Adults always complained about time.
Never enough time for this; not enough time for that.
My parents were at a dinner party; while I stayed at my friend’s house. I was summoned to the phone.
Barely eleven, I listened to my mother sobbing. Apparently, my drunkard father slapped her in front of all their friends. “Please check on the house.”
Two flights up, I unlocked the door with a spare key. Moonlight filled the dark apartment.
Terrified, I walked through the quiet living room until I reached the long hallway leading to the back of our home.
I froze.
The man I hated for all of my young life, the tyrant who abused us, lay on the floor with a gun resting inches from his hand.
Fear, relief, joy, and sadness flowed through me like light through a prism.
Fighting the urge to run away, I approached him. The rise and fall of his back confirmed he lived.
Time for my first adult decision even though I knew it meant a beating the next day.
Dropping to one knee, my trembling hand reached for the gun. The weapon appeared to weigh a ton.
I thought of tucking it in my pants like they do in the movies. Then a odd thought crept into my mind.
Whoever said dog is man’s best friend didn’t have a pee-pee.
Shoving the weapon in my jacket pocket I ran out and didn’t stop running until I reached the black railing overlooking the East River.
Removing the gun from my pocket I stared into the barrel.
Why would anyone want to end their life?
There by the river, in a city of eight million people, surrounded by a magnificent skyline, I never felt so alone.
Making my second adult decision, I tossed the gun into the river.
That little boy stood there another hour, admiring the crescent moon, the river, and the city he called home.
He wouldn’t help but wonder…..
If time was as precious as people say, why do adults waste so much of it on hate and violence.
The Lonely Author 