Firsts
It broke my heart.
And every time i remember it it breaks my heart all over again.
"I'm sorry " she said, looking into my eyes with two huge brown eyes that were nearly at a point of tears. "Sorry?' I said, "Sorry for what?" I was truly confused. "Sorry for being born this way" she said now in tears.
I was dumbfounded.
I was in a mix of emotions. It was the first time that i had truly felt like that, i didn't know which emotion to tackle first , so i tackled all of them at the same time.I was in a mix of emotions in that moment that i didn't even know i had.
It was the tenth time that week that Sharon and i had returned to the hospital, i don't know why the hospital kept sending her back.That was the first time the hospital had done that, such stupidity.It was the first time she had been sick for so long , it usually lasted for a few days, three days at the most, never ever this long.It was also the first time that the doctors had noticed symptoms of epilepsy in Sharon.
Sharon was a special girl . I used to tall her that a girl that special can only come along with so many special cases. I used to tell her whenever she would get depressed and her skin would become really pale and her lips would be dry and ashy and she began to look very ghost like. After a while she didn't really listen to me say it because it made her even more depressed.I said mildly and jokingly but it took many years for me to realize how much pain that really caused her.
"Don't ever say that again!" I said angrily . Whenever i find myself lost in a sea of emotions , my go to reaction is anger .I don't know what that says about me and i don't really care. "This is not your fault, OK? Don't ever apologize for being born this way! ' I said with tears bubbling off the steam of my fake anger from my eyes.
She was eight. Just eight but she barely went outside and with every stay at the hospital she was beginning to know the patients more than the staff at the hospital. She was barely living. It seemed like everyday they discovered something new wrong with her. She had more prescription medicine than she had any real food.
Not only was that our longest week in the hospital but it would also be the first time she would be receiving real surgery. What killed me was that she thought that it was all her fault.I wanted to hug her so badly but she was hooked up to so many things that it'd be crazy, nuts even to try and mess with all those things. Looking at her made me even sadder. She looked like a puppet, a very sickly puppet. So i held her hand, her delicate and scrawny hand, warm with trembling fear.
That marked the beginning of our hand holding thing. After that our go to move wasn't hugging or kissing it was hand holding, simple but yet it said so much. That was the first time hand holding became our thing. For us hand holding became equivalent to hugging and kissing and throwing i-love-yous around in the air.A few moments later i kissed her on the head and then i had to leave. The nurses were coming in to take her. Take her away.
****
It broke my heart.
And every time i remember it it breaks my heart all over again.
"I'm sorry " she said, looking into my eyes with two huge brown eyes that were nearly at a point of tears. "Sorry?' I said, "Sorry for what?" I was truly confused. "Sorry for being born this way" she said now in tears.
I was dumbfounded.
I was in a mix of emotions. It was the first time that i had truly felt like that, i didn't know which emotion to tackle first , so i tackled all of them at the same time.I was in a mix of emotions in that moment that i didn't even know i had.
It was the tenth time that week that Sharon and i had returned to the hospital, i don't know why the hospital kept sending her back.That was the first time the hospital had done that, such stupidity.It was the first time she had been sick for so long , it usually lasted for a few days, three days at the most, never ever this long.It was also the first time that the doctors had noticed symptoms of epilepsy in Sharon.
Sharon was a special girl . I used to tall her that a girl that special can only come along with so many special cases. I used to tell her whenever she would get depressed and her skin would become really pale and her lips would be dry and ashy and she began to look very ghost like. After a while she didn't really listen to me say it because it made her even more depressed.I said mildly and jokingly but it took many years for me to realize how much pain that really caused her.
"Don't ever say that again!" I said angrily . Whenever i find myself lost in a sea of emotions , my go to reaction is anger .I don't know what that says about me and i don't really care. "This is not your fault, OK? Don't ever apologize for being born this way! ' I said with tears bubbling off the steam of my fake anger from my eyes.
She was eight. Just eight but she barely went outside and with every stay at the hospital she was beginning to know the patients more than the staff at the hospital. She was barely living. It seemed like everyday they discovered something new wrong with her. She had more prescription medicine than she had any real food.
Not only was that our longest week in the hospital but it would also be the first time she would be receiving real surgery. What killed me was that she thought that it was all her fault.I wanted to hug her so badly but she was hooked up to so many things that it'd be crazy, nuts even to try and mess with all those things. Looking at her made me even sadder. She looked like a puppet, a very sickly puppet. So i held her hand, her delicate and scrawny hand, warm with trembling fear.
That marked the beginning of our hand holding thing. After that our go to move wasn't hugging or kissing it was hand holding, simple but yet it said so much. That was the first time hand holding became our thing. For us hand holding became equivalent to hugging and kissing and throwing i-love-yous around in the air.A few moments later i kissed her on the head and then i had to leave. The nurses were coming in to take her. Take her away.
* * * * *
The first breakfast after dad left was unnecessarily awkward.Dad usually left for short periods of time and came back to take money from mom and then he would leave again. I never knew why mom put up with it but then again there were many things mom did that i never understood. many of the things that mom did. But this time he left for real and he sent divorce papers to mom six weeks after.He left along with all our dolls and our dis functional television set and he never came back. I can honestly say that the best thing that man did for us was leave us and let us stop believing that somewhere out there we had a father and he loved us.
