Parting Clouds

Chapter 2.

"Sometimes there are things in life that you don't question. You just don't. Instead you close your eyes and just go with the flow."

These were the words that were drilled into my brain since I was a kid.

The words repeated over and over again to me so I could understand the meaning, the purpose, the warning behind them.

Every time I used to question the norm, used to prick the thin sheet of facade with a needle or my fingernail, my mom would give my hand a little smack, glaring and warning me with her eyes and words to not touch it.

When I would look up into her sunset colored eyes from my stormy ones. The crack in the wall of frustration would leak out the fear hidden behind it, and I would catch a glimpse of it. Just like the fence in the backyard that would show me the teaser of the lifestyle of our neighbor.

My questions usually contained of me asking about the certain behavior of the kids of our neighborhood and the ones I were in school with.

I have been living with these kids my whole life, I know how they rolled, I know what kind of jokes they threw out like a spell for others entertainment, and for someone's humiliation. How they acted around each other, how the girls would cover their snorts behind the giggles, how they would say words like cute, and funny to the boys they found cool.

I didn't like it. Didn't like it one bit, and I used to ask my mom why do they do that?

She would just reply in her exhausted voice that it is their choice whatever they do. Who am I or you to question it? Or to point a finger at them?

That seem like a good enough reason for my undeveloped mind, and I would leave the conversation hanging, letting the aura of those words surround me, so they could leave an effect on me. Any kind of effect.

But even if my mind would accept it, my heart still felt void of any sense of satisfaction.

Then the raging war would start, there would be shouting, whispering lies, whispering truths, manipulation, treachery, backstabbing, but in the end it all would come down to one thing: Ignorance.

I would ignore both my mind and heart, and would try to go to sleep after the mental exhaustion would finally catch up to me.

Knowing that in the morning all will be forgotten, like the events been cleaned off the slate with a wet tissue, leaving the dusty scent of chalk behind, but wiped away nonetheless.

As I grew older and older, I started to question more and more. The questions would come easily to me as if they were just waiting to be acknowledged and vocalized.

I knew that I wouldn't get the answers I desired but I knew that if remained residing in my thoughts they wouldn't become a reality. To turn my questioning thoughts into reality, I have to give them a voice.

Because these questions were so natural, they border the dimension of factuality for me.

And when my questions were answered with questions. I would have to curl my toes and tighten my fists so as not to drive my knuckles in their jaws.

I knew I didn't have an authentic believe, I grew up as an atheist, and when I threw out questions like "Why do you dress a certain way?" or "What is the real meaning of swag?" or "What is up with you looking like a piece of flesh that a two-year-old decided to try her artistic abilities upon?"

Some would laugh. Some would just give my shoulder a punch. Some would look at me as if I offended them. Some would look like I just got beheaded and if not then they would be more than ready to do so. Some would just downright ignore my existence.