This morning, you asked me how to spell tomato.
I was busy, far too busy to be questioned by a 4 year old on the spelling of a fruit.
I mumbled something about a time and a place, and you slunk off, disappointed but not unhappy.. Or so I thought, I mean maybe you were upset at my dismissal.. I never actually bothered to ask you.
On the way to school you were telling me about a play you’re going to be in. You were so excited, but I can’t remember what character you were going to be, because I was too distracted with getting you dropped off, with getting myself to work on time.
Work was so busy. It always is.
I didn’t get a chance to check my phone until after lunch. By then, the school had been trying to reach me for 4 hours.
I am out the door, without a word to anyone. My boss sees me leaving, and asks what’s wrong.
“My daughter.” I say, breathless. “She’s hurt, badly. They don’t think she is going to make it.”
The principal is waiting at the hospital, a solem but horrified expression on her aged face. Even without her words, I already knew.
You had died before I arrived. I was late yet again when you needed me, when you needed me the most.
I was not even on time for your death.
The principal explained, with tears streaming down her face, that you had a sports carnival on today, and of course, I’d forgotten your bag. And instead of asking the teachers to phone me, it’s like you had just known your mother wouldn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to walk home and get it.
But you didn’t make it home.
The truck driver never saw you until it was too late, or that’s what he claims, anyway.
He did not stop to see if you were okay, because he was drunk.
He did not want to get into trouble, so instead, he left you, a little girl, all alone on that cold, damp concrete.
I can’t forgive myself.
But I can’t forgive him, either.
I am currently with the truck driver, we have been downstairs, in my basement, for the last few hours.
He keeps crying, big, ugly sobs. Keeps apologizing. He still smells like whisky.
But all of that.. it doesn’t matter.
It’s really much too late.
The cops have us surrounded, they are banging and yelling, threatening to break the door down at anytime.
They keep telling me to give myself up, but I won’t do it.
No, I relish them coming in and ending me. Ending all of this.
I relish being free, I want to be with you again.
While I’ve been waiting, I have been keeping myself busy.
I’ve been here, slowly marking out each letter,
T O M A T O
I carve carefully, and slowly, into his skin, over and over again.
Mummy is so, so sorry.
See you soon baby girl.