The Search

June 19, 2008
By Anonymous

No, I am not here to preach to you some sob story of my childhood, because quite frankly that would be a lie. My childhood was overall a remembrance of perfection, but you always reach that point in your life where something goes awry; when you loose the reigns on your life. Some may refer to it as your breaking point, me however, I consider it a chance of rejuvenation. Your shot to regain control, even when the firing echoes of chaos have spun out of control. My chance of metamorphoses began at the tender age of eleven. Some may have considered myself to be nothing but a mere adolescent, but in my perspective, I had the soul, wits, and guts, of your average twenty something year old. No matter how diligently I try, that night has brain washed me and has drilled a permanent tombstone in my mind, reserving a lifeless spot in my cerebellum. Days, even months will pass when this dead spot will remain deceased, but just as an unexpected Florida thunder-storm will appear, the memory will revive, casting a shadow over my day, and that shadow reflects not only on my scarred heart, but is the reasoning for bullets of tears. This day you ask, a day in fifth grade. The warning signs were all there, if only I hadn’t imagined them not to be and upgraded my attentiveness, maybe this night would not have occurred. Still to this day, the question of whether or not this event was my doing stay perched in the back of my mind.
On the night of June 25, 2005, an event that I am still unaware of, ignited my mom’s flame unleashing a rage in her that I had not known she possessed. It was as if Pandora’s box had been accessed pouring utter mayhem into the Roberts’ residence. If only you could have seen that glow, the glow beaming from her hazel eyes, you too would have known that a rampage was about to erupt. Livid words bombarded throughout the hallways, as did pictures reminiscent of the past colliding into the freshly painted walls. Chipping away at them as I could feel a piece of my heart chisel off as well. I felt helpless and the least bit helpful, as I sealed my eyes attempting to evade my mind into a serene haven. But the drunken words amplified to new heights and beat out the calmness. My heart summated ten miles resting gently in my stomach. Slowly, as I scanned the room I caught a glimpse of a plump man, my dad, resting on the icy cherry wood flooring. It didn’t take long for my heart to plummet and shout a greeting to my feet as I darted to my father. Waterfalls cascaded down my face as I extended my clammy palm to rest on my dad’s heart. I was put at ease when I felt a distinct thumping, just a relief to know that he was alive.
My feet somehow sparked up a mind of their own as they bolted to the nearest telephone, and my fingers seamlessly pounded 911. Moments later, sirens began to fulfill the dullness lurking outside and a squad of cops accompanied by paramedics flooded the kitchen where my dad lay. My mother had not intentionally done anything to manipulate his sanity, but my dad’s stability was already slipping, leading his anxiety to ascend. Luckily, his anxiety attack was brief, and everything with him turned out for the better. My mom on the other hand was a different story. Whether she deserved it or not, my mom was confined. Although I viewed her as inhumane that night, I still to this day do not believe that she received fair punishment. I mean, anyone is capable of hollering and tossing around some photographs. Even though she the was one locked up, I felt that I was the one who was truly caged. I was trapped inside my own self guilt pondering whether I was the one who made her receive the unjust penalty.
Three years have passed since that horrific day, and not another lash out has transpired since. I highly doubt my mother’s target was too cause trauma what so ever, but luckily I was able to decode a sunny side to this what may seem, sour duration. A hidden moral I suppose would be the appropriate reference. What I took out of this ghastly day was that there is always a second shot at redemption. Your failures of your past, should serve as a foundation for your future. By being aware of your previous faux pas, that will only benefit to your upcoming prospects. Still, this day has not completely evacuated my mind, but with time and forgiveness, I soon aspire that this span will gently rest in peace. If I continue to stare at the past, then my back will be facing my future. At the time she may have shattered me, but I owe my mom for making myself ripen as an indivual.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!