Addiction - Chapter II

A second chapter?

Yes, why not? We don’t always get them in life, but I can certain save one here and see how far back I can go with my story.

I suppose you want to know all about how I got here. You want the real story about how I became wealthy and ended up with all of this power.

Power…

Oh, and you probably want to know about the drugs, too. You might not be surprised to know that the two are part of the same deal. I would not have the one without the other.

Better try to get through this soon…

It begins with a house.

*

Why are so many people surprised to find out about the “humble origins” of the founders of great financial institutions? I am convinced that we should all expect such details in a life that is so successful. Why not be blatantly honest about how far you’ve travelled to the portals of success?

Portals? Please… I should apologize for that.

Anyway, it was a small home with my mother, father and sister. Mother was the perfect housewife who took care of what little we had and owned. A wonderful cook, cleaner, storyteller and all the other positions women have held in the home when the other half is a true failure.

I must thank Laura more often…

And my sister… Not many of you know her, but she will play a role in this story that may surprise you. She was very much like my mother, a caring and wonderful soul that had to fill in a role that was…

Ah, that feels good…

My father… There are plenty of horrible fathers out there, men who have abused their power, become mood tyrants of the home and office, take out their frustrations on their family…on their children.

This feels so good…

I needed it. I know that it is perhaps the height of bad manners to do this while telling my story. A dose is the only way I can share this with you without reliving all that pain.

I remember the evenings…and how I was lucky to have my own room.

I remember that.

That was the thing about our place. The walls were very thin (he would often brag about how his own father built it so that every “mouse fart” would be heard), and my sister was usually the first victim. An older sister and a younger brother…

Yeah, I tried to get…in the way. It always made him laugh when I was brave enough to try and stop him with my own minimal effort and slight build. He would usually just slap me into the corner while my sister would run out and maybe…

First.

That is the stuff.

Okay, I’m back.

And you might be wondering about my mother in all of this. As I said, those walls were very thin. Their room was across the hall from ours, but those sounds travelled. All those sounds that no child should have to hear travelled…so well. She would sometimes get in his way; she would be the obstacle that he had to remove.

A good night was one where my sister would not have to deal with anything between our parents. A good night was when I would run to her room and we would hug ourselves to sleep. A good night was the one where I finally ran away from home after I saw him passed out in our living room, took his car keys, and got as far away as I could before the sun rose and I’d have to deal with the police report on a missing truck.

A lot of gaps there, right? A lot I have not told you?

Let’s just move forward.

*

Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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