NOT CRYING NOW

Sara Crowley

Leo is whooping across the school playground with thumping strides and leaps. He has launched himself after a smaller child who runs full pelt, squeaky with fear. I shuffle options in my mind; distract, punish, ignore. I opt for the latter and look around at other parents, smiling at nobody in particular. There’s still 10 minutes to go until the teacher calls the kids in and I can escape. I twist my body as if looking for Leo then bow my head to my phone and scroll through Facebook. I have 43 “friends” with nothing to say. I dial my landline and shove the phone to my ear, listening to it ring inside my empty house.

          Leo lumps towards me and I instinctively flinch, but recover quickly and sugar my voice.

         “You ok, baby?” “Muuuuuum.”

          “What?”

He has a booger crusting one nostril and coupled with the exertion of chase it’s making him mouth breath louder than usual. I reach one arm around his neck and allow myself a brief daydream that I add my other hand and squeeze the choking life from him.

          “Muuuum.”

He has taken to repeating this lately. Mum, mum, muuuum, muuuuuuuuuum. Its sound a hot prickle.

          “Yes, baby?”

The bell rings and I aim a kiss above his head and push him towards the correct line. I wait to see them file in to be sure I am truly free. I have six hours, which sounds more than it is. I picture all the six hour slots left before the holidays and there aren’t many. Leo and I are going to spend hours together. Days, weeks, months, years. Time stacking up against me, stopping me swallowing. Future Leo stamps on bees and flatly demands more of everything. Future me is crying.