The Bad Boy's.....What?

Chapter 9- The Gangster Boys

                “Khloe, where are you?” Kohl’s threatening voice creeps closer along with his figure. He immediately drops the bucket of worms as he takes in our father’s form standing before me.

                “Were you lying to me?” my dad pretends to glare at me before hauling me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Kohl’s laughter stops as my dad takes him in his other arm, his ever so strong arms holding us tightly as he rolls us all on the grass. I laugh as I look down at my dad’s now grass stained slacks. The man cares not about etiquette.      

                We all stop as a beautiful melody rings through the inside of the house and reaches our ears. My dad stands up with a knowing grin on his face. He motions for us to be quiet and follow him into the house and up the winding staircase. We creep quietly through the halls as we reach their long hallway. My dad leads us into the room at the end of the hall, the one we’ve never been into, finding it always locked.

                Kohl and I eagerly follow our dad’s figure as he quietly opens the door, allowing us to step inside and listen to the now louder melody. We step to the side of the room along with our father as we watch the beautiful brunette play vigorously, her fingers melding into the keys of the piano. Kohl and I watch enthralled as our mother livens the place up with such music. A smile takes over her face as she comes to the last key. We surprise her by awarding her with our applause.

                “Did you guys sneak up on me?” her blue eyes glint as she stands up from the piano bench. Her dress clings to her figure beautifully as she comes before us.

                “They snuck up in here and I tried to stop them,” our father lies.

                “That’s not true,” both Kohl and I exclaim simultaneously.

                “Have you been rolling in the grass with our kids again?” she places her nimble fingers on her hips as she looks up condescendingly at the tall man.

                “They threw me down,” he points at us before stepping closer and placing a loving kiss on her rosy lips. The love they have for each other showing through their caring gaze.

 

                I find myself standing in the doorway replaying the memory of our eight year old selves as we watched our mother, enthralled by her playing. Kohl sits at that same wooden bench, his fingers relentlessly moving over the beautiful piano. He’d insisted our mom teach him after he witnessed such magic, dedicated his time to learning and perfecting plenty of pieces. I watch just like I did all those years ago, stunned by the beauty of the sound, this tune not having been played in a long while.

                I barely even make it a habit to come towards this hallway, too many memories, too many painful memories reminding us of what we had and lost. Kohl’s never been one to show what he’s feeling so publicly, instead resorting to recklessness to deal with his emotions. He’s always been more of the fist talk kind of guy, so something in my heart snaps as I watch his moon illuminated cheek glisten with one lone tear making its way down his skin.

                I now come to the conclusion that I was never there for his grieving period, he’d been away at military school. How did he cope? Did he have somebody with him, to help him in his time of grief? I had Claire and Roger to fall back on, but who did he have?

                I snap my gaze towards him as the tune transitions into one of anger and sorrow, his fingers moving religiously over the keys. Why so much anger, is he still mad at our parents? So much pain, all melded into one beautiful piece. It all clicks as he abruptly stops, his chest heaving as he catches his breath. One sob, that’s all it took for me to figure out my brother, was mad at himself, why? I do not know, but the pain is plain to see in this moment in time.