Memories of Young Never Die

I stand in front of the mirror, I barely recognize myself, and beads of sweat run down my face. I can see the look of fear in my eyes; disappointment consumes me.

She had eyes of amber that lit the fire in my heart, as I looked at her, I knew I had found the water to quench my soul, her smile brought me to my knees, I remember my friends laughing at how taken I was with her, But how could I not ? Everything about her screamed perfection. Her words echoed every feeling or dream I had ever had; she was that something I had been waiting for. PERFECTION; I laugh as I say the word, though it exists in our vocabulary, I really doubt it exists in life, just another word of praise, probably put to use by authors, politicians, actors but not the ordinary Joe, cause there was nothing ever perfect about my life, I was a fool to think I had found perfection with Rebecca.

My mother, loving, sweet but naïve. She was never a bad mother, No she wasn’t, but I hated her naivety even more than I hated my father. You see it’s a cycle that goes from generation to generation; my father’s, father had abandoned his family, during the Great depression, he left home one day saying he was going to look for work he never came back, no one ever knew what happened to him, so my father and his siblings grew up bitter, confused, lost souls. That bitterness never left him, a shadow that always followed him even in the night. We were the victims of his bitterness “The sins of the father live through the son”. I hardly still have memories of childhood; a choice I willingly took. There was nothing much to remember only beatings from a drunkard. DRUNKARD, how ironic as I take a sip from the third bottle of whisky that night. “Johnnie is home” my young brother says as he runs upstairs, we all knew what that meant.

His favorite brand of whisky was Johnnie Walker, so we all called him Johnnie, he came early that night, he mostly found us already in bed but tonight, something was up. He noisily opened the door, looked at us like strange alien beings. That look I never forget it; it’s pasted in my mind forever. We were watching TV, he hated that he never allowed us to watch it even during the day. He walked up to me as I was the eldest and the brunt of his evil. The slap he gave me was one I never forgot even to this day.

Rebecca stands in front of me with the pregnancy kit, it has turned a strange color which means nothing to me, but must definitely mean something to her as she can’t mask the fear in her eyes. She is saying something about me being responsible as we are going to be having a BABY, but the whisky is now starting to do things to me; I can’t understand a thing, she starts shouting and advancing towards me, she slaps me. I remember my father.

“Baby, what’s that?” I honestly ask, the whisky playing its role. “That is what you get when two people sleep together, you Idiot” Rebecca angrily says. IDIOT, my father called me that all the time, there was a time I began to think it was my name, I had heard it a lot it began feeling normal. Now Rebecca had said it, the anger comes back, years of frustration that was kept inside explode like a volcano, as I grab her neck to choke her, I see my mother’s face, her big sweet, naïve eyes stare at me in horror, I think of all the time she stood by as our father beat us like there is no tomorrow, all the times she did nothing but prayed, her angels never did come to save us, for years and years our father beat us senseless but she did nothing hoping he would change.

He never did, he died a bitter soul that had created monsters; me and my brothers, and years of abuse could never be cured by a sorry. A sorry she only said after my father’s burial, a sorry I never accepted and forgiveness I never gave her, she too died a bitter woman. Rebecca turns red as she struggles with me, she bites my hand, I let go of her, she runs towards the door; I don’t attempt to stop her, why should I, it’s all over she will never take me back, so why waste my time.

“I love you Peter but you are a perfect, drunken, Idiot”, yes those where the words she said before she left , they still echo in my ears, even after the cold hard slap she gave me I don’t know what hurts the most. I look at myself in the mirror, I see my father’s face, I begin to sweat as the memories roll back.

I take my whisky bottle, I go back to bed, “It’s a cycle after all” I mutter how could it ever become any different. The pregnancy kit falls on the floor, my eyes are now heavy with sleep as I fall into a deep slumber the memories still rolling.

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