Entry 20 (1987)

The adult me walked to the big building on the hill vacated and ravaged by time and vandals.  Even though I had never been in that particular building, I felt for those who had.  People who had known pain and anguish only to be housed away in a stone prison.

I walked around the building peering in here and there trying to gauge what it was like during its use.  I could hypothesize and theorize but I knew I could never have any real image without being there myself.

I turned to look at the brick buildings across the road and down the hill.  Now those buildings with their locks and bars still in place, I had been in.  Still, I knew I had only experienced a part of its offerings and was glad I had stopped at the first passing.

* * * * * * *

(1972)

Frobisher went to work every day, day in and day out, just like he was supposed to because that was what he was supposed to do.  Most of the time, he didn’t question it.  When he did, he merely acknowledged that he was doing what he was told he should do.

Some days, he felt his life slipping away.  He got up, ate breakfast with Sally and the kids.  He went to work to do what he was told.  He came home, ate dinner, watched TV, and went to bed to get up and start the whole thing over again.  He saw no beginning and felt no end.

He began to feel a little uncomfortable with the idea of just waking up one day and dying with nothing else more important accomplished.  Maybe that was Frobisher’s lot in life, he wasn’t sure, but it ate at him.

* * * * * * *

(1987)

One glowing ball of light said to the other, “So, what was it like living with your father.”

The other replied, “For me, then, it was like shutting down…all systems…and becoming an automaton…”

* * * * * * *

(1972)

After the night I ran away, everyone was surprised when I wanted to go to school the next morning.  But I was hell bent on seeing Kantor.

I told Kantor all about what had happened after I called her.  Kantor listened patiently.  (Perhaps, Kantor apologized for the mishap, I don’t recall.)  Kantor recognized that it was probably best that I was staying with my grandparents.

I said I was tired. Kantor suggested I spend the day in the clinic on a cot and try to get some rest.  That left me alone staring at the ceiling all day waiting for the times when Kantor would come in and check on me.

I couldn’t sleep and spent most of the day dreaming about The Mark and talking to Sasifraz about the pros and cons of my decision.  Sometimes, I felt myself fade in and out as my vision got thick and the room disappeared.  I thought I might like to talk to Kantor about that but she never came in when it happened.  I didn’t quite know how to bring it up.

Eventually the school day ended. My Granny picked me up.  I went home and ate well.  That night I didn’t sleep any better struggling with where I was going from here.

* * * * * * *

(So, what happened?)  Later in the week, my father called.  He wanted me to come live with him.  In the first place, my father had never called me before.  In the second place, I did not know how to say “No” to him even if I knew for sure what I wanted.

I only knew how to give my father exactly what he wanted without question.  It was what my father had taught me from the beginning.  Every story I could remember about him had to do with that theme.  He was the commander in all situations and to question was to incur instant wrath.  Mutineers would be hung.  At least, that was his implication.

The other side of the coin was that I longed to be close to my father.  I didn't know how to go about it.  When he wanted me to come live with him, I also harbored the hope that we could finally get to know each other.  At that point, I was not long on logic.  I was only living on hope.

* * * * * * *
(1987)

(I DON’T WANT TALK ABOUT THIS ANYMORE.  Why not?  I HATE IT.  I HATE REMEMBERING IT.  Fine, if you don’t want to write the story, just say so.  IT’S NOT THAT!  I WANT TO WRITE THE STORY.  I JUST DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO REMEMBER TO DO IT.  Well, that’s gonna be a little difficult.  OH, REALLY? I WOULDN’T HAVE GUESSED.)

* * * * * * *

(1972)

My father came and got me that first weekend.  For me, it was like holding my breath until I was sure everything would be okay.  My dad lived in a two bedroom apartment.  He had the bare minimum of furniture.  Everything was white and sterile.  He had two chairs with no legs that sat on the floor facing the television set with two beds.

My mother had packed up some of my things, placing them carefully in my room to give a sense of homeyness.

I saw my mother for the first time that weekend.  My mom was on her best behavior.  She gave me her approval for living with my dad and told me that she thought my grandparents were relieved.  (That did a lot to reassure me I had options.)  It made me think my grandparents didn’t really want me.  (Which was probably the intention.)

By Sunday night, I was settled in watching television with my dad.  (My dad spent all of his spare time watching television.)  I had worked out how to ride the public bus back to my old school.  It was April and not a good time to change schools.

Sitting there in a chair-on-the-floor, watching football, and eating a TV dinner, I let out my held breath.  “God,” I thought, “maybe I’ll make it.”  But, I was wrong.