I stared at him confused. He looked down at my crotch, which because of my position was pushed towards him. Inexplicably, he got angrier."Why are you hard?" he asked in a tight voice. Startled while trying to deal with the confusion of sensation flooding my body, I could not reply."What are you doing, Manny?" my mother asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. Her voice was controlled; I recognized the tone, their argument not over, which is why she followed him into the bathroom.She looked around him and took in my confusion. Her face tightened with anger. She glanced down to my crotch. Her eyes held on my hard-on for a few seconds. She looked up to meet my eyes and smiled, somehow relaxing for the first time in as long as I could remember. It was a comforting and discomforting. Her action and reaction made me harder and increased my confusion. My stepfather had turned to her missing how her presence physically affected me. Her eyes were callous when she turned them on him."Get out!". We see our lives not as magical gifts to be treasured, taken, emptied of every last drop of sustenance. Oh no. We see our lives as something to be endured, gotten through, to get even with. The path of most people’s lives, leaves a trail of unopened doors, behind which lay the magic of life never released because of our fear. My life was easy in comparison to most… up until the summer I have described in the previous volume of my tale. Easy isn’t even the right word for it. Blessed is a better one. By the end of that summer I thought I knew true pain. The loss of Sasha. The loss of my child. The loss of my path. These losses brought me pain the likes of which I had never known existed, let alone felt. All that pain provided me with a new respect for fear. As with everyone, I had felt fear in the past. But this new fear, brought on by actual loss, actual pain… this was fear on steroids. I let it consume me for a time. I almost let it take me. My fear of death palled in comparison to.
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