The Journey To Orillion

Chapter 9: Ruin

(Dante's POV) 

Esmeralda, I thought, such an elegant name. After Elisha addressed her daughter, I turned around on the couch to see a teenager standing stiff on the stairs. The light blue nightgown she wore looked ominous when mixed with what state the girl was in. Her long dark hair concealed some of her face, but her eyes were piercing as she swept them across the room. They stopped on mine, and I found myself impotent to look away. I thought I saw a hint of something other than sadness, but her mother stepped between us before I could conclude what it was. 

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," I heard Elisha say, not bothering to try and hide the anguish she felt. Elisha took Esmeralda into her arms and hugged her tight to her body. Shortly afterwards, I heard one of them start crying, and I assumed it was Esmeralda. I turned back around to sit correctly to give them the little privacy I could. 

I shot a glance at her father, Terence, right? but he was looking with worry over to his beloved wife and daughter. Such a strong family. I closed my eyes, thinking about the old maid and what predicament she was in. I wish I could have been here sooner. Then they wouldn't be going through this pain. 

Although I was sitting on the couch,  my body drifted off into a new world, a memory a long time ago concluded, but never forgotten. 

My father was sitting on a dusty, long-stained rocking chair he called his own. He only moved his eyes to read the words , only moved his hands when he needed to turn the dog-eared pages of his favorite book. I sat across from him in the small cottage, sitting on the rug in front of the fire. I felt the hot flames on my pale, young skin, and enjoyed every moment I had being warm. 

It was the middle of winter: the night of December 8th, 2003, on the old Iowa plains. I was 6 at the time, and I was too inexperienced in life that I didn't understand everything I should be grateful for. 

"Honey, are you reading that book again?" my mother asks from the kitchen. I hear her calm, beautiful voice behind me, as well as the sound of a sharp knife hitting a wooden cutting board, slicing up vegetables and making spices for supper. And I also hear a much more unpleasant sound: my father grunting of disapproval. My mother continued, "I told you to clean up the driveway so you could get to work tomorrow on time." 

"That thing?" my father huffed, "That's a pile of scrap metal! I think walking would get me to work faster than that mother--" I covered my ears to hide that awful word my father used. 

"Richard, we just have to thank God for everything we have. He wants us to live this way to grow stronger and rich with knowledge, so our child can learn how to avoid these problems in the future."  

"You're thanking him? Do you enjoy livin' out here like this, Madelyne, where we ain't got much money and a whole lot of heating bills?" my father shook his head angrily. "I don't care if He's trying to teach a lesson or not, but why does He have to use us as his example?" 

"There are people out there who have it worse than us--"

"There are people out there who have it better than us! Who could help us with this struggle, but nah, they sit on their--" 

I told myself everything was going to be okay.

"--and completely ignore the people below them!"

"Enough. I don't want to argue," my mom was now standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen, staring at my father. I understand now that she wanted to shield me from hateful things like this, but her efforts would be for nothing. 

Her stern gaze silenced my dad. He looked angrily back at her for a few moments before returning to his book. 

"Dante, it's time for bed," my mother called. I turned my eyes towards her at the mention of my name, little did I know it would be the last time that name ever slipped her lips. I stood up hesitantly, not wanting to move from my peaceful place in front of the fire. My shirt was warm from the constant heat and the back of my arms felt toasty. I walked drowsily over to my mother, and I gave her a loose, but needed, hug. She tried to lift me up, but I squirmed and moved away from her grasp. I looked over at my dad, still indulged in his book. 

I walked over to him. He did not flinch as I approached; it's like he didn't see me. I pushed his book down without a second thought, and, after he jumped from my reality, I retrieved a very deadly stare. 

I wrapped my arms around him, ignoring the dust that clung to my skin. "I love you, Dad."

And that's when everything disintegrated.