The Road of Faith
By Alisa M. Ben
Our home was on a 3-mile road that was called Faith community. I used to
stand on the road beside my cousin and my brother that little guy with the socks
to his big knobby knees that covered his entire bird legs, and the one with the
small straight teeth with the pigeon-toed walk. It was on this road that we got
a glimpse of what living was all about. I used to think the road went up
and down. I used to have faith. I used to imagine that I was
standing in place running while the road moved. I used to test the laws of
the Earth's spin by standing still to watch the ground as a car passed to figure
out whether the car was actually moving, or the road was being pulled underneath
it.
The road where we watched grown overweight men exhaust in a 3-mile jog to
potential fitness. My brother's bird legs peddling briskly up and down
beside my beaten father in the marathon; my brother watching me on the other
side of my father's brother, grinning from ear to ear as we left the grown
overweight men behind on our Huffy's. The same road that bruised and
scratched our scrawny knees when our Huffy's threw us to the gray-rocked ground;
it was part of our community; the foundation of our childhood, our life.
I used to only have two friends, and I thought our life was the world. My
cousin and my brother were my alliances. My cousin had to wear the wig
when it was his turn to be the woman. My brother was the little guy.
That little guy with the socks to his big knobby knees that covered his
entire bird legs, and the one with the small straight teeth with the pigeon-toed
walk. I was the boss; call me Bruce Springsteen.
I was the one that punched my cousin simply out of spoiled anger and forbade him
to tell the truth. I was the one that went first, and the one to change my
mind frequently. I was the little girl walking around in the summer with
her shirt off. I was the one referred to as "long legs" and I
was the Angelica of the Rugrats.
I remember getting lost as a child at an outside flea market, and unable to find
my mother through the masses of people. I remember being so small; too
small to see above me and too small to comprehend anyone but my mother and
comfort. I grabbed my mother's leg out of fear and as my mother looked
down I realized this was not my mother. I grew frightened and started to
panic when my mother picked me up and held me. It was easy to put my feet
back on the ground, and not worry about where I stood because I had faith.
I used to be naïve to any exterior forces because those I knew were my family.
I honestly thought I was stuck hanging out with my little brother
throughout my entire life. I don't recall my little brother and I fighting
much during this time. That would come much later. WWF style. My
brother had this obsession with Hulk Hogan and Monster Trucks. Every
single night he would wear my father's XXL dark green shirt with the iron-on Big
Foot Monster Truck picture on the front. I had an obsession with the
Rocker Barbie stage and Michael Jackson. After all, it was the early 80s
and Michael Jackson was the King of Pop when Madonna told the world she wanted
to rule it. Madonna never did get her own doll, but I got Michael
Jackson's doll one Christmas from Santa. Christmas always baffled me
because Santa never would eat more than one bite from the cookies my brother and
I made from our Easy-bake oven. Come to think of it no one ever ate more
than one bite of our cookies. My cousin had an obsession with being
exactly like me and I just thought he wanted to be a girl, so he sported the
finest neon clothing I had to wear.
I remember watching prime time television with my father in his chair and my
mother doing the dishes or cleaning. I loved the intro to Knight Rider
because I would try to figure out whether the black sports car was driving up or
down the path. I could imagine both ways and as my father eyed the
television like a zombie, I wondered if he too wondered whether the sports car
was driving up or down. My curiosity widened and I tried to appease it by
determining whether the sports car was driving up or down the path by which
direction the driver's side was facing. The logical reasoning behind a
sports care driving by itself on a desert threw me off, and my father never
understood what I was asking. He would reply, "It's driving to and
from, here and there." Though I never understood how a car could
drive without a driver, I had faith that it was 'driving to and from, here and
there.'
I used to imagine what I would look like as an adult, and what my life would be
like. I knew I would be successful and I never thought anything would
happen to me. I grew up in a small town with Christian roots and high
morals and values. I was amazed that anyone could stay up twenty-four
hours without dying, and I didn't believe the little girl at church when she
told me. I remember seeing an acorn fall from a tree by the swing set in
the front yard of my childhood house. I was curious what it tasted like
even though my cousin told me not to eat it. I ate it and it tasted nasty
so I spit it out. The older I got the more I found myself standing on the
3-mile road wondering whether it actually led anywhere, or whether it was our
own isolated paradise.
