Taking a break from musing on the state of things as it's a nice rainy day here and thought I would retell a story I wrote in high school as a social commentary, titled as above:
I have lived in this area for a long time. I raised a family on this street, all of whom have since left in one way or another. I am a tired old women now with grandchildren propped on my knee but my eyes have seen such terrible things that I hope you will never know.
The vacant lot next door stands as a testament to a grim episode in the history of this street. In the 80's, a brand new two - bedroom house stood there, waiting for a family to occupy it. It was also around that time that the first of my five children was preparing to leave for the big wide world. We were so caught up in the excitement that we failed to notice the family that moved next door one sunny day.
I first met Eric, the son, one morning while pruning my hibiscus. He appeared as a pair of curious eyes looking at me inquisitively from behind a nearby rose bush ( in those days, there was no fence). "Hello!" I called out cheerfully in his direction. A small head slowly rose out of the bush. "Morning!" He replied and broke into a grin. Our friendship was instantly sealed.
I watched Eric grow into an intelligent young man, and came to rely on him for company..He was the grandson I hoped to have some day. Every new day brought with it new questions for me to answer and new discoveries to show me. I baby-sat him when his mother worked late shifts as a nurse.
Eric's father was a rising star in the public service who strove for excellence and expected Eric to do so too. When Eric started school, any slip in his grades would earn him a scolding from his mother and, ultimately, a beating from his father. But Eric's intelligence was not the kind that could be written down on a piece of paper. I noticed that he had a gift of being able to make anything grow, even my flowers flourished under his attention. This, however, did not satisfy his parents and Eric became terrified of failure.
At age fourteen, he evolved from a fun loving person to a moody individual, given in to occasional spurts of anger. He spent long hours muttering to my roses and studying late. Still he recieved beatings for his falling grades. I pleaded with his parents but it fell on deaf ears.."What do you know, lapun meri?" was their reply.. Eric suffered on in silence..
It was around this time that the drinking and the drugs started. He stopped visiting my house and began walking the streets with a group of boys every time he fought with his parents. One night, as i poured a glass of water, i heard a screeching noise and voices screaming "Eric!!!!" The glass shattered to pieces on the floor as i ran for the door. A crowd was gathering in the street, a melee of voices crying, screaming, so much confusion. In the midst was Eric's distraught mother, clinging to what was left of him.
No one knows what really happened that night although many say he deliberately stepped in front of the car, fueled by alcohol and marijuana. Others, including his parents maintained that it was just a bad accident. Deep down i knew he had given up on life a long time ago.
Now I sit down with my own grandson and stare at the vacant block, and i hug him close thinking about a wonderful life wasted.. They should have known better.
