Monday, April 16, 2012

spineless -or- when heroes come crashing down

Nearly all of the arguments held beneath that cuckoo clock either began or ended with my slinging about, "I know you don't love me, you make it perfectly clear every single day that you don't love me."

Quite often, not always in the middle of an argument, but certainly always at least surrounding one, I would also burst out with, "I know I have a big brother somewhere, why won't you just let me see him?"

I was never a child to scream for a toy or a cake or in surprise. But I would scream in fear and I would scream in anger. And I would scream for my big brother.For years. 

Momma told me I was crazy. Daddy sat on the couch and drank beer. 

I stared out the back window of a dusty ass single-wide trailer, counting down the days. 

Blaming her. Hating her. 

I can remember them arguing. Yelling and crying and cursing and throwing things. I can remember being afraid he was going to kill her. I never once thought he'd kill me. 

I somehow always managed to believe the best of him, long after she had convinced me I was crazy. 

I left. At the age of 16. 

And all he could say was, "you know I have a son."

And tell me how sorry he was for me.

I hated him for walking away, for being able to walk away. For letting everyone else pay the price. 

Even if it's one he has never seen, it's the greatest gift he has ever given me. 

I hate him every time he tries to make me let it go. Maybe he doesn't understand that my brother is the only part of him he's ever let me have.

No comments:

Post a Comment