A short walk home.

I was young, I didn't understand. I was neither mentally or emotionally prepared for the systematic deterioration of the foundation of my world. I was a child, forced to age instantly. Decades escaped me in a  matter of moments. I had a task, and it was simple: shield my sister from the events unfolding eight feet over our heads and buy time for our father to get home.....something so confoundingly simple and yet; it is easily the moment that has framed the world I see. 

I couldn't have been more than ten or eleven. A child in most societies or at most a member of the tribe with minimal responsibilities. I collected my sister from her classroom and we ventured out into the world, or at least what we knew of it. By any definition it was a short walk from our elementary school to our home, the genuine concern as to what awaited us after this particular trip would forever stain that walk. But, we had no way of knowing that at the time. I can say with up most certainty that it was this day, the last of the short walks that would create the framework for the calculated pessimist who now strokes these keys. 

Three blocks, 18 minutes, these fleeting moments demanded savoring but we were children and as children often are; we were ignorant in the value of time. It's worth escaped us, much like the wind through our fingers. We mumbled and laughed, kicked sticks and stones, and enjoyed the sunlight itself. We were unaware of the turmoil taking place just yards away, at home. 

Mother was home.....well mother(S). You see, my mother is a soldier in a very private war. One where one side is under constant siege while the other consistently chips away at the walls of protection. My mother has been many things: schizophrenic, Dis-associative Identity Disorder, healer, and hero. The fact that at times her shoes were filled by a more villainous character goes without saying. But, you must remember that wasn't my mother. My mother loved us and made every effort to shield us from the battle front that raged on behind her eyes and for that I will always love and revere my mother. 

For reasons rarely disclosed my mothers mind splintered. A genuine population within her mind is hard to speculate, there are a few I recall: the mistress being the worst of them and Mary (my mother). A confused a broken soul suffering silently in efforts to smother the rest. 

The catalyst that lit the fuse on this specific day escapes me, the blame most likely falls on the memory of a child. I wasn't concerned with such things and rarely paid attention. That behavior ended with this story. 

The cause being irrelevant leaves us with one simple fact: the mistress had finally managed to sneak a suicide bomber into enemy territory and my mother fell victim to an all out attack so subtle the entire world missed it. She was alone, and afraid. The world around her silent as the screams grew louder in her mind. With each passing breath the mistress' venomous words poisoned the world and corrupted my mothers mind. 

She fought valiantly, standing there motionless in the kitchen. She flexed every muscle and locked every joint. If the mistress was to win she would be walking into her own prison, a motionless tomb with only two windows. Windows facing out into a world she would never again be free to explore and experience. 

This grotesque act of defiance enraged the mistress and her assault on my mothers mind became even more vexing. As the walls themselves eroded my mother began to slip. Her body began to succumb to the siege and the muscles themselves began to fail. The room began to shake and the light of the world dimmed. The strategic explosions played out with a sociopathic symphony to them, the debris of a life now weightless and broken free of the bonds that held them created a level of collateral damage few people possess the ability to comprehend. All the while not a paper was disturbed, a violent and unrelenting war with scorched earth style tactics was raging within the seven inches between my mothers ears. 

All the while two children aimlessly wandered toward a war zone with no borders or boundaries. With no rules of engagement or morality. Two children barely even acquainted with the world were moments away from witnessing a war decades in the making that would forever change everything. 

The handle of the door was colder than normal, I paid it no mind. However, the stillness within the house was palpable and pressed down on me with the weight of an ocean. It flooded the porch as the door swung open. The silence that cascaded down on us had a resonance that I am only now able to describe.

There's a wooded area in Asia, a place so void of hope that even animals hold their breath as they cross. It's coyly nicknamed "The Suicide Forest" generations of people, have one by one, ended their stories here. The land itself is bathed in a sobering silence that would tempt even the most devout into second guessing everything.  This is the closest I've ever come to the nauseating silence that consumed my home that day. It's rancid texture still hangs in the air and hides in some of the corners today. 

