Broken Hearts & Hand Grenades (Old Story)

Broken Hearts & Hand Grenades

By: Shaire Blythe

 

Chapter One

“Life is precious. Don’t ever waste the time you have, and don’t allow anyone or anything to get in the way of what you want in life.”

Those were the last words I could remember my Mom speaking to me. They were the last words she’d spoken to me before her voice was gone forever, along with her memory. And then she herself was completely gone forever.

That was only weeks ago that all of these life-changing events happened before my very eyes. It had been in a frenzy. There’d been no warning signs. It was like a huge tide had came in and swallowed me whole. Now I was lost out in the ocean with no direction to go; no land to be found.

My Uncle Richard was taking me in, but I wasn’t counting him as a lifeboat that had been sent out to save me. I still felt on my own, drifting in the body of water, wondering what was to come next. I figured that I would feel like this forevermore. Losing your Mother wasn’t an occurrence where you could build a bridge and get over it. It was much more than that. It was much deeper. The weighing emotion was in a hidden place that I’d never felt before. I had no idea how to handle it.

I had cried, I had thrown fits, but none of it was giving me a true grip. The emptiness remained. The heartache stayed heavy on my heart and my mind.

My Dad, I wondered what he would think if he knew my Mother had died. Would he even care? He’d left her no more than five days after I was born. The possibility of his sympathy was more like zero. But what if he saw me face-to-face, and saw how much I’d grown up, and felt bad? Would he claim me and admit me to live with him, and we would catch up on everything he had missed? It could be like we’d been knowing each other my whole life. Maybe my emptiness could be restored. He would be my lifeline that had went away from me just for a while...

In some way, it was hope I kept inside to myself. In another way, I believed it was me being ridiculously ludicrous. My Father never cared for my Mom or me, ‘cause if he had, he would’ve never left. And still, years have passed and not once has he tried to contact us. The obvious was laid out on the table for all to see. I was a damned forsaken love child.

*

 

Uncle Richard never talked much. He was a very quiet man. But it always seemed as if he used his eyes to communicate and express his confined feelings. They were dark and attentive. Glassy and bulging. They made me feel intimidated. It was difficult to stare into them or make a direct connection. Already we had a blockage between us. This only made our awkward relationship increase its level.

 

When I was younger, I’d never known my Uncle well. For as much as I could recall, he hadn’t been around a good deal. Being with family wasn’t really his ‘thing’, my Mom had once explained to me. But he was my only living relative - overlooking my ‘lost’ Dad. And if there was some other option other than being listed under an orphan child, I was taking it

 

*

 

Summer passed by in a heartbeat. I couldn’t have been any more content and miserable at the same time. I had stayed cooped up in my Uncle’s apartment the majority of the days. I knew nothing about Brooklyn except it had some past of violence - and still some today - and it wasn’t a smart idea for a girl like me to maybe go walking all alone on the streets at night like I used to in Tennessee. However, I was gradually going insane isolating myself from existence. Going to school would do some good for me. It would get me back intact, even if it was just a smudge. Anything had to be better than this.