Soccer Mom - Corrine


Corrine opened the cabinet. The kids would be home soon from soccer (Leslie down the road took turns with her picking up and dropping the kids off at practice. At games they would always sit together (husbands conspicuously absent) and talk about how wonderful it was to be out with the kids playing). What should she make for dinner? Last night had been macaroni; and though the kids wouldn't mind having their favorite dish two nights in a row Corrine couldn't palate the blue box again. She glanced over at the cooling corpse of their father resting in the chair at the kitchen table. He wouldn't care what they ate. He hadn't cared when he was alive, why would he start now. Unless he rose with an overwhelming desire for 'braains'. Corrine stifled a giggle, then worry immediately crossed her brow. That's how they said it always started, with giggles, then laughter, then twenty years lost to dopamine and young doctor after young doctor writing thesis after thesis about how unique her case was. She looked at the corpse again. Maybe they should eat out. She sipped coffee watching Frank's corpse cool until she heard Leslie's SUV pull into the drive. One last glance at her husband, she grabbed her purse from where it sat beside the death grip his hand had on the table, and was out the door. John and Sarah were just climbing down from the car. 'How about pizza guys," smiles for everyone. "Oh thank you again, Leslie."

Leslie craned her head around from her search of the back seat to make sure the kids hadn't left anything. "Don't thank me, Corrine, it's your turn tomorrow." Smiles all around.

Tomorrow, tomorrow, I'll be giggling at a joke no one else will get, Corrine smiled. "You betcha."

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