As Darkness Creeps In

I’m in the dark, afraid to come out alone. A hand reaches for me but I refuse to take it. It is his hand, a hand that is unsure of what it will do next. Stubby fingers, pale skin and starting to wrinkle, I push it away, afraid of what he will pull me into. I can’t begin to describe how I feel for him for I don’t yet understand it. I don’t hate him we just have different views of things. I fear him at times, especially when he’s angry. He yells…then he gets this nervous laugh which makes me believe it’s over until he starts yelling once more.

He’s always wanted a son, one that he can teach the things his father taught him. My brother, Irie, grew up too quickly or rather; my father was too young to teach him the things he wanted his son to learn. He had his hopes riding on his second child but instead he got me, his weak little girl. I picked up many of my manners from him which would make any father proud. The only manner that I didn’t pick up from him was his love of experimenting and fiddling with gadgets. I’d rather leave things as they are while he will rip them apart and try to find a new and “better” way of putting them back together while all I can do is watch, against my will of course.

            This is when the arguments started. I’m a planner, hence when I want to go somewhere and he agrees to take me I expect to go to that place then to return back to where we left off. He likes to side tract from the plan, going to different places to shop for himself or just go window shopping. There is a wall between us then, its invisible but we both know its there. A haunting silence separates us and makes us more fearful to cross the wall thus we try to fill it. He turns up the radio and I turn my Ipod on and slowly go to sleep.

            Then the rough housing began and I am a far cry from being a boy. He would come by me and just lift me up in his arms, fling me over his shoulder and spin me around until I was about to throw up. I used to enjoy these small trips, in fact they prepared me for the turns of rollercoaster’s. Then, one day we almost fell over the bar in our living room and that was the end of that. He also likes to tackle me, trying to toughen me up. I struggle to push him off me as he just looks down and laughs as I squirm feeling trapped.

            I can’t do it….I tried but I couldn’t grab his hand. If I even touch it I will be trapped once more. If I grab it I will pulled into a world where I will slowly be morphed into the son he’s wanted or the overachiever he’s always wanted back. I’d rather sit here in silence and wait for my mother to return. I can’t describe how I feel for him…I don’t hate him. It’s just hard for me to say I love him.