What We Trade Our Hearing For (a North and South Story)

6. Wrecking Ball

"It takes a dedicated hand

To put it through the wall

You gotta wanna break the heart

Of all those pretty porcelain dolls

You gotta want to be the drummer in the band

You gotta want to be a battering ram

You gotta see the artistry

In tearing the place apart with me baby"

-Mother Mother

John

When John was a child, life had seemed simple. A small house in the country, plenty of space for a rambunctious little boy to run, the big scary city seemingly worlds apart, though in reality it was less than an hour away. His dad would sit on the back porch, strumming guitar and smiling as he watched his young son run around the yard. John didn't understand poverty, hunger, or hardship. He didn't know that their house was more than a little ramshackle, that his mother skipped meals so that he could eat, or that his dad made the exhausting commute into the city every single day, working his hands to the bone in order to provide for his family.

He was still young when they moved into the city. Gone were his big back yard and wide-open skies, replaced with monstrously tall buildings and pierced with occasional gun shots in the distance. The times when they weren't so far in the distance, that's when his mother would huddle with him on the floor of the bathroom, telling him stories about when she was a kid in this same city, and how his father was making something of himself. John still didn't understand why his father was around less often, why they had to play hide and seek when the "fireworks" went off outside their house, or why his dad seemed to constantly look over his shoulder on the rare occasion they were able to go out together as a family.

After Faith was born, after they had moved out of the slums and into their Virginia Highlands home, as he got older and more mature, he began to look back and understand. By this point, his father had lost his carefree spirit. They had the house, the cars, the reputation. The kids went to the fancy school, wore the best clothes, the memories of their former life just a shadow in the past. But they weren't happy, and as a teenager John wondered if it were really worth it, considering what his dad had given up getting there.

Then his father died. That's when John knew it wasn't worth it, but at that point it was too late. The young man whose parents had tried to shelter him from the monsters of the world was suddenly thrust head first into the fray.

How do you explain that to someone who is already prejudiced against you? That was the problem he faced now, in the music room with Maggie and her family. He wanted to make her understand but wondered if that were even possible. He had some idea of the preconceived notions she harbored against him, remembering that fateful night at The Mill, when she saw the edges of his darkness before seeing any of the light.

"I would say I do know something about hardship," he began quietly. "When my father died suddenly twelve years ago, I had to grow up very quickly. I left school, got my GED, and worked day and night to take care of my family. When I was old enough, I joined the army. It was the only way I could think to build a future for myself. If I was lucky at all, it would be because my mother fought just as hard to keep us afloat, instead of succumbing to the grief of losing her husband, all this with a young daughter that demanded her attention. After years of hard work and sacrifices, I can finally keep my family comfortable and repay my mom for everything she's done for us. So, Maggie, while I count my blessings every day, I don't think luck or fortune had very much to do with it."