(no subject)
Falling Leaves
I sit here, at my computer, staring at the blaring screen adn for once, I hate it so much.
My eyes hurt and my hands are numb and I'm processing new information.
It was like a slap in the face.
I can still hear my dad's voice, explaining, pleading and my eyes defiantly fixed on the wall, between an ad for Wicked and an old Ricky Martin picture taped on my wall from when I used to like him. Livin la vida Loca.
My mind's racing. Listening to him. Going through a check-list of things he might see if he stays in my room much longer. All the places i would rather be right now. What I have to do after he leaves and what I will do tomorrow.
I blink back tears in the middle of the timeline because, yes, I am still listening.I listen and try to find the memories I still have and used his words as patchwork to put back together my 5 year old mind and then later my 4th grade mind.
As he reaches a certain part, my heart stops and my brain stops and strains before turning backwards in counter-clockwise, the wheels turning too fast.
I peice things together, things he doesn't say directly, out of shame, but that he means.
I can't believe it and it kills me even more than when she died.
Bile rose in my throat as I thought about it, only focusing about it.
She had asked to see me. She had wanted to visit me not long before she killed herself.
She had wanted to see me. Talk to me, hug me.
And they had said no.
They had denyed her me, denied her her child. No one had asked if I had wanted to see my Mommy.
My anger flared at the thought, even if it was unreasonable. I was only in 4th grade and desicions like taht weren't mine to make.
But it hurts so much more now that I knew a little under a month later, she would die.
When people are sad, they're often unreasonable and when they're unreasonable, they blame people that weren't at fault.
No one knew it would happen, so why does it burn so much?
Have you ever listened to someone say "Falling Leaves"? It always sounds like they're saying "Fallen leaves", as if they are already gone. Is that it? Are we gone before we even start? Is that it? Are we bound to get so used to something, some comfort then we fall from the tree and it never hurts at first until a step crunches us finally and kills us without killing us all the way and we just hope and pray for the wind to finish the job. Oh, it's so sad.
And when he leaves, he hugs me and wants me to hug him back. I can smell his cheap cologne and his sorrow. I can hear his retching pain as a dagger is driven into his heart, knowing his daughter is gone. She is not his daughter.
And instead of hugging him back, I wanted to push the dagger in further.