Won't Anybody Love Me
When I was little, I used to sit up in my room at night and wonder where my mother was. Was she sleeping? Was she dreaming? Did she miss me? Did she remember me at all? The child she had given away.
I knew it was my father's fault for making Mama choose between my brother and myself. She chose Sonny, the good brother who went down the path of sin and destruction. The brother who cheated on his wife and got the other woman pregnant. The bother who did this twice! She chose the child who has killed many, and the body count rises every night. She chose the son who only brought her shame, as he brought shame to everyone he met.
She had left me behind. The son who became a lawyer, upholder of the law. The son who only has one child, and cares for her more then the sun cares for the earth. She had left behind the child who would care for her in her elder years instead of get her killed for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She left it all behind for her first born, the thug.
Late at nights, I used to wonder about my brother, who he was and who he had become. I used to think and think and think about how great it would be to meet him, be family again, just Mama, Dad, Brother Sonny and I. A perfect little family. What a joke!
Dad became a low life fool, and Mama vanished from this life. Sonny became a murdering madman who sucked the life out of everything good. And here I was, the only one who had no record forged in shame, no sins that would take me down the stairs of hell. And yet, Sonny was still loved my all and I was just the fool who stuck around in everybody's way.
So here at night I think to myself, does my wife love me? Sure she has a child with me, sleeps next to me in bed and hugs me when I cannot sleep. Sure she calls me and asks when I'll be home, tells me how much she missed seeing my face that day. But doe she love me? Or is it my brother whom she loves? The brother with whom she had a child with, a child whose growing up beautiful and smart, and strong, like my brother; the low life of a man with a great gean pool he can spread around, and he does.
And now, as I lay at night and turn my head toward the wall where my stepdaughter's bedroom is, I wonder about my brother once again. She had been his mistress, the woman whom he knocked up and left, and still she cared and respected him. The man who hurt her, put her in the line of fire, and yet she stood by him as a friend.
I hate my brother. The criminal whose always passed off as an Angel amongst man. But yet, despite the hate I feel for him, a big part of me wants acceptance by him. I want him, for once, to acknowledge me as his younger brother.
And every time I look at my brother's face, I wonder about my mother. The woman who had chosen him, and by doing so had made me feel unloved, worthless, broken. In the end, it always comes back around to her. The woman who raised the brother whom I want to kill, but also want to be accepted by. The woman who had given me up, leaving my nightly thoughts of her and nothing more. The woman who made me wonder; Did she love me? Does any of my family love me? Does anybody love me? Won't anybody love me?
As I lay at night in my bed, I feel my wife's arm curl around me and a soft murmur escaped her lips; "I love you."
It hurt to hear her say those words. In my life, she was the only one who had said to me those words.
"I love you too," I said and kissed her forehead.