I Still Remember the Night He Left Love sucks and love hurts. Not talking about kissing and sex, but love from the “man” in the family. The person you’re supposed to look up to and having that awkward conversation about the bees and the birds. I never had that conversation with that man. My “father”, I still remember the night he left. It was a Sunday I know this because I wrote “B.A” with a red sharpie inside my closet; it was hidden like a secret code. Warn out blue jeans, a navy blue t-shirt with “ROMA” written acrossed his chest with a cold Bud Light and a lit cigarette wrapped between his index and middle figure. I always thought he looked like a badass. Kind of like an Italian version of James Dean and the Outsiders. It was around 5 or 6 pm, I don’t really remember I just remember the sun coming down to meets its bed and the stars started to appear. It looked like a pulley affect: one goes down and one goes up. The moon started to shine through the windows of my house. It was calm and beautiful. The house was a diamond and the moon was a flashlight. The flashlight shined through the diamond and light came out if each angle. The room was bright at night. My mother was in the kitchen washing dishes. There was a stoned grantee island in the middle of the kitchen floor. I climbed the bar chairs to get in top of the island, it was a task. I was short and chunky, but it was a fun task I felt like Indian Jones climbing up a rock wall. I sat crisscross apple sauce on top of the table; a ninja meditating in a high mountain. I felt relaxed, happy. My father drinking a cold one, my mother washing dishes my brothers playing video games and me just enjoying the peaceful bright night, it felt like a slow-motion moment. My mother turned took at me and smiled. She was beautiful. She looked like she stretched from the ceiling to the floor even though she was only 5’3. She had long wild hair down to her midsection back.
Tell this I get flashbacks of that night sometimes when I have conversations I just think back of the loud noises. It was war the night he left. The words being were being exchanged from my parents mouths to each other were lethal, lips were the guns and words were the bullets. Each bullet made a loud noise when it released out of their mouths. These bullets didn’t just target them they have ricochet to me, to my heart each bullet left its wound. I felt sprung by the power of the bullets tearing into my skin entering my temple passing the boney guards into my beating heart, making a home wounds to live on. The fighting went to another level. It started to become a game of who can be the loudest and spit out the nastiest words; a game of deadly Russian roulette. My twin and I in living room hiding behind the couch. Trying to hide ourselves from our parents. Feared but curios of all the chaos. It really did felt like war. The couch was long want seemed like went on for miles: it was a trench hiding from the two teams that there going crazy for the kill. Next thing I recall was my parents migrating to the front of my house. The bullets became even louder and dangerous. My dad walks down to his truck, he opens the door and sits on the seat with his feet still out the door. Trying to start the without looking, his face was glued to my mothers. His eyes look like Lucifer’s; the diameter and radius of his eyes was full of anger and evil ready to kill. His mouth turns into a machine gun spitting out the bullets with no filter like a rookie in the war. I never seen this side of him. It was a whole different person, I did not know who this person was. He was a stranger. My mother stepped back with shock down to her toes with a red face of anger turning into pale it looked like the moon was rising in her face. She went to his trunk and stretched over to reach his tool box. She took out a wrench and my father stared at her while she walked to the front of the car. My mother looked back at us. We were in front of the door staring at the action film happing in front of our eyes. She looked blanked like she forgot what happened then in a split second she recalls
everything and her face turns red and sheds a tear then she turns around toward my father. I hear the engine start and the headlights shined bright all I could see was a black hourglass figure with hair dancing in the wind. I see her arm rise with the tool and stretched toward the front window of the truck then all I heard was glass shattering I see the pieces of the glass fall down to the pavement breaking into smaller pieces. It looked like rain shimmering on its way down to kiss the cold floor. The truck reversed and the lights look further. I hear the tires smash against rocks and then drives off. I see the lights get smaller each second. I could see my dad leaving each second. Finally the lights faded into dark. He left what he created. He was gone. It was dead silence and pitch dark. I could feel my heart staring to beat harder and faster trying to jump out of my body. My face turned hot and cold salty drops rolled out my eyes sliding down my round checks landing on the floor. I realized that he was gone and he wasn’t coming back. He left me. He didn’t care. I looked down and knew I lost a part of myself that night. The night he left. 10 years later I was looking at mirror and realized the night he left my eyes look liked his, like Lucifer’s; full of anger and evil. I became darkness.