Singsong Night

Singsong Night

Singsong Night
It was an icy cold winter and a thick blanket of snow. The snow looked like blissful vanilla twilight, reminiscent of those warm, chocolate cupcakes with creamy vanilla frosting that my mother used to make for my brother and I before it happened. By “it”, I mean when my parents decided that getting a divorce was the best thing for our family. In some ways, it was and others, it was not. I had the mentality of a nine year old, and did not want to have to deal with all the problems that were associated with parents splitting up. But maybe the ear piercing screaming and arguing would cease to keep my brother and I up till the early hours of the morning, when the sun’s vibrant colors take over the sky like a sprinter running for the gold, panting and gasping for breath. And it did for a while, until my mother started dating again. She dated many men. Some were older, while others were younger. Some were wiser, and others were as dense as a lead ball dropped in the open ocean. And some were more committed to my memory than others were. They taught me a lesson that I shall never forget. My brother and I were going to need each other more than ever through the next couple of years, if we were going to keep our sanity.
As I walked through the thick snow one day home from school, I started to let my mind wander. This, in my opinion, was a dreadful idea, for reason that, I have a hard time articulating even to this day. But when I do let my mind meander about the crevices in my brain, I continuously think about what role I played in my parents split up and if it helped expand that wedge that caused them to get a divorce. In spite of the encouraging and uplifting words of my therapist, these vicious and iniquitous thoughts take over my mind swiftly and almost effortlessly, like a little sapling bending beneath the strong weight of the winds of a merciless hurricane. However, sometimes on these long walks to my mother’s domicile, I keep my mind vacant of...

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