OATMEAL

by compound complex 47 Replies latest jw friends

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  compound complex

  I was already a young woman when the call was put through. An unexpected, jarring message that turned me inside out and upside down.

  He was still alive, but on the east coast and so far from home. Well, what had been his home, the home and family he had abandoned so many, many years ago. Mother asked who was on the line. She was busy fixing dinner and tending to Allan in between a stroke here, a flourish there. Her meals were always so delicious, so beautifully presented. Despite their simplicity. You can do a lot with hamburger, so I learned. How she managed to get anything done with Allan in tow and so helpless . . .

  I was stunned to silence as the woman on the other end spoke coldly -- matter-of-factly -- about this stranger who had a connection to my family, my broken yet still functioning family. She, this other stranger, said she had found a scrap of paper amongst his belongings. On the paper was an address -- ours. She had called information to locate us.

  Lucky it was me who answered. I told Mom it was a wrong number, but the person on the other end was just chatty and wouldn't hang up. My mother would have soldiered her way through the news and its consequences. Didn't want to take any chances with her putting everything in the hands of the Lord, however. I wanted to handle it.

  I would make some excuse to travel to Maryland and see the invalid, my father. . . .
• 

  Chariklo

  She always had a look in her eye and a smile for Bobby that she never had for me, Allan, the oldest.

  Duty called me to Baltimore.

  I hated leaving Bobby in charge of Allan's care as he has his own problems. But he's a sweetheart and was willing to step up to the plate. Bobby had a little trouble at first adjusting to the new scenario, Mom dying so suddenly and my needing to return to Maryland -- no choice.

  I often wonder if the boys -- well, they're men now -- are truly related.

  So, re-adjusting, taking a deep breath, I am guessing now that this is all fiction, though drawing one some of your own life experiences?

  Very clever, Coco. Great writing!
• 

  compound complex

  Good morning, Chariklo!

  Thanks for both your astute observations and your linking what appear to be disparate fragments of a fractured family's history. Oh yes, fiction, but that fueled by memories of a bittersweet childhood.

  Have a wonderful day!

  CoCo Reminisces
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  Chariklo

  You had me hooked, totally, CoCo! I was hanging on every word, and then repeatedly, with each new revelation, doing a double-take.

  Very nicely done!

  Have you ever thought of publishing a book? Seriously, I predict an instant bestseller!
• 

  compound complex

  I appreciate the kind, encouraging words, Chariklo!

  As an editor for established authors, I'm aware of what time and effort are required to publish a book -- and PROMOTING it. Somehow, this online writing has an appeal, an immediacy, that suits me. Getting paid for one's writing is a wonderful, but elusive, thing, IMHO.

  Your vote of confidence is, nonetheless, heartwarming.

  Till another time -- it is hoped!

  CC
• 

  compound complex

  People need to sober up and face life like it really is. Tough and no mercy. I have no time to myself because Bobby's so demanding, but he can't help it because of his little mind and body. He hates who is is but I try to cheer him up even though I sure could use some help and cheering up myself. No one cares. If -- IF I get a chance I look out the living room window and watch the world pass by. It passes by and leaves poor Bobby and me behind without a care. They stop and chat while they walk their little dogs that get all the care and attention that should go to people, people in need . . . There's nothing wrong with laughing. They say it's good medicine but this rolling on the sidewalk guffaws and knee slapping is extreme when there's so much suffering in the world, so much suffering at home where you should be kind to your neighbor. Old lady Perkins next door came rapping on the front door but since I didn't answer she went away -- FINALLY -- but left a loaf of bread or some such on the stoop. Couldn't much make it out. It was all raggedy cut like she did it with a corkscrew. You'd think she thinks I don't own a knife . . .
• 

  compound complex

  Robert Sr. abandoned his family, leaving them defenseless in every conceivable manner.

  Consequently, he wasn't around to teach his sons the manly art of self defense. His older boy learned to fend for himself -- he possessed a fighting, self-reliant spirit that belied his looks. Junior, on the other hand, attracted trouble because of his appearance. A sort of unidentifiable reason for that trouble he fell into, and it had nothing to do with that delinquent behavior that brings the law down squarely on head and shoulders. No rude and taunting remarks to appalled adults, no fresh, hands-on treatment of the girl next door. No, it was Junior's upright carriage, his sculpted face, his youthful gentlemanliness that drew the girls to him, throwing their would-be suitors into a frenzy of jealous rage when he unobtrusively entered stage right.

  The envious little Philistines cursed at him, spit on him, but he just walked on by. One time, however, Pepper Walsh stuck out his foot as Junior walked through the congregated throng of plain-faced urchins and tripped him. Ready to pummel the fallen classmate -- "Pretty Boy Holden" -- and rid themselves forever of this accursed Adonis, Pierre LeMaire glanced over his shoulder and saw him: big brother.

  "RUN, RUN! It is Bossu!"
• 

  compound complex

  I sometimes wonder who we are, my brother and I.

  He looks into the mirror and sees me. Passing by a shop window -- rarely do we venture forth at this point in life -- I observe his reflection, his dreamy eyes in a fixed stare with mine. I am steel and am not unnerved by what is clearly my brother's psychosis. I do care about his state of mind (we are linked, and one another's mental health surely affects the course -- for good or for ill -- that either of us embarks upon); however, it is essential that a measure of balance be struck and maintained in order to carry out my duties relative to his care.

  Redirecting my younger half toward useful and healthy pursuits is my goal. Too much time has passed his staring into space, which inactivity creates a downward spiral into whose vortex my dear little man descends. There is no savior but I. He is docile though weak in mind due to irreversible trauma brought on through abandonment by those whom we loved, trusted, needed so desperately.

  I shall muster the forces of Hell, if necessary, to assist in my quest toward reunification with my other half. Requesting Heaven's help has never been a viable option . . .