~War of the Dandelions~

By WordWulf, 8th Mar 2011 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL http://nut.bz/aal_ae9p/
Posted in Wikinut>Family>Domestic Violence & Abuse

~she wakes in the middle of the night~wonders where she is~wonders who she is~five-years-old she knows~she has to get away~into the night like her daddy~when he was a little boy~before prison~Harley Davidsons & guns~

~War of the Dandelions~

He knows in his heart he is wrong. With a sense of overwhelming defeat, he crawls on tender-pins of guilt and falls at her feet. She kicks at his head in a feeble attempt to drive him away. He licks his wounds, a purging lament. She picks up the phone, calls the night police.

She knows in her heart she is wrong. She dials his number a hundred times, then remembers she took his phone and threw it away. Relatives bail him out of jail. Friends pick him up, take him to their homes. Obsessed, he rushes back to her arms. She makes mad impossible love to him. He says, “Like that, I’m your man.”

Their children question, insecure, no backbone home. Forever pushed and pulled between, threatened always and used to threaten, tender-grass, they starve at once and are smothered by the wet moss of emotional chaos.

Names, names, he makes. Her, by God, parents be damned, he’ll show them what a father is and a husband too. It’s about time she made a choice between the man who loves her and the parents who don’t.

Names, names she makes. His family can kiss her ass. She’s never done anything to them. She’ll stay away from hers if he’ll stay away from his. They huddle together, naughty children and mad at the world.

Their children become remote, with an inner resolve to protect and insulate themselves. Skin too deep, Mommy Daddy kiss., the tug o’ war, their parents’ love, teaching these young hearts to accept the unacceptable, to be the unspeakable, a too taut {two taught} elastic reality.

“It’s better my way,” he preaches. “I’ll teach you how to live. We’ll be parents to these children. I’ll get a job, you wait ‘n see. Meanwhile, behave yourself. Tonight we’ll get a sitter, go to the bar and have a couple drinks, eat out, make love ‘til dawn.

“It’s better my way,” she preaches. “I have a job, you don’t. The kids are mine, no matter what. I know what my rights are. You haven’t been able to keep a job. Look at all the trouble you’ve got yourself in. I like the idea of the sitter, a couple of drinks, smoke a joint. We deserve some time to ourselves.

The baby has a nervous tic. She refuses to look anyone in the eye. The boys are failing in school, living on and off with relatives, extras in an alien family environment. They are loved but a hindrance, apart, always apart and some way in the way, tender-roots laid out in the sun to suffer. These whose eyes are a mask of sadness, made and abandoned on the killing ground love.

“I can’t believe she did this to me.” He stands behind bars in a cage. “Come on, brother, bail me out. I know, I know, we’ve been through this before.”
Court dates, restraining orders, city, county, and state jurisdictions, domestic violence, spousal abuse, court costs, fines and classes, classes and fines, child abuse, child abuse, child abuse, child abuse.

“I can’t believe he did this to me.” She hands the baby over to her mother. “I sure appreciate you being here for me. Listen, I gotta get to work. I know, I know, we’ve been through this before.”

Court dates, restraining orders, city, county, and state jurisdictions; domestic violence, spousal abuse, fines and classes, classes and fines, child abuse, child abuse, child abuse, child abuse.

“Where are the boys?”

“I don’t know.”

“I can find mine, where’s yours?”

“Mine refuses to live with us.”

“So does mine. What the hell’s wrong with those kids?”

“Where’s the baby?”

“Oh shit! She’s taken off her clothes and wandered out the door again.”

“Damn it! I told you to watch her! It’s four o’ clock in the morning.”

“Gimme a flashlight! I’ll look out in the yard. You check the street.”

The yard was a peaceful place. Its citizens, the Grass Children, each a separate blade, existed harmoniously side by swaying side. Even times of half-life, smothered under a blanket of winter snow, found them snuggled happily together, expectant of spring. With the arrival of that beauteous season came a new citizen to the yard. It required some space to live, so the Grass Children gave sway that it might thrive.

And thrive it did, soon joined by its mate. These two grew to wondrous heights, so tall and majestic the Grass Children could not see their faces. Still their yellow collars were wonderful to look upon from away down below. The Grass Children sighed to be joined by such beauty in the yard.

These bright yellow flower things became angry with each other. They ranted at one another above the swaying blades and made poison in the air with their hate. The Grass Children were embarrassed for them and bowed down their heads. Then the yellow faces of the creatures transformed into ghastly puffballs of white. Their anger was such that, when the lovely spring breeze came, it blew their puffy heads into the yard piece by puffy piece.

The Grass Children were afraid. They didn’t understand anger or the color and heat of envy and jealousy. Soon enough they forgot in their sway by sway reality of everyday. Spring, the promised gift, rocked them into summer. Fall brought an always gift of its own, a warm blanket of friendly Leaf Children.

“Beware the tall yellow ones,” the Leaf Children warned. “They are warlike creatures. We have watched them while playing in the Mother Tree. They will steal your energy if you get close to them. You will perish that they may thrive. Before long you will cease to exist at all. Then, even then, they will continue until their anger eats them alive.

The Grass Children laughed. “They were only two and now they are gone. Yours was a frightening story, Brother and Sister Leaves. Now it is our turn to tell and yours to listen.”

The Leaf Children fluttered about a bit as they are known to do. They are a respectful and well-behaved lot once they are settled comfortably into an autumn blanket of cover. “Between us,” the Grass Children began, “We have witnessed the seasons. You have spoken in waves to us and we to you. You and some chosen of us will return to Mother Earth and be reborn in a rite of spring. Such is our good news, love and life never-ending.”

The Leaf Children clamored and the Grass Children swayed. They tickled and giggled at one another. The breeze joined in their happy song, a moment of symphonic perfection. Being playful and innocent, these Children of Earth forgot all about the yellow ones. The next year they were fewer and the yellow ones more. Father Sky pampered them as always. He walked through a handful of seasons, then wept with Mother Tree and her Leaf Children because the Grass Children were no more.

~Curse of Days~
Listen to song on website:
~Tom (WordWulf) Sterner~
~Dapping~
~Last Violin~

Meet the author

WordWulf
Tom Sterner lives in Redding, California and Arvada, Colorado with wife Kathy. He has been published in numerous magazines and on the internet, including Howling Dog Press/Omega, Skyline Literary Review, The Storyteller, and Flashquake. His interne...(more)