I have a horrible confession to make; sometimes we do things while away from the Casa that we would never even consider doing back home. The allure of new places and experiences, no access to social media, limited oxygen to the brain, fatigue, white line fever, sensiry overload, all of these stimuli combine with the catalyst that is the anonymity of the open road to cause some things to “just happen”. Trust painstakingly established over the years can be wiped away in a micro second with one such “indiscretion”, then come the uncomfortable silences and averted glances.
The Good Book says “the heart is desperately wicked, who can know it?”, and that “pride goeth before a fall”; that it can happen to the best of us must be true, because it happended to me. I failed; I was weighed in the balance and found wanting.
But there are always two sides to any infidelity, and dad carries some blame as well. In this case, dad drove me to it, as odd as that may seem, but there’s only so much pressure a girl can take before committing the unpardonable sin, until last night, I fell into temptation.
I slept with mom.
I know, I know, it just “happened”; I was slightly inebriated from the mountain air, my feet were worn sore from the trail, and mom just knew how to push the right buttons. Max had already taken up residence in dad’s sleeping bag, a fact that wouldn’t have affected matters in the least back at the Casa as I would have rousted him out with a flip of my snout, but this time was different, and I failed. Now I’m paying the price as I gaze across the tent to the distant lump of snoring nylon that marks my erstwhile homeland, and wonder quietly to myself:
Can I ever go home? Will it ever be the same?
Who am I kidding? I got this; we all know that dad’s a notorious pushover, just a big pansy, if a 5’6″ pansy can be considered “big”. I’ll just lay a little Charlie tongue lovins on his face and he’ll fold up like a cheap suitcase like he always does.
But the crawl of shame will have to wait; although New Mexico has perfected their sunrises and sunsets, they have yet to work the kinks out of their climate control system, and the frigid morning air is going to postpone my advances until weather conditions are more conducive to groveling.
Besides, Mom had the thermostat at in her sleeping bag set on “just right”, and you don’t improve on perfection!