Stories That Never Get Told

separation

When you are five years old, things like this feel like the end of the world. Your cries for them are, while not unheard, are lost in the sea of raising voices. You look on with confusion and hurt as he loads the car. He takes way more clothes and things than would be needed for work, but he does not answer you when your childish voice asks him where he is going. Your mother eventually takes pity and says he is going away on a trip. You excitedly ask if you can go too, and her shoulders begin to shake with sobs. You are lost on what to do.

Three weeks go by before they dare admit to you what is actually going on. You are still confused and more hurt than before. He speaks to you over the phone, and when you ask for him to come see you he goes silent. He says he can't, and you tell him that he can. You ask if he still loves you and ask what you did wrong, but soon he has to get off the phone. His words feel empty, and you only blame yourself.

Three years go by and you are not as confused as you were before. You may not fully understand why, but you have a better grip on what is going on. You are once again packing that little purple backpack but you wish you didn't have to. You wish you didn't have to see the first man you loved on a schedule that sometimes seemed more like a hassle to them both. Your mother is waiting on the porch when you come walking out, and she adjusts your shirt.

"I'm so proud of you.."

She whispers. For what though you are unsure. Is it for your bravery when you walk to that running truck that he is leaning against? You are brave enough not to run away like you did previously, but you still don't break into the run to him until you are halfway there. His arms envelop you, and he hugs you tightly. He tells you that he misses you, and you wonder if it is the truth. If he misses you, then why doesn't he just come home? You hear your mother call be back by seven on Sunday, and watch as he gives her a forced smile before he loads you into the car. It is the same goodbye she offers every other weekend.

It is a practiced routine for the next 10 years, and goes on long after you have moved out on your own. It is still a fight to figure out where you are going on holidays, on birthdays, for vacations. Sometimes they still bring you into the fight, wield you like a weapon or shield just like when you were younger, but you now know what is actually happening. You are loved by both of them unconditionally just as you love them, but sometimes you still ask yourself why.

You are forever caught in the middle, and are sometimes pulled to the point where you may break. You have been stretched too thin, but you keep silent. You sometimes cry yourself to sleep just as you did when you were five, and wish that things had never been like this.