he ran for the kite as the wind carefully carried it towards the busy highway.
despite my screams he wouldn’t stop running. in a panic i sprint back to the house.
out of breath and terrified i could only spit out his name and a few key points,
“bryson..bryson.. my kite… highway..”
i gasp for air, not able to fill my lungs.
“WHAT?! WHAT ABOUT BRYSON”
They surround me in a corner in the dinning area. Im gulping for air like a fish thats been ripped out of water.
hes been hit by a car, hes dead, hes dead, i cant breath i think as they continue to yell at me
“SPEAK GOD DAMN IT, STOP FUCKING CRYING!”
they’re so close to me, i can smell fresh Copenhagen chew on my dads breath.
“I cant” i take a short breath “breath”
tears flowing down my face. Her expression tells me that she doesnt believe me.
even now as i type this i can feel my throat tightening up. my head starts to ache the same way it did after i got through crying that day. a single tear rolls down my right cheek.
but for the sake of healing my younger self, i must trudge on with the memory that has so graciously entered my mind uninvited.
she continues to yell. a ringing begins to sound in my ears. still struggling to catch my breath my dad takes a step back. he turns to her, frustrated he states
he quickly goes to the kitchen and grabs a paper bag. he opens the bag and puts it around my nose and mouth. his voice calms and he guides me through my breathing. she runs out of the front door. i grab the bag and he follows behind her.
my eyes feel puffy, the house goes silent but vivid pictures of my brother being hit by a truck moving 60 miles an hour fill my mind. i focus on the sound of the bag crunching with every breath i take. inhale…exhale..my lungs begin to feel full once again. Bryson enters the house.
my memory fades after that.
my memories feel like shackles, weighing me down. reminding me that a world filled only with happiness is just an illusion. showing me that forgiveness doesnt take the pain or the memory away. it’s just a bandage for the person who created the wound, but im the one whose bleeding.