I used to think childhood was forever and that the hand of time would leave my
life untouched and unscathed. I used to think my family was forever, but my
parents divorced when I was in grade five and my brother was only age five.
"Sissy, d'ya know what my favorut color is?"
His tiny little fingers with a day's worth of dirt lodged between his
fingernails and skin fondled through a bag of Hot Wheel's mini cars.
I looked up into his soft black eyes that were softly looking at me with
admiration, "Green!"
His eyes widened and his mouth spread into a smile that displayed his straight
white teeth, "How'd ya guess?"
"I'm magic," My eyes tightened. "Ask Moe Moe if ya don't
believe me, huh Moe Moe?"
Moe Moe sat in the corner of the room by the football shaped toy box and quietly
nodded in my brother's direction to confirm that I was magic.
"nah uh," my little brother shook his head in an exaggerated manner.
"Sissy, you lying to me!"
The bedroom door opened and my father's muscular frame stood in the doorway
without a shirt, "Moe Moe?"
Moe Moe looked up holding Barbie by the hair, "huh?"
"It's time for you to go home," My father looked at us with a certain
sadness that was confusing.
"Awe!" We said in unison.
"But why, dad?" I moaned.
My brother added, "yeah, but why dad?"
Moe Moe stood up on his tiny tan legs and walked toward the door, waving
goodbye.
"Bye Moe Moe, we'll play tomorrah," I waved goodbye alongside my
brother and watched Moe Moe's tan little body as it disappeared from the
bedroom.
My father somberly stood in the doorway watching us, "Kids, your mother and
I need to talk with you in the living room."
My brother and I traded glances and the bag of Hot Wheel's mini cars fell to the
floor; we were confused but did not think twice about it as we followed my
father down the hall that lead into the living room. Mother was sitting on
the earth-toned love seat with tear streaks on her cheeks. My heart sped
up creating tickles in my stomach that I did not much pay attention to. I
looked behind me at my brother who had his eyes wide open in concern and
confusion. Mother looked at us in a way that she had never seen us before,
and put her hands in her face to cry while our father sat down in his chair and
looked at us.
"Your mother and I are getting a divorce."
The words still ring through my head, and at the time I did not understand the
word "divorce" as I now do. I looked at my mother who was crying
into her hands and then back to my father who looked deep into my brother and my
eyes with a seriousness that I did not quite understand. I
cannot remember if my brother realized what it meant before I did, but he began
wailing so loudly that it hurt me to listen.
Crying through my words, "What does it mean?"
"You kids and your mother are going away," my father did not blink as
he stared my brother and I down intimidating us with his own hurt and anger.
We had never seen my father so confused and vulnerable, and we started
crying incessantly.
"Now you've done it! Just look at what you did? You dragged the
kids into this. Into your own selfishness!" My mother stood up
and walked over to us sweeping us into her arms and taking us into the hall.
"Gather a few things you want to take with us," she held back her
tears as she pointed to our individual rooms. "You can get more stuff
later."
My brother ran down the hall to my father who was staring straight ahead. I
watched him jump into my father's big muscular arms and give him a hug that
melted the two together. My father wept, as I walked into my bedroom for
the last time.
We were taken out of the only family we knew and my life was never the same.
It would be the beginning of a series of unstable events. The last
night my cousin, brother, and I spent playing in the back bedroom would be the
end of my faith in love.
My mother was confused and lost as we moved around frequently for a year. My
brother and I started arguing a lot. I never remember seeing my cousin
that year. I do not even remember if we ever gathered again, all three of
us, and were a family. I do not think we did. Shaky, things were new
and confusing and unstable. My brother hated the change, and I loved my
mother and believed in what she was trying to accomplish in her new life.
Change was hard. My brother and I slept together from when he was born
until I was in grade seven. Somehow, we were each other's comfort and
hope. I remember he snored too loud for me to sleep, and I would poke his
side until he turned onto it.
I would con him into rubbing my back for exactly one hundred seconds, and when
he would finish I would pretend to be asleep so I would not have to return the
back rub. He would just go to sleep and I would smirk and think,
"Sucker!" At night, there was innocence again and we were children
like we had been before.
My childhood was gone and I was a teenager. My brother was a brat and
annoying during his anger-management classes at home. We fought every day.
Mother would work and hang out with friends, and every other weekend we would
see our father. It was strange to return to our childhood house and try to
feel at ease. It was no longer home sweet home. It was a lonely home
with strange and unfamiliar furniture that did not belong in our house. I
started to despise the house. My mother got married, and shortly after my
father married. My brother and I were left alone in our separate rooms to
become hostile toward each other.
