24 Hour

4

"This house is really big but vintage."

"I like old Amehr, old is full of history, old is the teacher, sometimes I talk to my house, come here look at this."

He takes my hand and leads me to a wall next to the fireplace.

"Feel the wall," He orders.

I try not to laugh at how unusual that order is, but I raise my palm and lay it softly on the wall.

"Now rub your hand across the wall."

I do it slowly feeling for anything, but I feel nothing.

"I don't feel anything."

I turn to look at him and he begins to laugh.

"There was nothing there?" I say letting my hand drop from the wall.

"No, I just felt smart with the things about history."

I chuckle a with him, and as he lightens up he stares into my eyes, and his face becomes bleak, just for a millisecond and he shows a sheepish grin.

"What is it?"

"Nothing you are just a beautiful moment and I am trying to control myself and give you a little bit of time before I touch you."

I flinch from the word touch, when he touched me earlier by taking my hand, it was nothing because I felt nothing behind it just a polite gesture, but now that I know there is love, energy behind this simple gesture, goosebumps raise on my skin, not a homeostasis reaction to a stimulus in the temperature, but from uncomforted situation.

I put my hands together and take a conscious step back.

He notices and frowns.

"Well let's talk," he guides me to his living area, where we take a seat on his couch.

"Come on, Amehr baby tell me what's wrong with you, I love you I won't hurt you."

I love you

I love you?

"I love you amehr, don't let anybody think that I don't because I do, I always will," My mother says with fake tears streaming down her face, I fight the urge to empathize for her because I know she is lying, she always lies she wants me to soften so she can get into my heart, get under my skin so she can just rip me apart again and again.

"That she is still doing to this day."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I asked you what was wrong with you."

"Can I tell you a story?"

"Yes I want to know you, I want all of... Yes, you can tell me."

"It's pretty long, are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure."

"Okay," I say timidly trying to sound an unemotional and robotic as I can manage, but this tactic I am using to tell my story or to say what I feel I need to say, only makes me feel less ambiguous...

"How can you forgive your father, but not me when I put clothes on your back, have food for your mouth and still get you things that you need when I don't have money or I don't feel like it, I power through for you, and you can't forgive me but you will run to your father, who leaves you, who doesn't feed your who don't even want you. You run from me to him why?"

Isn't that what mothers do?

I sit in the backseat of the car, while she still yells and is loud and I feel sick, I am tired of feeling like the criminal when I have done nothing wrong, misunderstanding has me feeling like a criminal again.