My sister was to little to understand the sudden change in emotion and immediately began to ask questions I couldn't answer. This in and of itself is a torture for a brother who once prided himself on his ability to protect the innocence of a little girl gifted with the ability to see beauty in an otherwise hideous world. I've failed her many times since then, but this was the first and most scarring. She was scared and confused begging for understanding in a situation where there was none. I simply stood dumbfounded, listening, hoping for: a crash, a growl, a whisper would have sufficed. However, even with all my hoping my ears were only met by an ever more resounding silence. 

As we crossed the threshold of the house every board holding the old structure together seemed to urge us back. The floor groaned under our weight, screaming for us to return to the sunlight. To go back in time and evade the inevitable casualty of war, innocence. Even the charcoal sketch of a naked woman hanging in our foyer seemed to gesture for us to not continue our journey. 

The nine steps from the front door to the dinning area were weightless and calculated. I carefully crossed the floor of my childhood home in a similar fashion to that of a crypt thief making every effort to avoid unnecessary sound or at worst booby traps.  These cat burglar skills would come in handy later in life but for the time being they were merely reflex. A reflex used to understand a foreign and seemingly hostile surroundings that had to be wearing a mask of what was once my home. 

There was an odd opening between our kitchen and dining area. A window or at least that's what we called it. A void that would allow for conversations between the rooms. With my final steps into the very heart of the house I saw something unsettling. Something that even in its stationary status horrified me. There was a body in my kitchen. 

I say body because for the time being there was a fight taking place behind the eyes of my mother. She wasn't present, the body stood where the mind had left it. Her knuckles white and her arms quivering. Clenching reality with everything she had my mother stood statuesque in the middle of our kitchen. I hadn't noticed until I heard her:

"Whats mommy doing?"

It's a funny sentence to have the effect it did. My heart dropped, and my stomach turned over. My mouth went dry and my mind, momentarily, ceased its efforts toward understanding. My little sister stood next to me now, staring at the lifeless shell as it quaked and seized.

I had no answer for her, no soothing sentence came to mind. I had no way to explain the situation because I myself did not have the capabilities to compute an answer. 

It couldn't have been a matter of seconds, but an eternity passed.

Life flickered behind my mothers eyes. She turned and in an instant I knew by the look on her face she had no understanding of the time passed. With raw confusion and pain on her face, my mothers eyes flooded and  with an uncomfortably forced gate she made her way, wordlessly up the stairs. 

The silence was again deafening. Another few moments passed. My sister and I didn't move. Either out of fear or confusion, most likely a combination of the two. 

"Stay here" the words fell from my mouth more than they were said, and with far more fear coating them then I would have preferred but, I was at least able to shatter the silence and say something. Anything to to push back the quiet. 

Again I cautiously made my way across the floor of the house, making every effort to take into account each weak floor board and squeaky stair. Eventually I climbed the staircase, gathering my breath I stood four or five steps from the landing peering across into my parents bedroom. 

The war had gone audible, I heard the grinding of teeth and violent gasps for air. At first I imagined my mother in the fight of her life with some big hulking man violently choking her. What greeted me as the door opened under my palm was a far more confusing sight. Her body fought itself in every imaginable way. It would contort and flex, relax and spasm time and time again. The fight was real and the enemy was present but I couldn't see them. I stood helpless as my mother fought for her life. Sporadically the pain-filled tears that were my mother's eyes would change to a slightly more sinister and hate powered stare. I froze as the realization hit me, there was someone else here, there was someone inside my mother making every effort to get out. Every fiber in my being knew that if my mother lost this fight things could get worse and fast. 

Through gritted teeth my mother made every effort to console me, insisting I go downstairs with my sister. I was unable to move, I wanted to help, I wanted to fight; but there was no villain to hit. The attacker was invisible and I was worthless in the fight. 

I have no recollection of the next few moments in fact I'm not even convinced I have an understanding of time that actually passed. All I know is that suddenly my father was in the room, my mothers body writhed in a way I've only every seen in movies and he yelled for my return to my sister and that mommy was sick and needed to go to the hospital. 

"No Hospital." The words scorched the air as they left her lips. The anger and venom each syllable was saturated with only conveyed more clearly that my mother wasn't the only one in there. 

The next time I opened my eyes I was seated on the couch my sisters face straight ahead, both our gaze fixated on a place in time. One before all this, one where we were children kicking rocks on our short walk home. A time, that has long since passed and sadly, once its gone can never be reclaimed.