The unoriginal notion of working from a coffee shop came to my mind when I couldn’t seem to get myself motivated. I found a corner with an outlet and cracked open my laptop. The typical people came in to work, read, and socialize.
Then two girls came in with long black curly hair. They were probably 10 years old; they still had the round faces of childhood. They had their laptops, book bags, and textbooks. They worked their way through their homework and Frappuccinos. I tried not to stare as I daydreamed about a fictional young adulthood that Constance never had. I got chills thinking about all the futures that lay before her that she’ll never get. I feel such a sense of injustice for all she’s missed out on. I wish I could make it right for her. I’ve thought about this many times before; I wonder if I’ll ever stop. Eventually, I gave up on working and went to our former home to allow myself a private place to cry myself to sleep.