Page 1 of Impacted by Love

I,too, know why the caged bird sings…

Darkness surrounds me for the third time today, and I'm becoming accustomed to the confines of this small, dreary, and desolate space. The twill blanket does little to bring comfort or safety against the splintering wood it's currently covering. My back has evidence of scratches and blisters from my lengthy time here. Yet, the decision to vacate this hideout isn't up to me, so here I am again, pondering the time I'll be held captive in this dwelling. Of all the places for them to put me, why does it have to continue being this space that's no bigger than a bathtub? My eyes are drooping, and my legs are numb, yet I refuse to succumb to the pressure of fatigue from this location.

"You got it?" Mom's raspy voice sounds childlike, snapping me out of my thoughts and causing my ears to perk up, forcing me upright.

"Of course I do. I told you I had a plan," Dad happily replies.

Rapid movement on the other side of the barrier behind me causes me to lean forward until my right eye hovers over the pin-sized hole in the oval spacing. My left eye burns from the strain of trying to see what's happening on the other side. I'm unsure why I'm allowing my curiosity to place me in this uncomfortable position as if I don't know what's happening. At eight years old, I'm extremely aware of the activities that are about to take place with my parents. Nevertheless, my nosy butt has to confirm what I already know, so I lean closer until my forehead is flush against the weak frame.

Upon seeing the blurry scene, my left eye becomes misty because I long for the excitement on Mom's face to be given to me. Her body is moving happily, and her face is bright with an ashen glow. Dad is sitting beside her with a long glass thing resting between his crusty lips, sparking the lighter held against the end, not sitting between his lips. A second later, smoke billows, and Dad inhales before passing the contraption and lighter to Mom, who's waiting impatiently to get her hands on it. A lone tear falls from my left eye, and my right eye becomes blurry when Mom repeats the actions taken by Dad a second ago.

I should be numb to this moment, especially since this is the third occurrence in this period of twenty-four hours. Yet, it hurts to know that neither of my parents know of the rumbling within my stomach. Today is Saturday, so Ms. Murphy can't give me food all day to keep my stomach from sounding like a jungle. I just hope Monday comes fast so I can get out of here. School is my sanctuary amid this present darkness.

"Ooh, this is so much better than what we had earlier. I feel… mm, bae. Yesss, right there." Mom's low and sultry cooing while encouraging Dad to continue kissing her chest has my head jerking away from the hole.

Closing my eyes tightly, I clasp my hands over my ears and try to block out the noises coming from the other side of the closet. Tears fall heavily from behind my lids, causing me to rock back and forth when the noises increase. The sound of hyenas attempting to overpower the block from my hands and pain surges through my ear canal from the intense grip I'm applying to them. My lips begin chanting the mantra I've come up with when things like this happen, and I can't escape the pain of it all.

God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far away. God, please make me rich so I can buy a plane and fly far, far away.

* * *

Whaa, whaa, whaa!

Rolling over in my full-size bed, where my long legs hang, I rub the sleep from my eyes, throw off my sheet, and exit the bed. Walking less than ten steps, I lean down and pick up the baby, whose toffee skin is red from the anguish of being ignored.

"Shh, brudder's got you, girl. Why are you making all this noise? We just went to sleep. I'm tired," I lowly murmur, sleep heavily coating my deepening voice.

Puberty is hitting me with a vengeance, and the squeaky voice I had not long ago is quickly fleeing from me. Despite the development of my voice, this baby doesn't belong to me and shouldn't be my responsibility. However, the degenerates responsible for her existence are back to their shenanigans, leaving me to ensure that my little sister doesn't get lost in the sauce of their mess.

Whaa!

"So, I guess that's your way of telling me that sleep time is over. Got it. Come on, so I can get you a bottle with your cute self."

My baby sister, Annalise Harrison, is the result of one of many sober times in my parents' lives. By the grace of God, Mom has always given her body the pregnancy period to be fully free of drugs, to which I am thankful. During the time it takes her to carry a baby, my mom and dad could each win an award for best parents based on how caring and attentive they are with me. Annalise is the first baby God has allowed Mom to carry to term because this isn't her only pregnancy after having me. Even with Annalise being the healthy blessing God saw fit to give our family, neither Mom nor Dad let it stop them from returning to their first love… drugs. Annalise is four months old, and it took only three weeks of her existence for our parents to be sucking on the glass pipe faster than Annalise could drain her four-ounce bottle.

Creeaakkk.

The floorboards announce my entrance into the dusty hallway the minute I open my door to head to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle for Annalise. Holding Annalise tight against my chest, I ignore the angry butterflies swarming in my belly when I see my parents leaning against one another, dead to the world despite having two kids. Nobody asked me if I was okay with caring for an infant, yet here I am. Although I would have been cool with being an only child, I love and adore Annalise. Making sure she's good is a responsibility I don't take lightly or for granted.

Thanks to our neighbor, Ms. Winnie, I can go to school with ease, knowing that Annalise isn't being subjected to the torment I have been through. Ms. Winnie is old and doesn't mind watching Annalise during the day while I'm at school. Mom has poor Ms. Winnie under the impression that she and Dad have work-from-home jobs that don't allow them to be hands-on with Annalise during the day. Ms. Winnie is nosy and often tries to probe me for information when I arrive to pick Annalise up after school. However, I only share surface-level information with Ms. Winnie because I know neither Mom nor Dad would appreciate me telling her what goes on within the walls of our apartment.

Aannn.

"Dang, everything in this apartment is whining and crying about something," I grumble when I pull the fridge, and it protests against my opening it to retrieve one of the bottles I made for Annalise last night.

"Hush all that loud talking, Son. We're trying to sleep," Dad's stern voice demands from behind me, causing me to roll my eyes upward.

Mothafucka, I wanted to sleep too, but my black ass has to tend to your fucking child.

My mind echoes my thoughts, and I snatch the bottle from the top shelf and slam the door shut before practicing my juggling act. It is a struggle to balance Annalise with one arm while removing the bottle top and placing it in the microwave to warm the milk. Yet, my sorry parents are slumbering like I went out and made this child that lies in contentment against my shoulder.

This is bullshit. God, I'm still begging for the plane because Annalise and I need to get outta this dump.

* * *

"Your son has chlamydia, Mrs. Harrison. Any idea how this happened at his age?" the doctor asks, looking from Mom to me with hard lines around the area of his eyes.

"Mhm. These kids today don't understand that their actions have consequences. I told Asaiah that his little pecker wasn't ready for grown-up actions, but he let the fast tail girl down the hall talk him into giving up his virginity. She's fourteen and has been around the block or two a few times," Mom relays without hesitation or blinking, causing my neck to damn near snap off from how fast I jerked my head.

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