(no subject)
I can only really remember them doing it once. He was livid, emotions boiling down to anger, and fear, loss, and the hurt deep enough to do something dumb; her as well.
And they did.
She wanted all of us to leave, and leave now. We had a party to go to. An event, we need to leave now, in the big gray land cruiser. Her actions, noticeably frantic guided us to the car doors, inside, away from him. She should have known by now that evasion only makes it worse; well, for him anyway. I know now that all she ever tried to do then was escape. That’s all we ever try to do now, it seems. Towards the car, she tugged us along, everyone and everything fumbling. My fumbling steps, her fumbling grasp at my brother’s sleeping form, all of us fumbling. Standing at the top of the wooden steps, he fumbled with his emotions. Jumbling them about. She tried to see through her jumble, tried to see through my brother’s patch of hair. Finally, in the car, as safe as it could have seemed, for us inside, anyway. Dangerously far away, he stood, debating within himself. In the danger of that distance, he set his self into a thoughtless whirl of activity. She sat in the front seat, resting her weary self against the comfort of the leather wheel, unaware of anything but those tumultuous emotions and my brother’s deep breathing of his troubled sleep. In that small moment, she must have forgot. She must have forgotten that the keys rested in the ignition, waiting to be turned. It must have been forgotten, all of it.
For then, in the sudden, abrupt lunge, we all remembered. We all knew that she hadn’t clicked her seat belt closed. We all knew that my brother and I sat secured in place, pinned behind belts of safety. We all knew that we were leaving him, and by that time, none of us possessed any feelings of joy, not even my brother, who slept.
His hand shot through the open window, but for all the damage that his action caused, he could have been slamming his fist through the glass. Jerking the keys away from their place of rest, he tossed them. We all watched, seeing the keys float through the air, the clean summer air, and landed in the healthy green grass of that summer day. Displacing various bugs, the keys nestled themselves into this new resting spot, out of our views, but not out of our minds. She screamed, tearing at him with her throat, yelling insults and voicing her frustrations in a raw release of rage and despair. The car still lumbered down the drive, with him standing on the step of the huge gray beast, chest heaving, oddly synchronized to her distraught inhales. We seemed frozen, save for our shuddering breaths, all not knowing what would happen next.
And my brother woke.
Tears rolled down my brother’s baby cheeks. Similarly coated, she crouched in the grass, running her hands through the plush grass, not feeling it’s vibrant plush textures, just searching for the cold familiar weight of her keys. He already worked to click open the belts that once attempted to hold us safe, her failed attempt and protecting us from all of this. His hands worked, steadily in contrast to hers, she fumbled, crying and muttering, trying to find her keys to freedom. He lifted us easily, holding my brother and I close, close to him and each other, all so close, and now far from her. She looked up, towards his retreating figure, knowing that what he held was far more precious than the scraps of metal she triumphantly held in her damp palm. Inevitably, she followed us, quietly now joining our short procession back inside, back into the depths of what she was trying to escape from. We were together there, in that place, that place that we shared for so long. They were together, everything she never wanted, wrapped around us, my brother and I, now the only things here that she held in any importance. And there we were.
It isn’t like that anymore. They both found others, other people that won’t ever know those feelings, and we, my brother and I, know it’s best. It won’t ever be that way anymore, now, it’s me trying to escape. Soon, soon I’ll be able to escape, but never forget, and never repeat. I don’t plan on fumbling, and I don’t plan on forgetting. Not that this was ever what anyone planned. Separation and hurt and loss were never in their plans, but those forces have been weaved in, and split apart what was once a family of four. Spilt it apart for the best.