You just watched the super8 film of you and Erin driving to the Grand Canyon, which you THOUGHT was stuff Penny and Gwen filmed last summer.
Mixed feelings. Shame. Anger. Disgust. Shock. Surprise. Wanting to hide it, deny it, destroy it. Nothing really positive about 3 minutes of re-seeing her, or yourself, or that time.
Only 13 seconds on there of you and your kids. Sadness. Anger. Frustration. Gratitude that there was something, anything. The images of Erin—that fucked up time you're sorry to even recall—are sharp and clear and lingering. The images of (and by!) your children—so precious—are shaky, distorted, heartbreakingly fleeting.
You trashed the shit of Erin. Felt good. Just cut it out of the Quicktime file and flushed it away, and saved that precious 13 seconds.
You were telling yourself you were happy at that time in your life and you knew you weren't. You were lying to yourself. You hate that person, who you were then. You're ashamed of him, disappointed in him. Just like you are with yourself now.
