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pillow


Today I am a pillow, a very undesirable, beaten up, thrown across the room pillow, the color or earthen mustard. In my infinite wisdom, I decided to use some Gestalting techniques to help Owen to process his emotions. That is how I became the pillow. It seemed brilliant at the time. Owen took one look at the pillow-mom and his lips curled into a sneer, eyes narrowed into a death stare and fists clenched tight. I knew then that the mom-pillow was about to get pummeled and there was nothing I could do but watch. Not feeling like talking, he began to punch and yell. In good form I cheered him along, feeling a burning ache for the pillow-me who was undoubtedly black and blue beneath her fluffy veneer. After a prolonged throwing and crying spree, he decided to smash the pillow-mom. Choosing only the largest and heaviest art books, he stacked them, unceremoniously, one on top the other until there was no breath left in the pillow. He smiled then. Satisfied. I, like my pillow self, was breathless. I suggested that we put mom back on the wall and talk to the Dad pillow. He agreed. The Dad pillow got only tears and when I suggested that he may be angry at the Dad pillow. He walked slowly up to him and lightly flicked the corner before hurrying back to the couch, while mom-pillow, having just received another kick, watched helpless, from her rumpled vantage.
Looking once more at the mom-pillow, Owen said with tears in his voice, "The divorce is all your fault, you are the reason I can't be with my Dad, or play my game-boy anymore, I hate you". With that he ran off. Leaving a flattened, defeated pillow and mother staring after him.

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