Punctuation

Either Way

Yes, I turn on the faucet and let the sound of the drain drown out everything else.

So I don't have to hear what makes the malicious memories turn tables over in my head.

Your anger was evident,

and coming home was almost like the days of my childhood. 

Chaos in the kitchen, sobbing in the bathroom. 

You don't understand how much I remember from those days, 

the days you've decided to move on from,

the days you encourage us all to forget. 

But the difference between you and me....

is that I can't.

and I won't ever.

forget.

Yes, I play the piano so loudly over your disagreement that the bedroom door rattles.

The walls are only so thick.

I think they might actually be the definition of paper,

paper that drifts painlessly; effortlessly through the wind.

There's no point in closing your door

or in tiptoeing downstairs to sleep alone. 

I'm an expert at noticing,

and you don't have to hear out of both ears to feel the tension, 

to flinch at the thunder. 

I was raised on deciphering the differences in the couch cushions of our living room. 

On the position of the television remote

and the way a blanket is folded over the recliner. 

These are my hidden talents. 

I can maneuver the shifting tides of our house with grace. 

and climb the stairs without a sound.

I can read the moods and adjust our interactions accordingly.

When to speak and when to be silent, 

when to administer presence and when to

run.

and hide.

There are particular days that I remember.

They are most likely the equivalent of the days I long to forget.

As much of a family we might be now,

you must grasp the concept

that there will always be triggers,

ones that remind me of who we 

should have, could have been.

It seems as though these are things you forget, 

because on the days when I re-realize I now can escape,

and though I never do,

you forget I'm old enough anyways. 

It's something none of us really think about, 

because there were the days when I was stuck, when there was no where to run to, when there was no means of running but everything I wanted to do was run, 

I remember the way I would escape in those days,

I would hold us down in our shared bedroom, 

we would talk and hold the palms of our hands to the sides of our heads,

covering our ears until there was no sound in the world at all.

There are still pieces of me that forget that I can stop being afraid. 

Still pieces of me that forget that there's no use in hiding anymore.

That the world is loud and they are louder,

but nothing will rip the carpet out from under us again. 

Nothing will fall apart forever like it did the first time. 

Either way there are no attachments,

no obligations.

Either way,

this time there is an escape.