The wind rustles through my hair. Blowing round behind me. I've
been told I look beautiful when the wind touches me. I stand under my oak tree. It overlooks all the oaks in my father's front yard. We live in the big house. Living in "The Waker" would be unheard of in our neighborhood. Although it wouldn't seem so, our house is so... so unlived in. I only there on the weekends, my father there less. He lives in his E.R. I hear the gate coming to an open as it buzzes my father in. He pulls in and doesn't complete the circle around the fountain. He gets out of his old Chevelle, my mother never understood his liking for the car. He stares at me with his dark brown eyes, almost black. I stare back at him with the eyes he has passed down to me. I smile at him for the first time in awhile. He stops cold, surprised is he? His eyes wide, he takes a small step toward me. My mind is racing, "Wait, no! This is all happening to fast. I won't let him back into my life this easily. If he wants love from me, he will work for it. I will not forgive him. I can't. Can I?" But my feet make a choice before my mind can. I tumble back, falling over a root. I get back up and head for the back gate. I look over my shoulder and see him, unmoving with his somber expression.
I step off my platform, into my train. My mind is a mess. "I can't give in this easily. This isn't you Kallen. I will not go back to his drunken escapades, coming home hammered. At fourteen you picked him up off the floor of the foyer, throwing him in all those cold showers. Hiding his bottles. The Names, the names were the worst. No, too many times. I won't, I just can't." I take my seat and look out the window of the AmTrak. "No, I won't take it anymore, I will forgive myself, however long that may take. No, never again will I allow to be called a murderer. Never."
© Copyright 2016 Kale Youngblood. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Memoir
Poem / Poetry
Book / Young Adult
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