story5_content

I remember you and when you first walked into our house. It was late at night, cold, and dark. So dark, I couldn’t make out many of your features. I should be asleep. A “friend” of mother’s, that’s what we called you. You hugged and kissed our mom as you entered. You then walked into the living room to sit. Mother is there, too. You both speak as if there are years of friendship between you. We know different. New month…new man. It is how mom worked. We know what your visit means. We know how you operate. Drinking and cigarettes until the early morning hours. You get drunk and sleep here. Then you will come to visit.
But not tonight, not this time because I found him. I found my superhero. Like the Dark Knight he is unashamed of the fear he will cause you. With him, my confidence grew at the speed of sound. No evil, not even yours will escape my sight, not this night. My little princess will not be a target either. I saw through your lies like x-ray vision through a brick wall. You will not make us feel like aliens in our own skin. Justice, tonight will be justice. I stop at my mother’s room and get him. I then go back to sister’s room and lock her in the closet. I’m her brother, her father, her protector.

Tonight you can’t have her. You can’t have us anymore. At 7 years old, I sit with a gun and wait in the dark. It’s late at night, cold and dark. I remember you and when you first walked into our home.

You will say that you weren’t the only one and you are right. There were others, but you were the worst. First, you’d introduced the games. “Horsey,” but I was cold and didn’t want to slide further back on your lap. “House,” but my dad wasn’t there, so I didn’t know how mommy and daddy showed they loved each other. “Doctor,” but my no-no spot doesn’t get sick, so I didn’t know how to make your pain go away. You said these games were only for you, that we should only play them with you when mother wasn’t around. She was gone a lot. First, it was candies and money but those didn’t last long because your currency was pain and bruises. First, I didn’t care because someone had to care for us, but that, too, left. In the early morning hours of the following day, exhausted from lack of sleep and the adrenalin no longer being pumped through my veins, I call CPS, because…because…because love shouldn’t hurt.

About the Author

I am Poor, molested, abused, broken home grown, military raised, PTSD suffering, 18 pills a day taking, cigarette smoking, hard liquor drinking, husband, father of seven, football Coaching, Chicago Bear Loving, God fearing, American, Italian, Mexican, bisexual who once wrote only to hide that shame. I am no longer ashamed. I speak truth. I speak family. I speak on life, love, loss, and pain. Using honesty to heal myself and with a bit of luck, heal you too. This paper and pen become a place of safety and of slavery. I sit and invite my memories in, so that they too may learn to live life with laughter and love from within. Forever learning.