Sidney

There were a lot of things I longed for. A popsicle on a hot July day. The cool water on my skin as I stepped into the sea. The feeling of normalcy that I had grown accustomed to in the summers previous.

My parents were getting a divorce.

I knew even before they told me. I'd always been attuned to others and some things you just know.

I still remember the music that would play on the stereo as my dad would spin my mom around the kitchen. Mostly, it was Connie Francis, but occasionally, there were some different artists sprinkled in.

I remember going to the sea, ice cream dripping down my cone and making my fingers sticky as the taste of chocolate made its way across my tongue. I loved chocolate. I would have chocolate sprinkles on chocolate ice cream in a chocolate cone. That was my go-to.

My parents would hold hands as they made their way down the stairs that led to the sea shore. They would always keep a careful eye on me, letting me do my own thing but also making sure I was safe. I was confident as a child, and I think they recognized that. What they didn't know was that I was only confident under their watchful gaze. When that disappeared, I was scared. Insecure, even.

I would constantly look back to check if they were watching, making silly faces at them if they were. Sometimes, they would be looking at each other with love, smiles crinkling the corners of their eyes.

I wished it could be like that again. I wished I could feel the comfort in looking back and knowing someone was watching, making sure I was safe. I wished I could catch my parents off guard, gazing at each other.

Now, when I looked back, there was no one. I rarely caught my parents looking at each other anymore. I think they liked to avoid it, if they could. And maybe I preferred that to them looking at each other now. It meant I couldn't see the distaste in their eyes when they did.

It was August when my parents told me the news.

The sun was up early that morning. It was hot, and I longed for the taste of chocolate ice cream to soothe my dry throat.

My parents asked me to sit at the table. My dad sat on one side of me, my mom, on the other. I already knew what they would tell me. It was just a matter of time. I traced the grooves on the wood with my fingernail as my dad explained how things hadn't been going well for them at all.

"Your mom and I, we're thinking of getting a divorce."

My finger caught on a jagged piece of wood, clawing at my skin as I ripped my finger away and inspected the red blooming against my pale skin.

I avoided their eyes. "Okay. I'm going to get a Band-Aid."

My dad's eyes shifted to meet my mom's. They only met eyes for a second until she looked away.

I got up and went to the bathroom, opened the cabinet. I was disappointed to only find the plain brown Band-Aids; I'd always liked the ones with Hello Kitty on them. I grabbed one, peeling the paper from the sticky side and adhering it to my finger. I watched the blood bloom through the bandaid for a second before I walked back to the kitchen and sat down again.

I felt my dad's eyes on me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. It was just a splinter."

Dad put his hand on my shoulder. "Molls, I don't mean the splinter."

I did know he was talking about the divorce, I just would have preferred not to acknowledge it. "I'm fine." Short, easy, didn't show my emotions.

"You'll still see your mom and me, just not..." He trailed off, but I already knew what he had been going to say. Just not together.

I forced a smile and looked at him. "Dad, it's okay."

But it wasn't. And I wasn't sure it ever would be again. I did see their divorce coming, but seeing something coming doesn't make it hurt any less. If anything, it just makes it hurt that much more.

10 years have passed since then. I am now 27, and I wear the scar on my finger as a reminder of that day.

I have a boyfriend who loves me, but fear still manages to make its way into my mind and build a home there.

I think it's funny how your memories linger with you, no matter what. You can change things and make yourself a better person, but your memories are still your memories. They never really fade.

My boyfriend tells me he loves me every day, and when fear takes root in my mind, he notices. And I think that that is what love is. Being noticed. He notices the expression on my face and reassures me that he's not going anywhere.

But still, my fear likes to hold me in its arms like the blanket that swaddled me as a child. But my fear holds tighter than the blanket ever did. It grips me until I feel like I am going to suffocate before it ever releases me.

Because my boyfriend doesn't know what will happen in the future. He only knows what he feels now.

I'm sure my parents didn't know what was going to happen. They just knew the love they felt at the time.

But then I realize that I'm not my mother. My boyfriend is not my father. We may come from the same blood, but we aren't our parents, and there's no reason our situation has to be the same. We can choose to make things turn out differently. And maybe choice is what it always came down to. I always thought love was just a feeling, but maybe it's a choice, too.

And now, when I go down to the sea, I am able to be the confident self I once was, knowing that when

I look back, there will always be someone watching out for me.