Chapter 2: Parentals

Our love is scattered,

like weeds on the highway.

Our love is shattered,

broken glass on the byway.

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My parents no longer start conversations with me because they know I won't answer. I've gone downhill and they recognize this, but they haven't a clue what to do about it. I've never been a problem, so this took them off guard. No advice from any parenting books could help, though I wish it could. My brother had drug problems growing up and they were never successfully resolved. They see themselves as the reason for this, but they're not. They're not problem solvers, just escape artists. They just got out and that's the one thing I want to do.

On my drive home I pulled into his road. A habit that I wish could be broken. I don't stop, I continue untill his house can be seen from my window.

The bricks that cover the outer walls are as red as the heart that beats inside of me; the heart that beats for him and only him. The grass that grows freely just as we were reminds me of the times when we'd sit and count the stars. Now, I count sand.

I realize I am in the middle of the road. I pull to the side to avoid any potential accidents. I try to let my heart catch up to itself. Once I'm stable I continue home with my vision impaired by the tears that fill m eyes.

My mother's doing paperwork at the kitchen when I walk in. She notices me and looks to my face. I bite my lip; I should say something. But before I can she does, "You should really get over it." This pisses me off and I decide to say nothing to her.

Instead I seek my father who is working in the shop repairing the old Bel-Air he drove as a child. "Need any help?" I ask knowing I have no mechanical skills but just trying to start up a meaningless conversation. His voice echoes of the old rusted metal, "Nah, I need Josh back so I can finally finish this." My heart tore even more if possible. "I need him back too."

My dad didn't mean to bring him up but once he did, he knew he'd made a mistake. He chose the best thing to say at that moment, nothing.

I drifted back into my room like the nomad I had became. Get over it I repeated. Harsh, but adive that needed to be taken.

 

Reviews

[Irish_Ranger]

Again, great use of metaphor. I can tell that you're writing this from a very real place inside, channeling it very well to create this piece. Well done.

[Jersey]

I'd have to agree, this book you have created is so good that I don't want to stop reading it. I loved it.

[Rae CJ]

I can't stop reading. This is yet again an amazing chapter. I can't get enough.