Most people who read my work knows that there is a method to my writing. I write most of my work out of experiences and pain. In order to deal with a current situation, I must write. This is my relief or the way I deal with unpleasant things that are happening. Over the next several weeks until I can get a hold on things, I will write on this blog a story to help me. Every three days I will post another part of this story.
On the Brink of Madness
Tossing and turning throughout the night, because I cannot seem to get comfortable. I’m sweating and fluffing my pillow at the same time hoping this will help in some way to alleviate another sleepless night for me. As I scrunched, pulled and pressed my pillow into a perfect puff to relax my head on, I find that it is soaked wet with my tears of frustration. I can’t stop crying. In my attempt to sleep I feel myself praying, crying and asking God to not allow the one person who was the family rock, and the person who taught me how to be a respectful lady not suffer. I cannot imagine what he is going through so I try to see what he sees so I squeeze my eyes tight and imagine that I am hallucinating. I am desperately trying to visualize what he sees so that I can offer him help. I see nothing because the tears are overflowing and filling my eyes with so much water that even as my eyes are closed, I reach up to wipe the tears away. I find myself reliving the call that will change all of our lives forever.
I see myself dialing the phone as I always do. At least twice a week I called my dad to check on him and to let him know that I will visit on Saturday. As I sat there holding the phone and listening to it ring, I wonder if I’ll have to wait until it rings at least 10 times before he answers it; because Dad never likes talking on the phone. I thought about when we were growing up and when someone would call for him and we rushed to answer the phone, he would tell us to inform the caller that he was not home. But on other occasions when we told little white lies he would take a switch and beat our butts because he would tell us that he couldn’t stand a person that lied, yet unknowingly he was teaching us to do so. I flinched thinking about the skinny powerful tree limb that would make a swishing and swooshing sound as it was swung through the air to make contact with our bodies. Even with all those spankings we loved our dad for we knew that he wanted us to do better, be smarter and more respectful than any other children in our community.
As I waited on the phone to stop ringing, it is suddenly picked up and I hear a voice that sounds unsure, almost afraid.
“Are you okay?” I asked because he didn’t sound his normal self.
“Can you come over? I have to show you something.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated. “I want to show you something.”
I knew in my heart not to ask anything. “I’ll be over in a couple of hours.”