Mom was still pregnant with Malcolm and Sharon . We were barely getting by but then during that breakfast without dad we didn't get by at all.After a long awkward silence mom looked at me , put her hand on mine and said in a slow gentle voice "You know that hes not coming back again, right?" I nodded. I'm not sure if it was relief or sadness. I wasn't sure if i was happy i didn't have him in my life anymore or if i was sad that now i really didn't have a father.
A few weeks later Mr. Luke, our landlord came in drunk in the middle of the night and kicked us out of the house.Still quite hazy in my memory but i think that she had sex with him to pay for the rent for a while but then his wife caught them. Some childhood i had.
He came in with huge and bulky , robot-like men to pack our stuff and send us packing out of what i'd known to be my home all my life. The house wasn't even that good but it was still my home. It had been my home all of my life.
We ended up having breakfast at a shelter but for some reason i expected the food to be amazing great but bread and butter beats animal crackers for breakfast any day.The name of the shelter was Hope something , i don't really remember what the rest of the name was.I do remember that that was the first day i saw the word hope or at least took a note of it.I asked mom what hope meant and she sighed and held my hand and said "you". It was after that she told me dad was never coming back like it was a surprise, which i guess it kind of was.
I don't remember a whole lot from that day but i do remember Hope written in huge purple letters.And although i didn't learn the real meaning of the word for months to come i knew that i had it inside me anyone, Hope.
* * * * * *I
I left the room, i left the nice nurses with my little baby sister who had recently given me an apology that made me bleed on the inside. I still couldn't get it out of my head that Sharon had those kind of thoughts in her little head. Then again i guess that after a while of being alone in the sickly halls of that hospital that you are bound to have less than pleasant thoughts and ideas.
As it has become routine when i leave Sharon at the hospital i leave for work and before that i spend at least one hour crying in my car and blaming everyone and everything that there is to be blamed. And after my self pity moment i always try to reassure myself that there is no God only to go on for another hour blaming him for everything that was wrong with everything everything else..
Finally i was ready to leave for work. I am so lucky that i have a really nice boss and he cares about his workers or else i don't know how i would have been able to keep my job.And every time i leave that parking lot, i try to leave with hope and leave hope there for Sharon and anyone else that might need it.For the first time leaving that parking lot, i felt myself die inside. It really is hard to explain but i did and for the rest of my life i would continue to die a lot inside.
****
The clocks are ticking
The walls...they were slowly closing in
And eyes are looking
They are searching for a judgement
All of them staring me down
Looking at me, like i'm crazy
Am I crazy?
You know its funny how people have always thought was crazy. Even my own mother thought i was crazy. I know better now than to judge a bunch of random people because they are judging me. As they should. I loved my mother and all i'd ever wanted was for her to love me back. Is that too much to ask? I don't know...maybe.
You know she used to tell me i was just like my father. But i did not want to be like my father. That Idiot!I hated my mom for seeing m father in me. I wanted to be like my mother. I loved to hate my mom.
Everything she said, everything she did. That crazy witch, I love her. Whenever she'd get drunk, like crazy drunk, like i -think- its- 1981- and- i- pumpkin- queen-of-my-midwestern-high school drunk. She used to yell at me and cry hysterically. She sob and say to me that she divorced my dad, ten years ago but there he was standing in front of her . She used to say whenever she looked in my eyes, all she could see was him staring her right back. Chasing her pregnant body across the street with a pipe.It was terrifying how all those feelings of anguish and defeat quickly turned into animosity towards me.
The trouble was i didn't want her to see my dad in me. Sometimes i feel like that is a weird thing to want. Is it? Anyways, i wanted her to see me. All I ever wanted was for her to see me.
In the eight grade, I participated in the spelling bee. I rehearsed by myself in the quiet of our bathroom every night. Like a fool i got my hopes all high on the night of the big day.I looked out at the audience and i saw the parents of all the other children. Old and young pairs of two, carefully scattered around the gym. Some grandparents were even there, some uncles, some aunts. For everyone, there was someone. Well, almost everybody.
I looked out to that audience and all i wanted to see was my mom. I am not sure i have ever wanted to see anything, any person in my entire life as badly as i wanted to see my mom that day. I have never wanted to support, to be proud of me as badly as i wanted someone that moment. Drunk or sober, i really did not care, i just wanted my mommy. A boy can dream can't he?
Anyway, i'm sorry to say that i won the competition. I beat darling Rachel Hummel, I could not believe it.No one beats Rachel Hummel.Rachel has won every spelling bee since she was in the first grade.
I got the trophy and when i was taking the picture for the newspaper all i wanted was for my mom to see me, not my dad. To take just one picture.
I took the trophy to her that night. Excited, foolishly hoping that for reason she would give a damn this time. Thinking she would get excited was my fault, which s why i deserve what happened after. She took the trophy from me and threw it across the room as if it was one of her disgusting old wine bottles.Just like that, she made my great accomplishment not only irrelevant but quite petty and trivial .
And then black out.
I do not remember anything else after that. I remember waking up and seeing her. I remember seeing her , her head was dented and bleeding. I looked at my hand, i could feel the blood but i couldn't tell whose it was.I felt something heavy on my other hand, it was the trophy, soaked entirely in blood.
I know what you're thinking but i didn't do it . I swear ...to God....I Swear to ....my mother' grave. I couldn't have done it. The soul you don't see here won't be showing any scars i inflicted.
I wish i had done it though. I hate that i was not strong enough to.She probably wishes i had done it too, so that she could prove that i was like, she'd always said, like my father.
My clocks are still ticking. The walls are still closing in. And those eyes they'll always be there, staring you down to the very end.
****
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