One and the Same
6
Charlotte was the first kid my own age I played with. She spent a long time convincing me to play with her, and I could never understand how she could be so happy when our moms were far away. We were so different, which might be why I was drawn to her in the first place. She was one that pulled me out of my shell and the one that comforted me when Mom died. I suppose the progression of our relationship was natural, but our differences caught up to us eventually. She said she wanted to make a difference and joined a group of like-minded people. To me, it looked like they wanted to make an impact rather than trying to change anything. She couldn't, and still can't, understand how I can hate what they're doing. When you're taught that the greatest achievement you can get is on the battlefield and being killed while fighting is the most honorable way to die, then violence is the only thing they can think of when they try to create change.
She tried to convert me to her cause and I tried to show her the problems with her way of thinking. She refused to see reason and could never forgive me for not being as passionate as her. We argued more and more until that was all we did. Our relationship crumbled until it was no longer repairable. She seemed hellbent on replacing Tutala as the goddess of chaos and war.
I couldn't take it anymore. I moved out of our apartment and tried to move on, but she refused to let go. Even though we argue every time we meet, she continues to try and get me to join her in the violent, chaotic discord she creates.
Albert sighs when they arrive at the familiar old, worn-out house. They go around back and climb the steps to a swing on the porch. Margie lays at his feet while Rosey jumps up next to him. His fingers trace the initials he carved into the arm of the swing when he was young.
AW SLW AW
AW SLW AW
AW SLW AW
He closes his eyes and thinks about the work he has to finish for his degree, the papers on the bed upstairs that could point to who really killed his mother, and his dad sleeping in a building full of men just like him. His fingers still and he opens his eyes. He reaches into his bag and pulls out the shoe box. He carefully touches the top as he recalls opening it as a child, excited to see his mom's sharp brisk handwriting. Now, other things lay on top of the letters meant to comfort his dad when he looks through the box.
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