Humanity: A Collection of Short Stories by Lanze Thompson

Author:Lanze Thompson [Thompson, Lanze]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, United States, African American, Urban, Parenting & Relationships, Family Relationships, Conflict Resolution, Parenting, Two Hours or More (65-100 Pages), Genre Fiction, Dysfunctional Relationships
Amazon: B015X30896
Published: 2015-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

The radio went silent. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run, I wanted to cry. Instead, I sat there reflecting on Mom's words. I would never do anything to disappoint her, even in her after life. Once again, I ingested Mom's guidance and summoned the strength to go back into the cabin to face Pop and the uncertain road ahead.

When Pop woke, I was already up. He made his way around the cabin doing odd jobs like rearranging the firewood. I tried to avoid looking at him whenever he looked in my direction, but I stared at him when he wasn't looking. His body was hunched over and it was a major chore for him to get from one side of the cabin to the other. The lines on his face folded into his skin and went all over so that I couldn’t tell where they started or ended. I watched his old hand shake as he clutched the wood. Something inside of me wouldn’t let me help him. Pop went outside with a small bucket of water. He began to dump it on the garden.

“You bastard,” I cried through the window, “it's already dead, don't you realize?”

Pop stopped and looked at me, and then kept watering. I ran outside and grabbed the bucket from Pop and threw it on the ground.

“God dammit Pop, it’s too late, everything is dead, there’s nothing that this water can do now, there’s nothing that I can do, do you understand that?”

Pop looked as though he was going to cry, instead he just sat down on the wet soil. I stood over him, looking down at him.

“It's too late, isn't it?”

I didn't answer. I turned to walk inside.

“I need you.”

My head felt as though it was being pulled in different directions. For thirty-two years I wanted to hear those words from Pop and now that he finally said it, I couldn't bear to hear it.

“Help me, please.”

I turned around outraged, “you’ve got a lot of nerve asking for my help. Why should I? Why the hell did you always ruin everything? Why?”

Pop looked into my eyes and then stared down at his feet.

“I was in pain and angry, didn’t really know how to deal with it except through lashing out, verbally and physically.”

“In pain?” I asked in disbelief. “My childhood hell was all because of your pain? In pain and angry over what?”

“Because I'm not your real father,” he said.

My knees buckled underneath me and I grasped for something to hold onto, but there was nothing. After a moment of instability, I finally steadied myself.

“What?” I asked in total disbelief.

“I'm not your father.”

A thousand explosions went off inside my chest as fifty questions ran through my mind.

“What do you mean you're not my father? You’re Pop, you've been around all my life.”

Pop looked down and his hands gripped the soil.

“Your mother was pregnant before I married her. I found out after I had proposed to her and this just tore me inside out. I resented her for not telling me up front but I was already deeply in love with her.

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