Section 1 - Chapter 3 - And so it begins...

It was getting close to one of my favorite parts of the day. At this time in my life, timing wasn't dictated by dragging my butt out of bed to head into work or laying in bed tossing and turning begging anything to help me find sleep usually, because of my mind won't stop turning. It was almost time for dinner and with dinner came the arrival of my father. I don't think I understood where he went all day and looking back on it, I often wonder if my feelings of eternity was a sense similar to how a dog feels when it's owner leaves for their long day of work, timeless and desperate for their return. Regardless of my understanding, he often left in the mid morning, leaving my mother to care for me and my little brother who still had not been able to stop his consistent crying.

I was taking everything in, the smells wafting through the lazy summer air from the kitchen past my nose and out the window into the world outside of our small one bedroom apartment. My brother, still to small to do much of anything was wrapped up in a light blanket on the couch. He was positioned in the corner so that if he did manage to roll around he wouldn't get very far. It was a peaceful moment, he had managed to cry himself to sleep and there was little noise for a change. Prior to disappearing into the kitchen, my mother had asked me to watch him. For a little while I stood at the edge of the beaten down couch cushion looking at him. He really needed to get older, because at this point he did very little that interested me and being a big brother had left me greatly dissatisfied.

Shortly after my curiosity faded, my attention was drawn to the flashing screen of the television resting on a two story wire shelf next to the door into our apartment. I laid back on the floor and slid my feet under the bottom shelf and looked up at the T.V. This gave me an excellent vantage point for all that I hoped would be happening soon. Directly to my left was the hallway that led to the kitchen at the end where I could hear my mother working on those marvelous smells, if I tilted my head as if looking up and arched my back a bit I could see the lump of blankets that told me my brother was still where he had been left, and finally I was right next to the door so I would be the very first thing that he would see when he came home.

I focused my attention to the sounds and movements on the television. It must have been early summer because I do not remember it being all to hot or humid as is pretty regular for the middle of a Chicago summer. I could hear the leaves move on the trees as the wind picked up in between the noise of the television as the programs transitioned from one to the next. I watched a commercial for gravy train dog food and wondered why I didn't have a dog, maybe when I was a grown up I remember thinking, like the people were on the TV. Just then, I heard sound coming from the door, it was a metallic jingle followed by a muffled word or two, then a little more jingling before the door started to open. I was so excited that I began kicking my feet! The TV rocked a bit back and forth as my father appeared in the doorway.

"Gabriel, don't kick the TV stand," my father said as he put his hand on top of the television to stop it's movement. With that, he took a sideways glance at the couch, obviously assessing my slumbering brother before turning right and heading down the hallway towards the kitchen, carelessly shoving the door with a forgotten movement so that it shut. The door slid into place without much of a noise. I heard the low mumbles of what must have been a greeting, I wiggled with anticipation, waiting for my turn for the attention of my father. My foot was stuck below the television stand, I began pulling my left foot harder, wanting to be standing at the mouth of the hallway when my father returned.

Perhaps it was the commotion of trying to get my foot free, but more likely it was the raised voices rampaging out of the kitchen and vaulting down the hallway, but in my struggle I failed to notice what my brother began screaming his head off about. My mother and father had begun screaming at one another. My mothers voice was direct and controlled, but much more dangerous than I had ever heard her speak while my father words were erratic and growing louder by the word. I gave up on my foot and stared down the hallway trying to understand what was happening. My fathers voice became louder and louder only rivaled by the desperate cries of my brother. 

In an instant, my father backed into eyesight from around the corner in the kitchen. His hands waved downwards at my unseen mother in a fashion that I now associate with a hand gesture to signify "giving up." He turned towards me and walked in a few long strides to the opening of the hallway where I had wanted to be standing. My father towered above me only a few short steps away. Knowing what I know now, he stood no taller than 5' 10" and weighed at most 130 pounds. He was thin, with dark hair, permed as was the fashion at the time with his very best Freddy Mercury mustache hanging on his upper lip. His glare, which was directed at my brother was very intense, and his brown eyes, which I had inherited, were intense and almost seemed desperate.

"Why won't this kid shut up," he shouted! Taking a quick lunge at the couch, he swung his arm, using his forearm as if sweeping all the items off of the top of a desk, and sent my brother down the end of the couch and onto the floor. I began to sniffle, knowing I was moments away from crying myself, I bit it back and began tugging on my foot once more, desperate to be somewhere else. His attention turned to me and I flinched, giving my foot one final tug as my father took a step towards me. He reached down and grabbed me under my arms and began pulling me up towards him, my body tensing as he did. I noticed movement from two different directions. The silhouette of my mother beginning to move down the hallway towards us and also the TV beginning its inevitable fall towards the apartment floor. In an instant I was on my fathers hip, my arm around his neck looking bak over his shoulder as he walked out of the apartment door. As he stepped out to walk down the stairs The image of my mother, holding her hands over her face, blood oozing out from under them from where her nose was as she rushed to my brothers aid was forever engrained in my mind. And then we were gone. This was the last time that I ever lived in the same place with my mother and father. Never again did they live together and shortly after this moment, the marriage and any type of civility they might have had, ended.

That evening was a moment in my life that forever shaped me. I spent years after that reliving those moments at night, both trying to fall asleep and in my dreams. The guilt I carried at such a young age for those events is still something that challenges my adult reasoning and emotional intelligence. You see, I want to tell you that once we left our apartment that night that my father broke my nose as he had my mothers, or that he pushed me 4 feet through the air sending me falling to the ground. I want to say that he hurt me like he had those I love. However, to say that would be telling you something far from what happened and far from what created a sadness in me that will forever be carried. I don't know if he had no where to go, I don't know if he was trying to gain my favor, but after we left the devastation of my home, the man who would never be considered my father again took me out for an ice cream cone.