All that was left, all that was tangible stood before him. As he looked to the future…a future his past no longer controlled...he saw divine, blissful justice. He saw the truth.
All’s Well that Ends Well
A sliver of light poured in on the boy’s dark room as he knelt, almost motionless, next to his door. He was a small boy, only about seven years old, with well combed straight black hair. His light brown eyes were twinkling from the buildup of tears he relentlessly fought against. He held his beagle, Rex, as tight as he could, the warmth of the dog’s fur providing him little comfort. The posters of his favorite baseball players, his idols, taped to his dull, white walls brought him no solace. Going under the covers wouldn’t help him escape either, a lesson he learned from previous experiments. He knelt there alone, fear coursing through his veins, tears running down his face, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Time and time again he listened to the fighting, the screaming as his parents clashed with each other. The violence had become a normal activity, although it was one he still couldn’t bear. Tonight was different…it was louder, more fierce than usual. The voices of his parents shot through him like knives, making him twinge in pain. Rex squirmed in his arms, trying to break free of his firm grasp, but the boy wouldn’t let go. He placed his head down against the dog, still fighting back tears and praying it would just end already. His pressing tears sparked a rage deep inside, a rage he could feel surging through his body.
“We’re leaving!” his mother screamed, the voice getting louder as she stormed towards his room. He jumped from the floor; Rex finally released from his grasp, and dove into his bed as his door was swung open. Time froze instantly. The next minute, the next sixty seconds, would play clearly in the boy’s mind forever. A scar that would lie embedded deep in his heart, to reopen frequently, to hide always, and to speak about with no one. A therapist’s nightmare.
He saw his mother standing there looking destroyed, her beautiful face covered in fear, her eyes watery and red. His mother was in her thirties. She had long, dark brown hair and light hazel eyes. He loved his mother because she mirrored strength, certainty, and fairness; however, she appeared to show none of that tonight. She trembled as she touched his hand. Her voice quivered and reeked of terror. Outside the door he could see him.
His name was John Alosi, a New York City police detective who stood about 5’8’’ with tanned skin and short, cropped dark hair. John was the big man that should be called “father”. The man small boys should respect and hope to resemble when they have children of their own. Ethan saw him sitting there on his couch, head shaking left to right in his hands. The man who coached his little league team, who taught him how to ride a two wheeler, who was supposed to show him how to tie a tie and fix a flat…had just given up.
As the boy crossed the living room, his father raised his head and their eyes met. He looked almost aggravated, as though he was annoyed. The boy was so confused. Why were they leaving? Where were they going? What’s wrong with dad? As they crossed the living room where he sat, no one had the slightest idea of what was really happening. A small, innocent boy was being destroyed inside. His heart ripped slowly in half, a very faint spark of fury developing with every second. His father was staring at a ticking time bomb, a force not to be reckoned with…a child whose face was shielded in tears yet scourged with animosity. The two would never forget this second. As Ethan stared at his father, he could feel his tears falling, feel this strange emotion he had never felt before…anger.