Maybe I should explain a few things about how things were..
My mother worked while I was growing up after my father quit construction, my sister and I never really knew why he quit, we just always figured that he was tired being away from home or that his shoulder bothered him. I would later find out via those letters that I spoke about prior, that the reason he quit was because he was caught cheating and the woman was pregnant.
My mother wrote about how she didn't know what to feel, let alone, what to think.
She wrote about how she often thought that this would be the new family that he would chose. She also stated that she would ensure the woman knew of our presence. Maybe it was fear that made him choose my mother again. Or, maybe he was just an asshole that knew he could play my mother and still continue his games. 'ither way.. I have a half sibling out there somewhere. If they made it through childbirth, their childhood and into adulthood.
I wonder if I've met him/her on the street..
or if she/he even know the truth. I guess no one will ever know.
It isn't as though I can ask my mother about it, it isn't something she even knows that I know about. It's just another skeleton that is in the closet -- forgotten about, covered in cobwebs. As far as I know (based on the letters) the communication was cut off completely. She would write that someone (she always assumed it was another one of his women) would call the house phone making it ring and ring and ring at all hours. When she would answer it, the person would hang up. They would do it throughout the day, days at a time.. days turned into weeks. She said that she knew she wasn't crazy or imagining things -- despite what he told her. She still doesn't know I know about this, but sometimes I will make comments about how the phone rings and rings and rings.. and when I answer it, the person hangs up. She always responds, "does that surprise you in this house?" I am always trying to drop subtle hints to her.. which never go anywhere.
Let's go back to where I left off, shall we?
My mother worked at a nursing home where my father started working as well. They worked opposite shifts so not to have us go into daycare (it was never something that my mother believed in, she thought that no matter what, a family should raise their children). When they first started there, my mother worked during the days and my father worked grave. I don't know why they decided for it to be this way, I'm sure it worked for them but it didn't work that well at the house. They both worked here from when I turned 07 until I was about 11 years of age** -- again, he was caught cheating (I'll get into this a bit later) and they both quit.
During the time that they weren't at the nursing home was probably the darkest part of my childhood. I didn't have my mother at home at all during the day, so we were kept in the house with him. Now, it wasn't so rough on my sister. She had always been his favorite - I'm going to assume it was because she looked more like him and I took more after my mother. She was always called "Daddy's angel". My mother would try to explain to me that it was just easier for him with her because he was around more during her upbringing then he was with mine. (Looking back on this now, it was just another excuse and I still wonder.. what did I do wrong?) When she aged, she was a tomboy thus making her into more things that interested him, where I was the opposite. I hated dirt, bugs and getting dirty.
My memory of ages 07 to 11 are still hazy.
It's almost like a dream when I look back at them.. or a movie. You know where you only remember bits and pieces and the rest you just don't know because the movie doesn't cover that? That's my memory. I only remember some, the rest is just a black hole.* Whatever it hidden into these lost moments is to protect me, I'm sure.. but I still wonder, what's there that I won't allow myself to recall? Because, the stuff that I remember can't be much worse... can it?
[to be continued..]
Key Notations
** This age is an estimate.. I'm not truly sure on the end date. I just know that he started two new jobs by the time that I was 13.
* I was explaining to Gabriel the other day on the phone that my past is into four different parts; the stuff I remember, the stuff I don't remember, the stuff my mother told me and the stuff my sister told me.
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