes betraying him and unable to hide the thoughts he has of my harm.
I hate the way I feel my flesh crawl and my hair prickle as I sit here, unable to remove myself from this place. I hate the way I keep needing to scan the perimeter and check my rear-view mirror. I hate the way each parent that comes from behind me beside my door makes me startle. I hate the way I need to hide this from my children. I hate the way that writing it is the only way I feel in control of it.