Uncle Dom spoke about the old days. The early days. The days when there was still some back-and forth in that happy little apartment on Vianney. Some banter. Some respect. And what felt like love.
My brother was eager to hear all about it. Of course he was. I guess I was too. We weren't really around for what sounded like the golden years. We didn't get to see those happy times and we almost never heard about them either. Those exciting times when simply ironing the clothes was a conversation starter. When friends would come over. When they would all sit around and pose for pictures. Those days felt too far away. Too buried in the past.
There's no time for the past now. Not when you're dealing with the present and fretting about the future. These days there aren't too many happy things to report on the family front. These days even congratulations and thank you's ring hollow. They're short-lived and they don't mean much. And they'll never mean much. My parents were born alone and now they'll die alone. And they'll both have to deal with that fact someday. In the not-too-distant future. Alone, of course. I guess I'll have to deal with it as well. I got dragged into a lose-lose situation and I somehow managed to come out numb. I'm not happy and I'm not sad. Yesterday I was neither. We were all neither. Just having a coffee and over-analyzing. Trying to put ourselves in shoes we'll never understand. Trying my best to ignore that phone call. The one I've been answering ever since I got back home.
I spent the better part of last night waking up to the same thoughts in my head. The dreams of the waves from the night before replaced by one sickening thought. That there's no such thing as closure. That bruises never heal properly as you get older.
I kept that phone call to myself. I keep a lot of shit to myself these days.
No more. I have swallowed your frustrations and spit them right back at each of you for the last time. I am done cross-examining your emotions. I am done explaining. Pleading. Translating my thoughts into your separate languages. Smoothing things over. Taking punches. Doing your dirty work. Being accused of taking sides. I am not interested in becoming that thing you despise in the other.
Mommy. Daddy. It's time you fight your own demons.
My brother was eager to hear all about it. Of course he was. I guess I was too. We weren't really around for what sounded like the golden years. We didn't get to see those happy times and we almost never heard about them either. Those exciting times when simply ironing the clothes was a conversation starter. When friends would come over. When they would all sit around and pose for pictures. Those days felt too far away. Too buried in the past.
There's no time for the past now. Not when you're dealing with the present and fretting about the future. These days there aren't too many happy things to report on the family front. These days even congratulations and thank you's ring hollow. They're short-lived and they don't mean much. And they'll never mean much. My parents were born alone and now they'll die alone. And they'll both have to deal with that fact someday. In the not-too-distant future. Alone, of course. I guess I'll have to deal with it as well. I got dragged into a lose-lose situation and I somehow managed to come out numb. I'm not happy and I'm not sad. Yesterday I was neither. We were all neither. Just having a coffee and over-analyzing. Trying to put ourselves in shoes we'll never understand. Trying my best to ignore that phone call. The one I've been answering ever since I got back home.
I spent the better part of last night waking up to the same thoughts in my head. The dreams of the waves from the night before replaced by one sickening thought. That there's no such thing as closure. That bruises never heal properly as you get older.
I kept that phone call to myself. I keep a lot of shit to myself these days.
No more. I have swallowed your frustrations and spit them right back at each of you for the last time. I am done cross-examining your emotions. I am done explaining. Pleading. Translating my thoughts into your separate languages. Smoothing things over. Taking punches. Doing your dirty work. Being accused of taking sides. I am not interested in becoming that thing you despise in the other.
Mommy. Daddy. It's time you fight your own demons.
No comments:
Post a Comment