Imperfect

T W E N T Y - F I V E - A B I G A L E O T T O M

My body rested on the sand as my belly looked as a camel's hump that children would stare—I was the only pregnant woman on the beach.

Clarence walked up—standing above me, staring at me as he blocked the sun from my view.

His hand reached down for me as if he was God himself—well, he looked like a God; but, he wanted me to reach for him.

My hand reached up for his hand. He grabbed me, pulling me up and out of the sand.

He requested for us to take a walk together—so romantic of him.

We held hands tightly—our thighs were touching as we were so leaned together as the perfect couple that we were.

Sand flew on our legs as the children raced around as the sand flew from the air.

Women with big, paid breasts sought in the sun, oiling their bodies up for the catch of the day—looking for some new fish to bake.

Covering my whole body was a purple gown that I wore out in the public from time to time.

I felt disgusted; I wanted to go to the beach. I haven't been on the beach since my last relationship.

"These people are probably talking bad about me in their heads..." I stated to my husband.

He looked at me as we continued walking on the beach, almost touching the ocean with our bare feet—he looked around at the beach-goers.

"Why would they be talking bad on you, Abigale?" he asked me as he continued to hold my hand tightly as sweat dripped from both of our hands.

My husband seemed as if he was blind. Didn't he see what I was wearing? Did he see what everyone else on the beach was wearing?

  Me and the beach goers were dressed two completely different ways—and he was blinded, not seeing what I was talking about.

"The marks on my stomach and back," I explained to Clarence while moving my hair from covering my face—the wind blew it viciously, "they are embarrassing to me. I don't know whether I should care or not. Should I not care what others think of me and just bare my body to everyone?"

It took Clarence awhile to respond to my question as his chin was more important than my question.

He began picking at his chin, scratching it as if he had a horrible inch—I didn't have crabs so I know it's not from him giving me oral pleasure from time to time.

"I don't care," he told me, continuing to scratch his chin, "do what you want... why should I care about it."

Honestly, I was expecting a more serious response from him than that.

I was expecting him to be my true love, who supports me through all my insecurities, not just telling me to deal with them by myself.

What if I would have started to have depression after I have Amara, what would he do about that? Will he tell me that I have to just deal with it?

  What kind of a husband doesn't sit down and talk things out with his wife if she feels less of herself or seems unimportant in life—marriages like that don't last that long.

  I really hope it wasn't a mistake to marry Clarence. He is so completely different than the way he was when we dated when we were teenagers.