thank you to 1000splendidsuns, lulusgardenfli, and HappierThanMost for reviewing. I'll always be appreciative of the reviews I receive.
To be honest, I was sort of afraid to post this. It doesn't really go anywhere or makes much sense to me in context... I'm sorry. But no matter – let's go.
wild horses
Momma always woke up alone.
It was startling at first; we hadn't any idea where Dad had gone. Back then, we didn't notice the booze spilled on the counter or the reek of whiskey soaking through the walls. Back then, our only concern was being a child, being so innocent and carefree that nothing could make us feel any more alive.
It was Darry who first suggested we go on a mini "search party" for him. Being four years older than me, Momma seemed to trust him with the task, and so she'd let us go on our little adventure. She'd told him to watch me, to not me out of his sight; and as if he were already an adult, or of legal age of protecting such a small child as I had been, Darry'd said, "I got him, Ma. Don't you worry."
I was only about four, mind you, but I knew a lot about the woods behind our house. I knew every branch and every strip of wood on the trees like I'd known nothing else. Darry watched me good; yelled at me when I got too far ahead, caught me when I stumbled on a rock or whatever, and even gave me piggyback rides around in those same, dusty-colored woods. Those were the good times.
We found him sitting hunched against the darkened bark of a birch tree in the way back of the woods. It was odd, seeing him so sound and peaceful; I couldn't tear my eyes away, and I still remember Darry walking slowly towards him with me hiding behind his knee. I still remember the way Darry gently touched his shoulder, and at the contact, Dad shot awake and glared at him in hot, boiling anger and started screaming obscenities. Words that I never heard of, didn't want to know the meaning of, and have never let touch my tongue to this day.
I remember Darry calmly ordering him to get up, almost like the roles were reversed. They looked a hell of a lot alike, Darry and Dad; same eyes, same build (even at six for Darry), same demeanor. Everything about them was nearly identical, except for the obvious fact that Darry didn't drink. I remember Dad spitting in Darry's face, a full wad smearing along my brother's tanned cheek, and boy did that make Darry's blood boil. So much so that he'd grabbed Dad by the hand and started physically dragging the poor, drunk, sad bastard away from his hiding place and back towards the house.
When you're as young as I was and have to watch your six-year-old brother drag your forty-something-year-old father across grass and dirt, it really takes a toll on you. But, when you're as young as I was and want to do anything to help, you ask what you can do. Darry's response to my question still makes us laugh to this day:
"Take his finger, for God's sake, and tug." But by God did I tug on that finger so hard that my four-year-old mind was sure it would've fallen off had I done it any longer.
It took forever, but somehow we managed to break through the trees. I remember Darry screaming for Momma so loud that his voice cracked even more than usual. I remember her stumbling out onto the white porch, seeing her six and four-year-old dragging their own deadbeat father along the dirt road and running for us. She had tears rushing down her face at the sight of all three of us; pity for our father, and a saddened reality for us two boys.
Darry still thanks me for doing what I did. Four-year-old me, grinning from ear to ear, tugged again at my father's hand and cried to Momma, "Look, Momma, I helped!"
If you've ever been looked at with as much love, as much adoration, as much sincerity in my actions as my Momma looked at me in that moment, you know what that feels like. "You did, sweet boy," she'd said in that heavenly-Southern voice of hers, "You most certainly did."
Momma always woke up alone. But she always knew that Dad would eventually return to her, whether on his own or by Darry dragging his sorry ass back to her, and that was enough.
A less...sad take, I guess, but still kinda emotional.
Thank you for reading.
-Sunny/Endlessly
