Lonely People

McCartney Sibling Reunion

It was difficult to keep up with Paul when he had his mind set on a destination. He would walk as fast as possible, with steps larger than usual. His eyes were always set forward and his arms swung at his sides. I had to struggle to keep up with him, nearly running several times.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked my brother, "He could hate us just as much as Dad does."

Paul had shown up at Molly's door that morning and told me we were going to see Michael today. As much as I missed my baby brother, I was terrified to see him. The last thing I wanted was for him to tell us he never wanted to see us again. He had been subjected to listening to Dad's rants about us for nearly a full year, it would only be right for him to hate us.

"He doesn't hate us, Lia, and neither does Dad," Paul replied.

"Really? Cause it sure sounded like-"

"He doesn't hate us," Paul spat, "Neither does Michael. We're just at a bit of a rough patch."

I frowned, "Rough is an understatement."

If kicking your kids out of the house and telling them never to return wasn't hate, I don't know what was. It sure as hell wasn't love. Paul was blinded by his hope. Dad was the last parent we had left, he and Michael were the last family we had left. Paul desperately wanted them to love us, even when Dad had told us to leave and never come back.

I could understand that feeling. The very last thing I wanted was to go through the rest of my life knowing my father was alive but I could never see him. Having to live while knowing that two of the most important people in my life hated me would be absolute hell. I wasn't sure if either of us could make it through that.

"Michael sees it as us having vanished one morning," Paul explained, "He only knows Dad's side of the story."

"Dad could have manipulated him."

"We won't know until we see him. You can't honestly tell me you don't hope Michael will still accept us," Paul glanced at me.

I sighed, "I do, I miss them both, but if word gets back to Dad-"

"What Dad does doesn't matter anymore. We're adults, and we can do whatever the hell we please."

I fell quiet after that. Paul was beginning to sound aggressive. Every other time he was like this, he fought whoever was closest. This time, that was me. Paul noticed as I shrunk away. He ran a hand down his face and sighed deeply. 

"I'm sorry, Lia," Paul apologized, "It's just a bloody fucked up situation. I don't want Michael to hate us just because Dad said so."

I nodded, "You don't want Dad to hate us either."

"I don't think he does, he just doesn't like us at the moment."

"That's better than hate," I admitted, "At least there's a chance to fix it."

Paul nodded, "It'll be a while with Dad, but we can make up with Michael right now."

"We can try."

Making up with Dad would be difficult, more difficult, perhaps, than making up with Michael. Dad was a stubborn man, a trait which he passed down to all of his children. When he made his mind up on something, it was highly unlikely that he would change. Luckily for us, that trait was genetic. Us against Dad was like an unstoppable object met with an unmovable force. 

The two of us rounded the corner to see our old school rise into view. It was exactly how we left it, complete with the tattered British flag hanging on the pole in the front. Children were already filing out, some going towards the bus. Others began to walk down the streets.