Visions and Words

“No” I said abruptly. The word slid across my dinning room table towards him, our visits were never spent like this. I stood starring at my family portrait right above his head on the wall; he looked at me, the green in his eyes turning to grey.
“What did I do, I can’t understand you unless you tell me?”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I can’t, I don’t know how, I’m sorry!” I said as I pushed back the tears that welled up behind my eyes. I never understood how you could feel so many emotions at the same time, it’s uncomfortably overwhelming.
“I don’t get it, why can’t you tell me, if we don’t communicate this will never work, I love you, but you’re making this so difficult…”
This is the last part of the conversation that I heard, every word got fuzzy after that big one COMMUNICATE. He didn’t understand anything because I never told him, I didn’t want to, he might think I was weak. With this weakness in mind I zoned off into my childhood. I put myself nine years back in my old house that was barely big enough to fit the five of us. The family room was just big enough to fit the TV. I can even remember the smell of my mother’s apple pie candle dimly lit in the kitchen. The siding on the house was deteriorating, just as the family inside of it. Or at least what was left. We were one member short of a family.
“What did you say to me?” A stern voice propelled from a strong, short stature man. His voice was terrifying, the kind that shuts you up in the middle of your sentence.
My mother stood there, robbed of her words, tears, making black streams down her cheeks.
“I said, what did you say to me, answer me dammit!” This time his words accompanied by his hand across her face got a shriek for an answer. Witnessing this I ran screaming:
“Daddy no, don’t hit her, don’t hit her, mom!” Everything went in slow motion. By the time I reached her it was too late, she was lying up against the window, like a cat backed into a corner.
I was so enraged that I jumped on him; hit him, just as he hit her. He grabbed me by the arms, threw me against the wall. On my way down to the floor I remember hitting the windowsill, my body began to tremble. I felt like my bones and heart would shatter at the same time. My father showed no remorse for what he had just done. For a moment I sat there, let the burn of the blow sink in as I wiped my tears from my eyes.
I could see the veins shoot through his muscles like an arrow through a heart as he dragged her outside by her dark brown hair. She whimpered as she slipped past me. The fear in her eyes for herself and for her children was indescribable. Coming to my senses I leapt for the door, repeatedly screaming my mothers name as if trying to memorize it. Starring at her through the glass, I made a promise to myself: if this is where talking to a man got you, then, I wouldn’t. My mother only mumbled, and look at where it got her. I would avoid putting myself in this situation.
Now here I was, returning to my present state of mind, slipping away from my horrific childhood memories. I too sat there robbed of my words. But looking into his eyes I saw that he was different, he wouldn’t let his patience run thin with me, we would try to make this work.
“I love you too, listen, I know I have a problem communicating with you, maybe it’s time I tell you why”.
“What do you mean babe?” He said with affectionate eyes, the grey turning back into green.
“Well once when I was seven, among many other times, my mother and father got into a huge fight…”
I saw it this way. My father may have ruined our relationship, but I refuse to let him ruin another one.