This piece is part of a series I write occasionally called Childhood Memories where I recall a memory in story form. These pieces are short, to the point, and piercing as I process memories of emotional abuse, neglect, and fear.
I took a deep breathe and tried to calm my twelve year old nerves.
I walked through the doorway into the living room, he was sitting in his recliner to my left. I turned to him, my hands nervously grabbing at my clothes, my shoulders slumped, and my eyes turned down.
“I was talking to someone at school” I began, “and they told me what we do isn’t right. I don’t want to do that stuff anymore.”
He looked at me. I wonder, had he been younger and more able, if I’d have been released from his grip so easily. Maybe it was his fear of what I was saying at school.
“Okay” he replied, monotone and emotionless.
That’s all he said, but I remember thinking, it’s over, he was going to stop. Still, there was no real relief.
So I turned and went back outside to play, and left my grandpa sitting in his recliner in the living room.
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