Chapter 3 - Just a Guitar
My mother Barbara walked in wearing house slippers and the expression she used whenever she wanted peace to mean my surrender.
“Marcus,” she said softly, “stop frightening him.”
Tyler had already tucked himself under Clare’s arm.
His tears were gone now.
He was watching.
Studying the adults.
Learning what consequences looked like when everyone else paid them for you.
My father Richard entered behind my mother, arms folded.
He looked at the guitar.
Then at me.
“It’s just a guitar, son.”
The room went still.
Then he added, “You can buy another one.”
I waited for someone to correct him.
Derek looked at the floor.
Clare rubbed Tyler’s shoulder.
My mother sighed like I had ruined brunch.
Not one person asked Tyler to apologize.
Not one person asked Derek why he had planted the idea in his son’s head.
Every bit of comfort went to the child who had destroyed something.
Every bit of pressure landed on the person who had lost it.
Clare lifted her chin.
“He made a mistake.”
“Derek made the mistake,” I said. “Tyler carried it out.”
“That is unfair.”
“No,” I said. “It is accurate.”
My father’s voice hardened.
“Family matters more than objects.”
I looked at the splintered guitar.
Then at Derek’s expensive watch.
At Clare’s designer sandals.
At my mother’s pearl earrings.
At the polished hardwood floor nobody was allowed to scuff.
Funny how “objects” only became meaningless when they belonged to me.
“So I’m supposed to let this go?” I asked.
Clare answered instantly.
“You’re supposed to forgive him. He’s only a child.”
I nodded once.
Slowly.
“You’re right.”
May you like
Everyone relaxed.
That was how little they knew me.