My brother always made weird noises out of the blue and I was convinced he was
retarded. He always stayed in his room and watched sports or wrestling,
and I remember he smacked his cereal loudly.
"Stop it!" I scolded at my brother.
He sneered, "Shut the hell up and leave me alone!"
"You're smacking!" I rolled my eyes.
"I am not smacking," He yelled. "I am crunching and there
is a difference. See you're not as smart as you thought you were!"
He thought I was a bitch and one day beat my door in with a baseball bat because
while he was asleep I sprayed water on his pants.
"Bubba peed his pants," I yelled. "What a baby!"
"Wake up you big baby," I continued to yell. "You peed your
pants!"
He woke up crying, and I took pleasure in his being upset. Lost, I had no
one else to pay attention to me during this time so the negative attention I
gained from my brother made me feel loved in an uncomfortable psychosis-type of
way. My brother chased me through my entire house yelling.
"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you,
asshole!"
His little hands reached just enough to catch me from behind. I had no
repercussions with kicking him in the groin after he pulled a handful of hair
out of my head. My mother would discipline us and we would turn against
her and form an alliance.
I graduated high school and I don't remember the significance of that day where
my brother was concerned. I have no recollection of memories during
that period of my brother until I quit college and decided to move to New York
with my hippie friends. I will never forget my brother being in awe of my
friends because they made their own soap and made hemp jewelry. I remember
hugging my brother that day and my mother, but not missing them. I wrote
my little brother from New York because I was miserable and unsuccessful. I
heard a popular song that reminded me of our relationship, so I told him about
it and he agreed. "Sister" by The Nixons; that was our song.
He believed in me and was the only one on my side when I moved to New York to be
a rock star. I did not succeed and enrolled in college again and moved
home. Shortly, my brother moved out of my mother's house and into my
father's and I felt betrayed. Nothing would bring us together as bubba and
sissy until the tragedy.
The time had come, my brother was graduating high school and I was one semester
away from graduating college. I watched my brother make a big fuss over me
and I was proud when they called his name and he received the loudest cheer.
He started college and hated it so he quit one month into it. He
moved to Michigan to work. He bought a cellular phone and called me
anywhere from two to four times a day just to ask how I was doing. During
my last semester in college, I found myself more broke than my days as a
musician in New York, at least then I had credit cards and now no one in their
right mind would approve me with my credit. My brother mailed me three
hundred dollars to pay my car payment and enclosed a very funny and sweet
one-page letter.
Dear Sissy,
This better go toward your car payment!
If it's not and you need to borrow more just let me know cause I really
can help you now. I am sorry for being mean to you for the last 17 ¾
years. I miss you and I can't wait to see you again. I love you.
Love your loving brother
Jeffrey
It would be the last words I would receive from my brother. Ironically, he
apologized for being so mean to me all these years and told me how much he loved
and missed me. I re-opened my heart when I received it and knew he did
love me and I loved him. I could not wait to see him. I never would
see him, but I still cannot wait to see him.
I rarely see my cousin, but when we do it is as though we remained the unscathed
children that we had been before the road of faith took a detour. We stood
on the road looking for my brother the first week he was missing. I looked
at the road and wondered whether the car that passed me was actually moving, or
if the road was being pulled underneath it. I saw my brother in my memory,
while I stood looking down at the road to confirm I was in fact not moving. That
little guy with the socks to his big knobby knees that covered his entire bird
legs, and the one with the small straight teeth with the pigeon-toed walk.
"You're still magic," He said.
Looking up in surprise at Moe Moe, we both smiled. It hit me that day.
What if the road goes left or right instead of up or down. How do
you know where you are headed and if you're moving? I wondered why no one
seemed to be concerned about the direction of the road, but me. I have yet
to worry or ponder the direction of the road after that day. However, every time
I look down at the road to make sure I am not moving I see that little guy with
the socks to his big knobby knees that covered his entire bird legs, and the one
with the small straight teeth with the pigeon-toed walk.
Knight Rider has long been cancelled. My brother has yet to return, but I
have faith that the road will take me to him. When I walk it no
longer matters whether I am actually moving or the road is being pulled
underneath me, because every time I move I get closer and closer to my little
brother. Like I said, I used to have faith and now that is all I have.
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