The Wrongs Of Passage, Momentous
It was during his twelveth summer that he figured that his father was hiding a secret, dressed boldly as the scarlet letter A. The bell tolled funeral like, as he eavesdropped on his father's phone call on a day that forever changed his life. ... "honey I can't be seeing you anymore." Far across in another room a baby lamb was crying deep inside to it's mother, holding onto those words, one by one, as the pieces of the puzzle took shape. Why his father, wolfing, for greener pastures? His young world turning into turmoil and hate, his thoughts and tears swelling at his father's audacity to cheat on his mother. For he knew with the imminent return of his mother from her month-long business trip that his father had to put his toys away in his closet. Or did he? The wolf packed a secret no more. For his oldest son knew of his father's infidelity and indiscretions painted in broad daylight and broad strokes. As he looked back at his father's sins. The midsummer sun looking down in horror as a roving bee found another hive. He can sadly reminiscence and denounce the many times his father dropped his sons off at the ballpark, with hush money tucked well into their pockets, saying that he had work to tie up in the office, and will pick them up soon after the game. All lies. His guise, pretense, and itch serving his purpose as he fluttered off to his newfound blossom. This went on in red. And at a time that lives in infamy in his hurting mind. The times at the ballpark covetous and sad. A younger brother at his side, sitting in the right-field stands with a glove in hand, waiting for a long fly ball or a father that never came. The wrongs of passage momentous. For fifty years he held onto his father's secret, scarred in his own right, a life lost and sabotaged in the wake of his father's sins. He harbored the storm, silence. On his mother's deathbed, his eyes narrowing into hers. His voice, still, yet a voice seeking a bridge to cross but he had jumped off long ago. connie pachecho 1/06/2020
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