The People Behind My Eyes

Here we are together. It’s been what, 27 years? How amazing is that? You look just like you did when you were ten. My heart melts the same as then, then when I thought you were a rock star in a kid’s body. You’re not wearing the tight blue jeans or the lumber jack buck boots with red shoe strings. You’re not wearing a white T-shirt as you cross the small bridge over the stream to the back yard where your chores are waiting. No, this time you’re in a huge house with its renovation nearly complete. You’re still shorter than I am but other than that you look like the little boy all grown up that won my heart first.

I know you’re embarrassed that I caught you in transit. You’re fresh from the shower standing in a towel. No eye contact, few words but plenty of tension. All reason says to let you pass but I’m so happy to see you I just keep chattering on nervously. Finally you excuse yourself then go in the bedroom and lay on the bed, towel half hanging to the floor. I wonder within myself why the door is only half closed.

When you walked away from me your oldest brother explained that despite our history together as children you as an adult are confused and frightened. He said not to depend upon the history we had together but to try and get to know the man you are today. He then asked how I was doing. I explained my heart is weak and I have three small tumors. I could see them on the screen. The doctor put his hand in my chest, moved a fold over and exposed three small tumors. To me they looked more like calcium deposits. He said, “This is where the pain is coming from. We can’t remove them, the body will have to heal on it’s own.” The doctor turned the screen off and left the room with his nursing staff. Your eldest brother was only half listening. He had something else on his mind, your middle brother, the one my sister loves. It pains me to see his face so clearly. I was told he died in a car crash fleeing his birth mother who took him from your step family. All these years I thought he was dead but clear as a bell is his face just before he turns the corner into a half finished room. The eldest tells me you’re troubled now, having seen your brother die that way, that day in the street in the middle of nowhere. He says you’ll be difficult to handle but I should try. Again he told me not to build from our history but to start fresh in the here and now.

As we spoke and he kept using the word “history” it occurred to me that I never said we had a history. From the corner of my eye my mother crossed from one finished room to a half finished room. I knew then she’d been there haunting the place, making sure no one would be happy in this house, ever.We will all be broken, shattered, and clueless as to why.

When I realized my mother had come all hope seemed lost. You were lost to me again, taken again. You’re angry and sad but resolved. I have to leave and never return. I am told by you to gather my belongings. As I moved past the kitchen to reach the closet where my clothes have been piling high for years I see some of my artwork on your wall above the stove and table. Three abstract figures each hold a square on a stick. It is signed, framed and hanging proudly. A large painting on the kitchen wall shows in bright screaming colour a family eating a meal not fit for humans. As I close the door behind me my soul is stricken as if by lightening with this sober revelation: I’m to leave but you’d like to keep my heart.

I Will Take This -Thursday, November 13, 2008-11:53AM EST