The road rumbled. The tires wore tread on the asphalt of my childhood memories and my tears cooled the scars. Looking over at the passenger seat, a man, a father, a husband, a friend, a brother, wore a face of time. His thoughts lost in time while the quiet calm of a song on the radio slowly spoke to us in volumes. Looking at the rear view mirror, a lady, a mother, a wife, a friend, a sister, covered her sorrow with a blanket. Her thoughts oblivious to all just to my prying eyes. Next to her a woman much like my father caught in turmoil to an emotion that both screamed for forgiveness and asked for comfort.
“Dad has anyone called Bobby?”
Somewhere at the end of the horizon is a boy, a man, a father, a son, whose heart is caught between anger, hurt, pain, and more than anything lost in the turmoil of a slowly dissipating heart. The thought of his abandoned blistering heart aching all of these years of loneliness destroyed every ounce of who I am.
“Put your big girl panties on!”
In retrospect there is no difference in the loaf of bread. Where one is the center and the other is the crust. One to be devoured and another to be discarded, to be left alone to find a life in this big ole lonely place. A closed fist with an R on the thumb, an A on the index finger, an M on the middle finger, an O on the ring finger, and an S on the pinky finger. Marked by a desire to believe in the blood that runs through his soul, the one that helps his heart continue to pulse and give him reason. The one that gives his children life, the one he inherited from a stranger.
“Dad the two things I remember distinctly about Grandpa, always happened on Sunday mornings. Going to Kroger’s and listening to his life. Then driving by this house in a quiet neighborhood and trying so hard to instill in me to protect family. Introducing me to this little boy, to Bobby.” I’m so sorry Grandpa...
Never have the words come out of me so shaky. My hands trembling. Having to stop. To control my emotions, to put one letter in front of another. Yet to hide in a room and walk out as that person. The one in control of his breathing. The one who has to face this kid, this man, this father, this son, this lost soul, and explain to him forgiveness as if the last 20 years didn’t exist.
“I’m sorry Bobby.”
Family. A thousand miles from where his heart is. Seeing his eyes and realizing that every line, every scab, every hurt, every time he fell only the strength of his beating heart helped him survive. To live an existence from the outside looking in. Where in a room of the same blood, all he sees are bleeding hearts, cold faces, and strangers. Those incredibly beautiful eyes staring right through me. Asking me silently, “Why am I here?”
“I don’t know anyone here!”
Walking around the corner of the hall and turning into room 316 there ironically lay loneliness. A machine breathing life. Another one making sure life didn’t fade away. A battle of emotions brewing inside of me, hurt, loss, pain, and anger. Reminiscent of a time where the man laying in the same bed breathed so much of the same emotion. How did I learn to forgive?
“Have a little faith in yourself.”
You don’t have to apologize for him. You don’t have to apologize to anyone. You don’t owe anyone...no you don’t owe any of us anything. We are all from the same man. A simple yet strong man who a long time ago gave us the responsibility of keeping this together. I know this and you know this. He quietly sat with us and introduced us...we were kids, we didn’t know what he was doing. Its just the way he was. I’m not asking you to forgive. You don’t have to. He knew what kind of children he raised. He knew what kind of soul you are.
“Believe.”
I won’t apologize for him. Leave him alone...right about now, he is alone. And that is okay with him. He has been like that all of his life. He was abandoned by us so FUCKING long ago! That every FUCKING ounce of who I am realized what type of superficial fucks we are. My anger is not to this little boy because at the end of the day, he is still that little boy playing outside by himself. Now he is just this man who has now lost a father he never knew.
For Bobby Ramos.
