I am the observer.
I watch humans go about their daily lives from my perch at the top of the willow tree. Running out the door because they slept in. Going to the grocery store to pick up food and other necessities. Children are running around trying to prove they are the fastest and coming home to fill their bellies with their parent’s homemade food. Daily life is peaceful… at least for some.
“Stupid brat!” The old man wearing a stained plaid shirt grunted. In front of him was his son, crouching with his arms above his head. The young boy, Ryan, often experienced the brunt of his father’s outbursts. Covered in bruises with a tear-stained face, he lays in bed, justifying his father’s violence towards him.
He was just drunk. He had a bad day. I didn’t clean the house. I caused his pain, so I must pay for it. Young Ryan would think as he falls asleep. His father was not always like this; at one point, he would help Ryan with his homework and tell him he was proud to have him as a son. The two would watch movies together and steal freshly baked cookies while the cook (Ryan’s mom) wasn’t looking. Everything changed the day Ryan’s mother fell ill with leukemia. She was diagnosed too late, and over the months, her body became weak. Ryan would often run into her room and ask her to read him a story like she used to, but she was in such pain and exhaustion she could barely utter the words on the pages.
When she first became ill, Ryan’s father did anything he could to help her. He cooked, cleaned, took Ryan to the park, administered her medication, and listened to her speak of how she was scared to leave this world and Ryan behind. As days became months, Ryan’s father began to drink. First, it was one drink each evening. One turned into two, and two became three; eventually, he would drink any chance he could. When drunk, Ryan’s father would be unable to care for Ryan’s mother, so Ryan had to take over. Ryan made mistakes often, and his father would spout hurtful things when he did. Once Ryan’s mother passed away, his father spiralled into a pit of despair and was determined to keep Ryan with him.
“It doesn’t hurt. I am used to this. Father will calm down and apologize tomorrow.” Ryan muttered under his breath while pulling his bed sheets over his head. In his mind, he knows the truth, that his father will just continue the next day, but his heart continues to hold out hope. In his mind, Ryan remembered the laughs he and his father would have when a funny scene appeared in the movie. He remembered how whenever he had an upset stomach, his father would give him medicine and check in on him, saying, “How ya doing sport?” Tears dry and unable to produce any more tears, they closed, signalling the end of another day.
I began watching Ryan over a year ago, and his life intrigues me. Each day, I can see the light in his eyes fade more and more. His hope for his father diminished with each punch. How will Ryan face this obstacle?
I am the observer. I observe and do not act. I feel no sympathy or joy. I simply watch the world go on.
I am the observer.
