Built up anger

The house gloomily glared in my direction. The walls glared at me as I passed by, burning holes into me. Now, don't get me wrong, I like this house. After all, this is the house I grew up with. Yet, after only a year of being gone, it seemed so...compact.

I've never lived in a big neighborhood. Nothing fancy in the slightest. It was a small city, population: 150. Chances were, if I didn't personally know you, I knew about you. We never grew up with too much cash, never needed to. It was out small family of four, my mother, my father, my brother, and me.

To me, this house had been a fairy tale, unicorns ran on rainbows and such. I vividly remember playing in the mud with Jake, my brother. He was the best, really. I loved his stupid ideas. He used to do this funny thing whenever I got sad when mom didn’t let me eat ice cream. He would get my attention from outside and climb up a tree, pretending to be a cat. He was my best friend for the longest.

That was until he left home. After high school, he got stuck up on the idea of war. The thought that maybe he was the one who could end the pointless bloodshed. Who knows, maybe he could have. Jake had a funny way with words, and it always made me laugh. He was the kinda kid who could make you smile while tears ran down your cheeks. He left shortly after he graduate, promising he’d change everything. His idea, as he told me, was to “make them know we don’t wanna die anymore, doi”. A bullet put an end to his idea, and everything else for that matter.

We got the news on a stormy night. The weather had kept us all in, so when my mother started weeping and screaming at my father, it wasn’t impossible to hear. I hadn’t been very old at the time, maybe only 12. However, I remember that house had been my safe space. I grew up with Jake there. I went to school in the town. I knew everything I knew because of that house.

I couldn’t stop anything. The screaming between my parents continued. It went from once a month to biweekly to once every day. With the more frequent fights, my father began drinking. He tried to be slick with it at first, arguing how we should install a ‘creamer’. I wasn’t the brightest but I knew that wasn’t a creamer. So, time went on. He began buying more. First it was a few, but by the end of the night, three cases were gone. If my mom was lucky, she would get stuck at work late. I stayed in my room once she left. Yet, my dad made it a point to come to me every night and yell at me about how if I had been a better sister, he wouldn’t have thought about leaving. But he didn’t know Jake like I did. Jake was stubborn. Jake was dumb. Jake was an asshole sometimes. But Jake had a pure heart. Jake was the type of person to help a stray. The type of person to help anyone. That’s why he left. Not because of me, because he wanted to help. But my father would have none of it. He was stuck with the idea that it was me. The torment became routine, and I was able to tune it out. So, I became a recluse, a hermit. Not talking to anyone and disappearing into the walls of the house. My father never did stop coming into my room. On the nights that I was asleep, he would slip a note with every word in the book. Some dad.

After I graduated high school, I left. I didn’t want to see this house again. I didn’t want to be reminded of the constant screaming. I didn’t want to remember the arguments and tantrums. I didn’t want to hear my dad yelling at me anymore. I left with a new purpose. I wanted to start fresh, so I went to Ireland. I gathered my things and left. I didn’t look back. I bought a house, met my wife, adopted my dog. I lived a good life. But, as with any other good thing, it all came crashing down.

So here I am today. Standing in front of the crowd. For Christ sake, half of these people didn’t even know who she was. I take my stand on the podium and clear my throat as I begin. “My grandmother, she was as good a person as there was…”

When I finished my statement and the funeral was over, I strode back to my car. God, I hate it here. I was surrounded by people who thought they knew me. I shook my head, breaking thought as my mother strode over to me.

“Thank you Niall.. for coming..” she spoke in almost a whisper. She looks awful. Her bloodshot eyes and puffy nose almost makes it look like she is sick. She has been crying for what seems like a few days.

“Of course mom, you know I loved Nan, even if I didn’t really see her.”

Mom opens her mouth to say something, but my father clasped a hand on her shoulder, forcing her mouth shut at my father spoke. “Not as much as Jake.”

This is why I didn’t want to come. “Well, I should get going.” My father never had anything good to say. He lived his life sourly and forces other to fall with him. My mother may be fooled by him but I will most definitely not.

“Jake loved your Nan. He was one to show it, unlike some of us.” My father spoke with a sour tongue.

I had enough of this conversation. I turned around and headed for my car. I was a few feet away when those utterly repulsive words reached my eardrum “It’s your fault he’s not here.”

“How many years has it been? Ten? Fifteen? I lost count after the first day I left. Kane, it is not my fault Jake is dead.” I was facing his direction now.

“You don’t know anything about Jake god dammit! You never knew and you never will. You wouldn’t know his aspirations, you wouldn’t know his hopes. You wouldn’t know that he had a ladybug under his bed that he held when he was scared. You wouldn’t know anything. Do you want to know why? Because you were never there. You are not a dad. You are not a guardian. You are nothing. You never cared about Jake. That is why you would much rather tell yourself that it was my fault instead of accepting the you’re the reason he died. He wanted to help people because you never helped him.” I was in his face now.

“You were nothing to him. You constantly put him down and blamed him for everything. So, when he left, you blamed me. You blamed me for your drinking. You blamed me for your addiction. You blamed me. I was 12. Maybe when you finally have no one, you will step back and realize what a piece of shit human being you have been.” I hissed out as his face turned red.

That had been it. All those years of built-up hate and frustration. I turned around and walked towards my car. I didn’t hear a word. Despite the crowd of clamoring people, it had been silent. All noise faded around me. As I got behind the driver’s wheel, I took one last look at him. That pathetic piece of man. He stared back. He looked empty, like a husk. The shell of something that had once been. What had happened to him after Jake died?