It was usually raining when he started thinking about it. It wasn't something that he liked to think about it, but it happened. And always on those dark, stormy nights. It was somewhat of a cliché, he mused, but there was nothing he could do about it. And as he sat there listening to the rain, watching the tiny droplets of water slide down the smooth glass surfaces that made up the windows in his apartment, sat there watching the shadows dancing across the pale white surfaces of walls and ceilings, he thought.
And before he knew it, he was no longer there in his apartment, but in a darkened hallway that he knew was on the second floor of a small home in Queens. he was still himself, but younger…around seven. These were the memories that only came every once in a while, the ones that left him wishing the world would leave him alone…the ones he wished he could forget, but knew that he would never be able to forget.
After all, that was the year that 'they' came. He had never known who 'they' were, and had never really cared. His mother knew, though, and wouldn't let him forget. Some days, she was all right, and so was he. Other days, he was one of 'them' and he paid dearly for being so…an innocent victim of his mother's delusions. But he had never once blamed her for it. It had never occurred to him. He resented it, yes, but he knew that she was ill. And it was for this reason that he had never been able to hold anything against her.
His father was a different story. There were no excuses for him. If anything, the things he did only made his mother worse, and it was his father that he resented…hated, even. The burden of his mother's illness should have been on his father's shoulders, maybe even his older brother's. But not on his. And yet it was, because neither of the other two saw fit to care. Over time, he'd learned to just accept it: that even as the youngest member of the family, everything had fallen on his shoulders…everything was his to bear.
It was what made those few nights where he could get away feel like heaven, nights spent with Lewis and whoever else they saw fit to be hanging out with. And yet, even on those nights, he worried. His father and brother disappeared every now and then, reappearing only when they saw fit to. It was only when he knew they'd be there that he left, and felt guilty for knowing that if things got bad, they would leave without looking back.
It was the one reason why he'd always sworn that no matter what happened, he would take care of his mother, make sure that she was provided for. And he'd kept that promise. He had never once doubted that his mother was being taken care of at Carmel Ridge, even when he wasn't there. He'd spent months looking for a place that met his standards, and that had been it. And he made a point of going to see her every week, a point of calling her every day…to let her know that she had not been abandoned by everyone. Some days she recognized him; other days she didn't, but he continued to go.
The rain continued to lash against the windows, jolting him from his thoughts and bringing him back to the present as the lights suddenly flickered and went off. Another power outage. He rolled his eyes and took a sip from the glass in his hands, glancing at the cell phone on the table, reaching for it after a few seconds to set the alarm on it, so that if the power still wasn't on by the time the morning came, he wouldn't be late to work. He left the glass on the table, but took the phone with him as he walked back towards the bedroom, a sense of irony settling over him as he realized that even now, he was walking down darkened hallways, wanting to get away from everything that the world had seen fit to throw at him.
But times had changed, and he knew it. He was no longer a child, and no longer had any reasons to be afraid. But as much as he hated to admit it, sometimes he was afraid, of ending up the same way his mother was, of losing everything and everyone that had ever meant anything to him. But at the same time, he had long ago learned that things weren't to be taken for granted; that he could have something one minute and not have it the next.
It was that was with his innocence, he mused as he fell backwards onto his bed, not bothering to change out of his clothes. It had been there one minute, and the next thing he'd known, it was gone, and he was being thrust into an unfamiliar world, one in which naivety would get him nowhere and knowledge would get him everywhere, a world in which he was forced to grow up if only to keep himself alive.