Why Sudden Love Now?

Here you are, more than 20 years later. You left us when I was five and my sister was three, like that proverbial father who’d gone to buy bread and never returned.

Why sudden love now?

Oh, you just want to reconnect with us after so many years. You really missed us, huh? Why no letters, no visits, no birthday cards or gifts at least through your identical twin, who made more effort to stay connected than you ever did?

You did write letters, that’s right. They were addressed to me and my sister. Mom was collecting them to give them to us when were grown enough to understand what they really meant.

Did I read any of them, you wonder? Of course I did. A couple was enough. Mom told me about them when I turned 16 and asked if I’d like to read them. I said, sure, since they were addressed to us.

I started to read one and realized that even though you addressed it to us, your daughters, the letter was really meant for mom. And it really meant to hurt. It felt as if I peeked into an abyss of the delusional narcissist’s mind. You are a good writer, I’ll give you that. But oh man, the things you wrote about mom! No daughter should ever hear or read anything like that. In one sentence, you called her the love of your life and the neighborhood slut.

You described your love for her so deeply and eloquently any romance novelist would envy the effortless flow of your words. And then you accused her of never returning that love and sleeping around, right in the next paragraph. Well, I know for a fact that it was you who was sleeping around. The legends of your sexual adventures are still alive in our apartment block, and our neighbors now are not even embarrassed to retell them to me because they think I’m old enough to know the truth.

You wrote that mom kicked you out because you didn’t make enough money to support her “escapades and desires.” And enlisted her uncle's help to literally kick you out of the apartment that was our home. In truth, mom’s uncle had helped you get both the job and the apartment in the first place and came to help mom kick you out because you were abusive, weren’t you?  

Mom was afraid that you’d refuse to leave and hit her or me again, because I always stood between you in your fights. You twisted and nearly broke my arm once, trying to get me out of your way charging at mom. I still remember that clearly, even though I was not even five at the time. One of my earliest childhood memories is my father hurting me, thank you very much for that.

Excuse me? You don’t remember that? You were too drunk. And even if it happened you didn’t mean it? Of course you didn’t. Abusers never mean to hurt their wives and children. I shouldn’t have stood in your way, right? Oh, just shut it, please.

In one of those letters, you wrote that mom never let you feel like a real man and always made you feel small and insignificant. Well, that’s your own Napoleonic complex talking. Mom made more money in her job than you ever could dream of, and your fragile male ego couldn’t handle it, could it? And when she stopped telling you how much money she really made and started to hide it because you’d drink it away and spend on your whores, it drove you over the wall, didn’t it?

Do you know, by the way, that after you left, mom had to quit the job she loved, just to stay in our apartment because it was institutional housing. That very housing her uncle arranged because you were a part of the institutional employee network, the job he also helped you get? You were quite useless on your own, weren’t you, with no skills or education to advance in life, just boasting about your big plans of traveling the world.

And travel you did, after you ditched us. Along with your letters, mom showed me a thick stack of official government notices that you were searched for, to be charged with the child support. You never stayed in a job for longer than three months because that was about the length of time it took for the government to track you down and start child support withdrawals from your pay. As soon as you were found, you’d just up and leave, settling in a new place thousands of kilometers away. I could study the Soviet Union geography by just tracking your moves.

So, no, I don’t want to reconnect. Please don’t cry your fake tears, I know I mean nothing to you. Are you here because you know that I’ll be going to study abroad soon? Do you hope to get something out of it?

See, I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need your permission to travel abroad, like it was under the Soviet Union. I don’t even need an exit visa any longer, and I’m happy for it.

What did you just say? I’m cruel and blunt just like my mother? Well, she taught me well, and I’m grateful.

What’s your name now, by the way? Do you even know yourself? How do you not get confused between the two identities – yours and your twin brother whose documents you appropriated after he drowned? You did it just to avoid child support, right? What does my uncle’s gravestone say, by the way? Is your name on it?

Oh, don’t even try this on me. I will not believe your lies. If what I said is not true, show me your passport or another document. I want to see your name and photo in it. You don’t have it on you? Hard to believe that you’d cross a couple of country borders without your passport.

Oh, YOU think this conversation was a waste of time? Imagine how I feel.

You wanna leave now? Good, I want you to leave too. I’m glad mom and sis were not here for this. Please don’t come back. Ever.