The Color of Your Tears

On this particular Friday night in June, Jackie Mattock was having the big one! A major meltdown was in progress even though she should be joyous. Even though her son was getting married tomorrow, she had lost herself; her heart, her brain were all frozen in time. For the last twenty-five years, she had lived a lie so terrible that she used all of her get out of jail free cards. She had nowhere to turn to, no one to help her. There was no one there to dry her tears. Jackie sank deeper into the tub until her breasts were almost submerged. She took her washcloth and scrubbed at her face. Maybe if I rub hard enough, I won’t cry, she thought. But it didn’t do any good. The tears fell anyway. Big ugly, sloppy tears, full of sadness and remorse. Loud groans and moans of anguish rushed out of her mouth as the tears rushed in to fuel them. She dragged her hands over her nose and mouth, her eyes, anywhere to make the memories stop. But they came flooding back, just like her colored tears.