not today...

Woke up early -- not tired a bit. Got up, got dressed, got it under control.  Cute hair, cute dress, cute shoes, cute girl. Ready for another day.

Not ready for the questions.

They came from all directions. Concerned faces, hushed voices, worried looks and whispers.

How's your dad?
How's your family?
What did the doctors say?
What treatments is he getting?
What changes has he made?
Is he happy? Is he sad?
Are you all doing okay?
Is there anything we can do?
How's your mom?
How are your sisters?
(but worst)
How are YOU?

Sympathetic hands laid upon my arm, hugs and promises and ever more questions.

DON'T TOUCH ME I don't scream,
GO AWAY I don't say.

They believe that they are being kind. Which is why I answer -- wrote and boring -- but it's what they want to hear.

He's fine. He's tired.
They're all busy.
Shots. Pills.
Doctors. Bills.
Happy, yes. Sad, no.
Okay -- I assume so. I'm not home much.
I don't know -- I don't live at home -- I don't know what they need.
She's tired.
They're busy.
(they wait expectantly)
I'm fine, too.

I don't tell them that I'm tired. I don't tell them to go away. Instead, I go.

Left church early -- couldn't stand it anymore. Held back tears -- didn't want to explain. Escaped the people and the words and the problem they all want to dwell on. Stood under a tree and listened -- bees buzzing above my head, birds chirping in the bush, heat singing over the ground -- they ask nothing of me. No more questions.

Not today.