What A Girl Wants

There is a part of me that is full of want. Not wants that are selffish or that can be bought with cash money, but wants that are beyond the grasp of my reach. I see and hear them as I dart about my daily business. My wants acost me as I turn the aisle in the farmer's market, as I edge my way through each very unremarkable day, I am confronted with wants that are no longer possible for me.

My wants lie in a history of what could have been had I been the product of a conventional home; two parents who were unconditionally devoted to one another, a yard with a painted picket fence, a dog, perhaps a cat. Leaping out of bed with the cozy pink comforter, I would slid my feet into fuzzy warm slippers, don my robe and hurry down to a steaming breakfast full of all good things for a cherished growing girl. An affectionate mother nuzzles my cheek as she fills my breakfast plate. Later, standing in front of my closet I choose a becoming out fit to start my successful day at school. Later, she will help me with my homework, give me a bath, and tuck me in smothering me with kisses. Together my parents gaze at me lovingly before turning off the light and gently closing the door. Tomorrow it will be the same, and so each and every day after that. I grow strong, smart and confident. And that is all I ever know.

But it wasn't that way at all. There was no picket fence or cozy pink comforter. There was no smothering of kisses. Instead chaos ruled my world, and my father, when he did dare to venture home his stay was short. He was a quiet and passive man, and no match for the woman whose voice, littered with obscenities could be heard blocks away. When I finally did get to know him, I was an adult. We did not have many years together. He died of lung cancer two days before my daughter was born. I mourned that he never got to hold her.

I wanted to be loved and cherished, and to grow up with the basic necessities of life. I wanted to be protected and get gifts on my birthday and at Christmas time. I wanted to live a carefree childhood, and not to be in a constant state of fear wondering when I would get my ass kicked for no good reason. I wanted to be able to have a conversation with my brothers with out being told later that if I was caught having sex with them, that I would be killed. I wanted electricity and heat, food and clothes, and not to be called names that I didn't understand till much later. I wanted to not feel lost and think that everything bad that happened was somehow my fault. I wanted to not feel guilty for having to eat to live. I wanted my mother to like me and not make that face when she looked at me.

But wanting is not a bad thing It's just too late.