Capiche?

We learn of Trev's father.

"My father was a surgeon. When I was three, he left. Cut me and mom out of his life. Mom was brave, always held out hope he would return, kindled that belief in me. I grew to hate her for that. Then I grew to hate the lack of empathy and compassion in my own heart. I lost a father I never knew. She lost a soul-mate. I was not a help to her. When I told her I was going to med school she just started crying. Being young and stupid and selfish, I just walked away, as if I was the victim. The idea of her sitting in the house alone, abandoned by the two men in her life she loved is not a memory I like sitting in.

"So I grew up at the window, so to speak. I watched the drive. Watched every hopper pass by. My ears developed a sensitivity to the sound of a vehicle pulling in. I just knew, he would return. I just knew it. Even on the dock, I was looking for two, not one. Of course, as you know, neither showed. Those first few days after departure were, and this is saying a lot, perhaps the darkest of my life.

"Can you understand? I'd like to tell you how great I am. But this is me. I have a lot of growing up to do. I'm not there. Yet. I know I should be happy for Kyra. I know I should be standing with open arms to greet her. But logic and emotion are two different things. Emotion, for me, is the stronger. There are times I'm overwhelmed. Times I'm just an observer in my life, as if I'm riding rapids and hanging on for dear life. No control. None. I just try to hang on. I don't try to win. I just try to do as little harm as possible and often that means a monumental effort just to keep my mouth shut. Sometimes that means leaving. Just walking away. And when I do, for self-perservation I wonder, is this how dad felt? Did he have to leave? Was he tormented by the same demons? Did he gift those demons to me--are they in my genes? Did he leave because of me? Think about that. Your mom and dad loved you. But think of growing up wondering if your dad hated you, hated you so much he left. Not just left, but left and never returned. Gone like the light before dusk, only this sun would never rise again. Imagine living in that darkness. Eternal, only you wake up every morning and run to the window thinking this is the day, the day the sun will rise, the day I will see the light again, and day after day you are greeted with nothing but interminal darkness."

Trev paused as if remembering he should breathe. Then he continued.

"As soon as the door shut, I lost control. Imagine needing to vomit, and as the urge hits you run for the bathroom, and somehow you are able to hold it within until you see the throne, and with that sight, you lose all control and make a mess of everything. As soon as the door closed, I lost it, consumed, the air sucked from my gut and out my lungs. The pain so great within my skull that banging my head to release the demons, to release the pressure, seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. The blood actually tasted good, the way familar ground under foot feels good. You know you are frailed up when pain is the best thing in your life.

"Want to hear more?"

Em searched his face, her eyes as lasers, trying to beam into his soul a light mere words could not. "Baby, I told you before and I'll say it again and I want you to hear me and hear me clearly. I want all of you. Do you understand?"

Trev bowed his head.

"Look at me. Wherever you go, there you are. There is no escape from yourself. So stop running. Or," she smiled, "if you must run, run to me, run to my open arms. Capiche?"

"You know, you're not really a callow limpet."

"A what?"

Giggles replaced words and arms and legs as rope twinning. Holding his face close to hers, his eyes looking like a frog, she said, "Let's go greet Kyra."

"Okay."

Reviews

[AutumnStorm]

There is imagination and then there is telling, there is experience and there is telling, both can seem as real and are the easier of the two without a doubt, the two of the three that is. Now telling, telling is something else entirely. How a scene imagined or a scene lived can be described in such a manner that it manifests itself in the listener, their own imagination snaking around it and claiming it, adding upon it, sinking within. Imagine this as an essay question, how might a child feel that had been abandoned by a parent..common knowledge one might call it to say he/she would question their own part in the reasons that parent left, blame themselves, wish for them to return, there would in other words as a classroom full of students imagined what it might be light to be that child be some similar elements to their writing, but far and few between would think to create something like this. Again that 'introductory sentence' became a little longer than intended and the follow-up is a repetition of the journey that your writing takes, someway, somehow you get from a to b in not only the most direct manner but in the most complete, it truly amazes me time and again how it is that you achieve that. I study, watch and listen, admire, marvel, re-read and rejoice and yet were I to tell another, explain your means, I'm not sure that I would be able to come anywhere close. And that, in short, is because in actual fact you do not tell, but show. You are the most consistent and imaginative shower that it has been my pleasure to read. Others do it, but nobody does it as a general rule as you do. Trev speaks the words here, it is dialogue and yet it is more than that. It is order, it is language, it is the length of sentences and the quick succession of them. And more. Someone with a greater knowledge (or just some even) of how these things work would be able to pick it out, what you do, but and this I believe is a beautiful thing, not just in the obvious way, but in both ways, it is written from what I have gauged of how these chapters appear to you, naturally with very little direct thought about layout, you are to put it another way, a familiar way, a natural talent with an instinctive feel for tone and mood and meaning and impact, and in the receiving it is picked up by many of us in the same way, without direct thought of how, but just is, tone and mood and meaning and impact taken, felt, naturally. There are parts of this that make the heart bleed to be clich� ("I grew to hate her" to cite a single, random instance) and other parts that fill it with hope and joy ("I want all of you"). I think of Papa's rolling arms and Kyra's momentum (one of the most recent chapters read), I think of what I have just read above, I think of dozens upon dozens of other examples and one word stands clear in my mind, always and unfailingly. Brilliant. You are brilliant.