Day 271 - Patterns

 PATTERNS

Prompt - Patterns : Write about repeating patterns that occur in life.

I am my father's son.  That is a biological fact.  I am not my father's son.  That is...  What is it?  A desire?  Wishful think?  An ambition?  He is not who I want to be. He is who I must not be.

I remember.  Tonight I remember too well.  I remember the fear.  The blood.  the bruises.  The broken bones.  The excuses.  The gushing remorse.  The constant forgiveness.  I do not forgive.  Cannot forgive.

My mother knew the pattern.  Knew she'd say the wrong thing.  Wear the wrong thing.  Do the wrong thing.  Be the wrong person.  Be the target.  Better her than the kids.  That was her way of protecting us.  Until he tired of hitting her.  And then... it depended.  He'd had enough. or he hadn't had enough.  We'd got away, hid.  Or been trapped.  Our own fault.  We knew that home was a dangerous place. 

Oh yes, there were happier times.  The times he was just drunk enough.  The times he wanted to play Happy Families.  But I knew.  Knew it wouldn't last.  Knew to keep myself to myself.  Ungrateful he called it.  Sensible I called it.  Because at any time it could, would, change, and it would be my mother, or sister, or me, ending up insensible.  Out cold.  Out for the count.  Out of further harm's way.

She knew too.  She knew better than anyone.  But he was hers.  Better or worse.  Richer or poorer.  Sickness and health.  So why wouldn't she see it was always worse?  Always poorer, sicker, sickening?

Until one day.  We're the same size now.  But I'm sober, he's not.  I'm quick, he's slow.  I'm needing this moment, but to him it's just another day at the office.  I hit him.  Again.  Again.  He's long ago stopped hitting back and I'm still hitting.  And I swear I saw him smile.  A little grin of recognition, of satisfaction.  He had seen himself.  He had seen his image in me.  He had seen me fear what I was.

He left.  Left us alone.  Found someone else to beat?  We didn't care.  Well I didn't.  My mother never forgave me.  Or herself.  But he was gone, and we got on with the rest of our lives.  Moved on, left it behind.  

But you can never leave someone like that behind.

Forty seven minutes ago I punched my wife in the face.  I do not know why.

I am my father's son.

I must not be my father's son.  I.  Must.  Not.