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Chapter 4 Chasing Adam |
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Chapter 1 Chasing Adam |
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Chapter 4 Chasing Adam
Drama
 Created on 1-8-07
 Views(120)
 Story Rating G
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I’ve never really had a home.
I’ve had a house, an apartment, somewhere to come “home” to—but home? Nah, never existed. Well, I guess you could say I had a home when I was little. I’m talking little like “Hey look at Adam, he’s walking.”
Attention.
It all ended when my parents divorced when I was five years old. I started early on the famed Product of Divorce that seems to be so popular these days. No one seems to give a shit anymore. Whatever happened to eternal vows? Solve a problem. Talk. Fix shit, Jesus.
So I’m confused about relationships around the age of five. Good start, huh? I’ve never really had an open relationship. I’ve wanted one, but I just seem to follow the leader. I’ve seen; therefore, I act upon what I know. And what do I know? Discontent, Dysfunction, Dissidence.
Silence—Close yourself off to the world! Build walls, not bridges. You don’t wanna get hurt do ya?
Look where that FUCKING GOT ME.
But anyway, from about five to seven years old, Mom and I got to stay at my aunt’s place—her sister. What a lovely little family we had.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s off somewhere else, don’t worry about it.”
Never with a direct answer. That’s cool. I’m just five years old, I don’t know anything do I? I’m just a kid…… just a kid.
Cut. Two years later.
Guess who’s back?
Now we’re supposed to be a family again? Whatever happened to “he’s off somewhere else”?
Guess he’s back.
The family’s back together.
Yay.
Oh the magic potion is in effect. We’re a family again. Hey Mr. Rogers, welcome to my neighborhood. White picket fences, green grass, and the family dog. Bullshit.
There was never a family. Never. It was three people living in a house, with a dog. And to them I felt like more of a dog myself.
For years it was just fighting, screaming, yelling, hollering—you think of all the synonyms.
I had to get away.
I wanted to get out.
You would, too. I was living on a battlefield, and I was no soldier.
Just a kid.
Who would have thought a divorced couple living in the same house wouldn’t work out? Sounds like the perfect solution. That fixes everything.
Using a bandage to conceal a wound not simple enough to be handled by a cover-up.
There will be scars.
When I was younger I solved everything the way you shouldn’t. Got a problem? Conceal it. Want to say something? Don’t. My solution was to hide in my room, and when I couldn’t hide, I’d just act like I was sleeping. Then maybe my parents wouldn’t know the destruction they were causing. And maybe, just maybe, someone would come and talk to me.
Nope.
For years, it was just me.
Later on, I lashed out.
“Don’t FUCKING play with my emotions you son of a bitch.”
There you go, Dad.
There’s communication for you.
You wanted it, you got it. Came express too. Face hurt? Good, we’re nowhere near even.
Oh, I always wanted to hit him. I held back this whole time and it led to this.
Cops are here.
Cuffs? Take him away.
Him.
He did this to me, arrest him. Tears weren’t working. Just blurred my vision of what was really going on. I was growing up. But I wasn’t.
I’m still that little kid that hid in his room all night. Waiting for silence.
Year later.
It’s just me and her now. No more father figure in my life. It’s okay, I say. I’ll be my own father.
Doesn’t work that way folks.
You just build a shell you know. When you grow up,
your father is a rock. Nothing hurts him. Nothing. He is what you hope to be when you grow up. Fast forward. I’ve got the shell, I’m no rock. It’s too soon. I’m a kid at heart. Still. I’ve never grown up.
Attention.
There’s the problem.
Drugs were my new escape. And my love affair with Jack Daniels. Hey, I don’t have to solve my problems anymore. There’s a new way to “get away.”
Glue.
Codeine.
Jack.
Weed.
LSD.
Jack.
Coke.
Heroine.
Meth.
Jack.
Cool, it all works. I began to slip away. Grades dropped like cement in the East River. Who cares? It was senior year. I was supposed to rule the school. No one knew me anymore. I slipped away. Oh, I didn’t have friends anymore. Who needs ’em? I got my little buddies. And in convenient little single-serving capsules, too.
And my mom knew.
I would come home, late nights, odd hours. With the stench of my good buddy Mr. Daniels and my clothes ripped and dirtied. I never knew how that happened.
She knew.
But my mom didn’t want me in trouble. She’d casually make an effort here and there. No more pills in the sock drawer, she drained them. I knew, but it didn’t stop me. Right now, I wish she would have thrown me in jail. I could use a good straightening out I suppose.
But she never did.
I was always her baby.
Everyone has a breaking point, though. Eventually I hit hers. I was out on the street.
Welcome me, oh cruel world.
She had had enough, and I don’t blame her. I love her.
I love what she did.
I’ll do something someday.
Someday..
Someday, I’ll come back, she’ll see. I’ll have everything. I’ll give her what she wants. She deserves it.
Thank you.
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