I suppose you didn’t know of the two gems seated in the back of my car – five and eight; little faces and small feet. My children.
I suppose you didn’t know as you sped around the corner, that I had a crowd of thoughts occupying my mind. Campers that had come in through the door of frustration, one at a time; that refused to move until I’d thrown out their neighbour: Ms Self-Doubt.
I suppose you didn’t know as I crushed my brakes, that I’d just told my daughter I would boycott her for the rest of the evening, her large eyes looked down and a tear rolled down her smooth cheek. My chest tightened with guilt.
I suppose you didn’t know as you drove off, how my hands shook, my blood pressure rose and my heart threatened to burst from behind its cage – my eyes threatened to spill crimson tears from the anger at your recklessness on the road while my soul screamed, “Harm me, but not my babes!”
I suppose you didn’t know, and know you’ll never know.
© LaYinka Sanni, December 2011