Swarthy & 'Fro

Subscribe to get Full Access

Synopsis

A person cries regarding the passing of a family member.

---

When I was a toddler, I remember I would walk with my mother. Past a road, onto a sidewalk, a lone house stood dimmer as we talked. 

I told my mother, “mama, what’s that house? Why does it stand farther and as quiet as a mouse?” 

My mother replied, “once that place had people who thrived. Now it’s abandoned, sitting alone, yet it has still survived.” 

When I was a child, who barely ever smiled, yes, my mother was and still is amazing, yet, my happiness felt cold and frozen. 

Once again, I asked my mother another question, “how long has it been? Four? Five years? Why has this once clean house turned into the lion’s den?” 

My mother replied, “due to loneliness, the spider weaves ripped webs of lies that can’t catch the honest fruit fly. Cracks creeped the walls and doors, making it harder for any person to explore. And the whistling sound of the wind yells louder than the soft and peaceful words, ‘are you okay?’ ‘I love you,’ and ‘family will always listen to what you have to say.’”

When I was a teenager, I started to understand the world can be a lil’ more bit meaner. Now, this time, my mother wasn’t around to tell me what’s safe and what’s sound. 

I walked past that house, you know, when I was a toddler, the one me and my mother found. 

I told myself, “why are you even here? You never had children over to play on fresh green lawns. You never had mothers baking pies that fed dogs, cats, or even fawns. You never had fathers protecting you from intruders, or lastly, sons and daughters finally leaving home on their last day to go to college, to achieve their dreams that could save the world using knowledge.” 

“You’re just here… scaring me as I walk past. Almost as if I knew you growing up as a child in my own past…” 

I knew if anyone saw me, I would appear crazy. They’ll probably say in their heads, “what is that young man doing? Why is he talking to a house as if it could squeak back like a mouse? That young man needs help, but let me mind my business, because all I know, his insanity could be reckless.”

So before anyone could see me, I left to gain back some form of my sanity. 

Now, I am an adult, as they say, you’re a little bit wiser now that you felt. You felt your own mother’s intuition, you felt learning about other people’s lives in college’s institution, and your middle age shows gracefully as your life’s numbers rise unapologetically. 

Despite all the things I said about this house, my curiosity grew stronger as my life-span became shorter and shorter. So I just stood there thinking about, why this place was never homed? Was it haunted? If so, why aren’t their ghost stories that are taunted. Is it hard to breathe in it? Has the air become intoxicated? If so, why hasn’t the news told about this dangerous foe? Oh wait… I know! Maybe the neighborhood is tearing it down! But wait, why would they wait this late? 

Now that I’m an adult, I’m beginning to wonder about my surroundings. Just why has this house been abandoned? Yet, I left, and did not look back, still keeping this same thought in my little, as they say, backpack. 

A few decades have passed, and now I’m old. But don’t you worry child, I embrace all that my life has foretold. I saw the most beautiful places in all the world, I talked to the most interesting people that gave my fun a twirl, and experienced love, euphoria, pain, unjustified hate, and got into some heated debates. 

Yet, when I came back to my hometown, where I thank God my mother still lives, to tell a tale, about what that house is. Because I asked myself and then asked my mother, “how did you know so much about that house? That’s still around that corner, as quiet, if not, quieter than a mouse?”

She told me, “son, you know, I’ll never want to ruin your safety nor fun. But let us go inside, inside that lil’ old house. And see why the neighbors, cops, or even a stray cat never went in to browse. 

So I trusted my mother, something I have done ever since she first held me in the hospital altogether. 

Past a road, onto a sidewalk, a lone house stood dimmer as we talked. 

I helped my mother walk into the entry way and I opened the door. I remember when I was a child, just as what my mother said before…”due to loneliness, the spider weaves ripped webs of lies that can’t catch the honest fruit fly. Cracks creeped the walls and doors, making it harder for any person to explore. And the whistling sound of the wind yells louder than the soft and peaceful words, ‘are you okay?’ ‘I love you,’ and ‘family will always listen to what you have to say.’”

I looked around the house and couldn’t believe my eyes. Literally, everything I saw, brought drip drops of tears that could only fall, never rise.

---

Subscribe to Read the Full Version