Ashfia Ahmed
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When It Happens to You
*Trigger warning: story contains controversial themes surrounding abortion I watched the trolly move up and down the aisles of the local Maxi, the wheels spinning so fast that it made my head spin. I was already feeling nauseous, but now it was getting worse. After deciding that watching the wheels wouldn’t make my nausea any better I decided to get along with the shopping. Bread, butter, eggs, bananas, and of course, sweet tamarind. I loved the taste of sweet tamarind, even the mere thought of it made my mouth tingle with joy. My mind started to drift off, it seemed to happen a lot lately, but I didn’t mind, if anything, it meant I could be out at the store longer, instead of going home, instead of going home to him. Alas, staring at the bananas for more than thirty minutes in this town could put a woman into a straight jacket. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing, except for the fact that my mother would rather see me die. It was her, you know? It was her that made me marry George. You’re probably wondering who George is? Well, he is the nobody son from a wealthy family, and of course, he is also my not-so-loving husband. It was an arranged marriage you see, my uncle, another rich nobody, had thought it wise to join the family wealth with his dear business partner, my mother the dutiful sister, whose only concern is the family reputation, gingerly agreed, and a week later I was walking down the aisle with a veil over my head. We never really had a true connection, George and I. Our life together was so calculated and precise. I get a monthly budget from him to do all the grocery shopping and whatever is left over, I can use on myself. He pays the bills, I cook and we eat dinner together at seven. Be in bed by nine, and do it all over again in the morning. Before George, I was a nurse, and although a woman of my financial status should never need or want to work, I secretly loved it. It gave me purpose and I truly felt that I was making an impact in this small Quebec town I called home. “Is that all miss?”, the voice of the cashier jolted me out of my thoughts.
By Ashfia Ahmed5 years ago in Humans
