slow motionheart pounding
sweaty, shaky fingers dialing my father
A mistake realized is a heavy rock
that hurts when it hits the bottom.
(Fight of flight is not a decision)
Wanting to run, but "Wait! He's my brother!"
casts concentric circles
in the pond of my mind,
as the mistake sinks
I face Tyson.
I want to laugh because he looks so funny
when he's angry.
His shell punches me in the head.
(The shell of a man is no less strong than anger)
My throbbing head feels no pain.
I dive into Tyson's waist
I'm angry. I'm scared.
A storm is invented,
producing bowling-ball sized hail
crashing down on my back.
"If I play dead, the storm will stop."
"Where's Tyson? Why won't he shelter me from this storm?"
the storm rises from the ground
kicking me in the stomach.
I want to throw-up blood,
so it will stop. "Will I die?"
(The storm has stopped)
I want Tyson to pick me up.
I don't think he's coming back.
I can't tell if my eyes are open or not.
I want to drive home
I can't see.
I can't remember the drive.
(Ellen is crying)
I can't hear myself.
Ellen doctors my wounds,
while I wonder
what happened to my brother.