Talking Shit About A Pretty Sunset

As much as I love storms, I love to see the sun setting in the distance. For the longest time, I believed these two cannot co-exist. The ferociously dark clouds filled with rain and to hopefully be followed by the thrashing thunder would block the sight of arrays of tones scattered by the setting sun. As my son was violently crying in his car seat after far too many hours in the car, my windshield drizzled with fresh drops of rain, I could spot the most vivid red sunset I’ve ever laid eyes on.

First the anger builds then it’s followed by the nervousness, accompanied by my skin prickling, cold sweats, and my heart rate hammering harder. We both sat by our attorneys and I was asked to take the stand first. His is an ass, trying to intimidate me by vigorously shaking his large jowls as I spoke. For some reason, he must have thought that jostling them faster would get my answer out quicker but in reality, it diverted me. I hate that man as much as I do M. I was made out to be a unruly, vindictive mother who wanted to “abort and kill M’s child because he didn’t want to be with me,” and only kept my son to have a hold over M. Oh and of course to gain child support. It’s hard to be nice or even cordial to anyone after being condemned that.

A family friend kept telling me that that’s an attorney’s job, to make the other party look like a horrible person. Why are we subjected to talking horribly about people we have to deal with for the next eighteen years? It’s starting a vile structure for the next eighteen years to come. We both are uncovering secrets of one another, over exaggerating simple things, and pointing out flaws. Both of us two good people, having to talk shit about a pretty sunset.

M was up now. As he faked a cry in his voice and confirmed everything his attorney had subjected me to be true, the judge looked upon M as if he were a beaten puppy. His eyes were soft and endearing as M spoke and overruling every objection my attorney made. I hardly was able to finish a sentence. The judge looked at me as if he already knew my story, an irresponsible teenage mother, upset that the baby daddy didn’t propose at the first mention of pregnancy. My face reeled with the red of that sunset, my stomach turning as violently as thunder, as the judge agreed upon M’s temporary placement proposal.

A pretty sunset and a violent storm can con-exist. I’ve witnessed it. Sadly, the pretty sunset is made out to be dim, shitty hues as the storm overtakes its beauty. But within the stale shades, I could spot the most vivid red sunset I’ve ever laid eyes on. There’s still beauty within the rest of the shit.