literature

Silence that spoke...

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Wor-D-Rizzle's avatar
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Literature Text

We never shared a good relationship, my son and I.

There was always a distance between us, a gap that never seem to lessen. And I knew my reserved nature was partly, largely, to blame. I wanted that distance gone. But I didn’t know how, or what to do about it.

Perhaps now, with him all grown up, it’s too late for us.

 

                                                                                                *

 

My wife is the bridge between us; the person who made the three of us a family. She’s the anchor that keeps us from drifting apart.

She insists that we share at least one meal per day as a family. And honestly, I don’t know if it is the moment that I look forward to most, or the moment I dread the most.

Why?

Because it was usually at that meal that I got to know my son. I’d listen, as he would relate to his mother the trivial happening of his life. They’d chat and joke and laugh; and I’d manage to crack a smile or two.

 

It ate me from inside that I didn’t know how to join in. How not to be the outsider, looking in at them.

 

                                                                                                *

He was usually silent around me. Not that he doesn’t talk; but that the talking was less around me. So if we happen to be in each other’s company, and silence stretched between us, I wouldn’t think much of it. It bothered me, but it never worried me.

And then, one day, I realized the silence was different. It was almost a painful one.

 

“Are you…alright…?” I asked him, Feeling almost hesitant.

 

From how quickly he lifted his head, I realized that I had startled him. For a second, his eyes widened, as if silently asking me how I knew. But then, almost as if a veil fell over the emotions in his eyes, they shut down, and he simply nodded at me.

Giving me a tentative smile, he replied “I’m fine dad...”

 

I don’t know why, or how, but I knew he was not fine. Concerned, I even tried talking to my wife about it, but she brushed it aside; “he’d tell me if there was something” she said, her voice laced with love and conviction.

 

So I watched him.

 

And even though he fiercely wore his mask of contentment, and everyone around us seem to fall for it, I could see through the cracks. And I saw the pain and misery.

I just didn’t know how to ask him about it.

                                                                                                *

 

Two weeks later, after tossing and turning for half the night, I found myself walking towards his room. Like I used to, in secret, when he was a child, I slowly opened the door a crack; wanting, for some odd reason, to listen to his breathing. It was something I used to do before, but never in the recent few years. He’s a grown man now after all. He deserves his privacy.

 In the past, listening to his slow, even breathing used to settle me…and I’d leave quiet and content.

Tonight though, his breath came in stutters…fast and hitching.

 

I knock on the door.

I see him flinch, and his shoulders tensed, his breath silencing. Slowly he turns to look at me.

 

“dad…?” his voice sounds surprised and it cracks on the single word.

 

I walk in and turn on his night lamp.

 

He looks at me in confusion through red rimmed eyes, although he had somehow managed to wipe away the tears without me noticing.

 

We stare at each other for a moment, both unsure, until I lowered myself to sit beside him, hands folded in my lap, my shoulder just barely brushing his.

 

“will you tell me?” I asked.

 

Silence meets my question, and he hangs his head, turning his face slightly so it’s hidden to me now.

 

“I might be able to help.” I tell him quietly, clasping and unclasping my hands uselessly. He is still silent, and I feel lost, not knowing what to do next.

 

“You can’t” he says, his tight voice barely above a whisper.

 

Slowly, so slowly that I felt every muscle move, I placed my arm around his shoulder, holding him to me.

I feel his shoulders tense and stiffen, as if he had frozen.

 

“I’m here” I tell him, not knowing what else to say.

 

He turns to me then, and looks at me in surprise. And I see his tears.

 

And then, just like when I had first held him in my arms 23 years ago, the need to protect him and keep him safe reared up, overflowing my heart, clogging my throat.

 

“I’m here” I tell him once more, my arm drawing him into me automatically.

 

He only stares up at me, but his eyes tell me all that I need to know. The veil fall away for a moment, and I see the pain and desolation that’s flooding his heart once more, until he lowers his gaze, and draws in deep breath.

I feel my heart drop, knowing he was about to shut me out again. That is, until he lifted his gaze once more, and in them I saw acceptance and gratitude, mixed with love and sorrow. He smiles up at me, and this time it’s a brave smile, and a genuine one.

 

“I’m fine dad.” He tells me, laying his head on my shoulder, allowing me to comfort him at last.

 

And I held on, for hours that night.

 

                                                                                                *

 

He never did tell me what had hurt him. But that night, somehow the distance between us had disappeared, and he and I were finally where I wanted us to be; together.

I still found it hard to express my feelings. But now, he knew I was just a heartbeat away. He knew I was there, and that I cared.

He knows I love him, and in the end, I think that’s what really matters. 

sometimes, all you need to do, is be there...

comments are always welcome :)
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TangerineTerranova's avatar
This made me cry. tears are literally streaming down my face. I LOVE IT.