The Darkness Talks, Mrs Smith [i love reading books .txt] 📗

The Darkness Talks


The kids are out of school. The summer mornings are filled with echoes of, spoiled rotten teenagers, fighting endlessly over everything. I drag my tired body out of bed, momentarily blocking out the screams. As I dig through the basket full of psychiatric medication, I am encouraged momentarily. The morning sun is bright, even transforming. I smile at the scenery, as I look out of the patio door. My 12 year old daughter startles me, as she asks, “Mom can we go to the pool today?” Sure I quietly replied, and watched her run off to her room to put on her bathing suit. It spoke, “Why did you wake up? why didn’t you die quietly in your sleep?” “I don’t know” I quietly answered.

The summer days are filled with endless activities, a vacation to most. Personally I prefer the quietness of the summer nights. I watch intensely as the small kids, run around filled with joy and excitement. The teenagers basking in their freedom as they escape their parents constant taunt on responsibility, and school. It was summer and nothing mattered, but enjoying every moment of every day. “I hate life” it said. “Why am I here?” “I have nothing to do I thought” as I drove back home from dropping the kids at the pool. I am now in a full blown panic, as I realize the reality of the darkness.

The pain was unbearable all day, but I made it. It is ten o’clock at night, and the house is quiet. My 15 year old son has locked himself in his room, as he prides his privacy in talking, into the midnight hour, to countless girlfriends. He won’t come out of his room not even for a bathroom break. My daughter has fallen asleep, her television, blasting The Cartoon Network. I won’t chance her waking. I quietly slip out onto the patio, and take a deep breathe. It’s warm and silent, except for the chirping of crickets, and birds, and the occasional barking of a dog. Something lifts up off of me, as I begin to cry. Not tears of despair, but rest, and strength. I have made it through another summer’s day. My mind begins to reflect, as I glance up into the dark sky.

I see him, lying motionless in his own vomit. I watch him, waiting for him to move, but he does not. Does God love me? I wonder. Am I special to God? My breathing picks up, I am about to panic, but the warm summer night embraces me, and chases away my fear. My step father died years ago, but I still hear his voice at times. “I don’t want a little bitch like you for a daughter, anyway” he would say. My kids hate me, and I don’t know why. They tell me often, that I have ruined their lives. Buying them things does not help, but makes me feel better. My medication numbs me. Most of the time, I don’t feel. My husband walked out and left me, as well as the kids, several years ago. He said I was holding him back. My illness was too much for him to bare. He was supposed to come back, but he did not. I waited but he did not. I was eleven when my mom told me, that my daddy committed suicide. She told me that I was the one to find him. I was 4 years old, when I walked into my parent’s bedroom, and told my mother “Daddy is dead.” As if a switch had been turned on, as she spoke, I vividly remembered seeing my daddy lying on the kitchen floor, vomit all around him. I remember being sad a lot after that. In fact I don’t ever remember being joyful again. I cried uncontrollable on the patio that night, and I heard a soft, peaceful voice say, “That is your past. It is ok to move on.” I felt pressed to tell my daddy goodbye, something that I never had a chance to do, and I did. I felt better afterwards. It no longer mattered, that I did not understand why he committed suicide, I let him go. What mattered now was this night, this warm beautiful, transforming, summer night. I decided to take a walk that night. As I walked, I began to see my future. I felt hopeful. Things turned around that night, and I never heard the darkness speak to me again.

Publication Date: 06-27-2010

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