I saw a boy seceding into his thin, brick red blanket.  Then I peered into the confused eyes of the small child. The deep and simple, but complex sapphire eyes pelted knives at me. He had a state of mind that is distributing his signals of, “What has just happened to me?”. To insure the child was safe, and not in grave danger; I skimmed the room to only find a horrid sight. There was an unconscious woman in a USMC sweatshirt spewed across  the hard tile floor. The young child scampered to the woman like he was afraid of a ghost . He screamed, “Mother are you alive? I just saw Daddy push you down. I didn’t mean to hurt you. MAMMA! MAMMA! Are you dead!” Then, a burly masculine man slipped into his khakis  and rushed out of the door into his 99’ Infiniti  G20, seeming frustrated and embarrassed. The boy was wailing and shaking his mother yelping, with a few occasional hiccups, “Are you alive? MAMMA! What is happening? Where is Daddy?” Still unconscious, the mother appeared shocked. What sort of problem commenced to create this ghastly situation?

    I then recognized this situation. It was my uncontrollable past. My despicable father, my heart-broken self, and the red blanket. The red blanket that shielded me from my problems. The blanket that I slouched under to bury my bare body into for satisfaction, and for safety. The red- “Excuse me young boy, are you a mute?” She had just asked me where my father was.She had expected me respond in  such a unachievable time. Such prejudice against a young boy! I had just answered two of your questions! Can this society possibly become more subjective!

“No ma’am, I was simply daydreaming.”

    “Good, I would never be able to sit next to those stupid mutes’!”

“Mutes are not stupid; just simply less fortunate than you and me.’

“ They are almost bad as those Indians’.” I could just not simply comprehend this unpredictable lady.

I simply chose to ignore her racist and  sneer side comments when,“This is flight 237940 going straight to West Cambridge, England.” Going to London was big for me. I had been to Toronto, Mexico City, and many more, but never had I gone to London alone.  It was quite traumatizing to walk down the cramped  aisles  with the gossip of the valley girls of the plane. The horrifying question of, “ Are you alone?”.The glory and gore of flying alone. The amount of self-restrain had taken years to master. The discipline of restriction; from the simplistic and often self satisfying slap, to a blue steel look of death.

I slouched my spine  into the uncomfortable navy blue “plush” chairs. I felt something in my seat and reach my hand down to the seams and found an adoption pamphlet. The thought rung my mind,  “Why am I going to see my godparents in London?” With the thought in my mind I began to think of my DNA. Why was I placed with such a revolting and  disturbed father? Why me, of all people?Why not all of the arrogant, cocky, dirty rich, brats have my father perchance?

I drifted into a very unsettled sleep. I dreamt about my father and I, standing in the room and he ordered me to my private prison of doom. I trudged to my isolation cabinet, when I assertively tested one word,”NO!”. He turned around shocked; like I had shot him with a bow, and the arrow was poisoned with reality. Each time I ululated “NO”,he seemed to grasp the thin,intangible air and dissolved into that thin air. He then confessed something no parent should confess. “You are adopted. You, you are a terrible son.  No one likes you, and no one ever will,” I knew I wasn’t adopted, but why had my father shot such an inhumane insult? Why had my very own blood and bones, become such a monster over the years? Why hadn’t I noticed? Why hadn’t I ever stood up for my own rights as a human being in this modern world?

One word, parent. My father had been taught to treat your neighbor as yourself, since he was a young boy. Being raised as a  Baptist , he had believed that faith could  sustain you in your time of peril.So, he treated everyone like he was their superior. In theory, when people started to treat him insignificantly, he just has to pray and he is magically saved from his sins.

Such an undistinguished person Michael Kennett The battle between my “father”, and myself was like,a sand trying to hit a wall made out of diamond. I had protected not only myself from his wrath, but also my more vulnerable mother.

As I awoke, the plane had suddenly become a line to a roller coaster ride. The air was stuffy, and toxic with the constant gossip about their personal problems. I had three inches to move before I was cut off with freedom. The air  became more toxic as each inhale and exhale harmonizes with the lonely, depressing world.The space I had, had transformed into an eating ground for space.Like a fox in hunting season. I quickly receded to the bathroom where I  ingested clean, and non-toxic air. As I gradually commenced from my chair I was stopped with, “We will now be leaving this plane. Please take all of your items and leave in an orderly fashion.”

I squeezed myself in between two obese people and try to not to think of the terrible stench that they are emitting. When that doesn’t work I tried to hold my breath for as long as possible. After what seems like an hour, I finally sprinted to the door and breathed the sweet air of West Cambridge. I strolled out of the hallway which connects the plane to the airport and frolick my way to the  gate when I remembered one thing; an adult has to sign my UM packet. I waited at the booth until finally, the chauffeur: Mr. Robinson came to save my soul. He finished the paperwork and Cheeves told me, “ Henry, I must go to pick up Christina. Here’s some money they told me to give you. There is £125 and so get yourself a taxi and some food.Got it?”

    “Yes Mr. Robinson.” I doddle to the french doors where I will finally see London. I remember watching Breakfast At Tiffany’s how Holly Golightly whistles at the taxi’s. I try and try, yet all of the taxis’ move on without even noticing me. Suddenly, out of nowhere a taxi halts in front of me and asks, “ Do you need a ride, young sir? I replied yes, but I then saw the face of my father.

    “ Sorry sir, I can’t this taxi sir.”

“ Why not?” Why not? Maybe the fact that you look exactly  like my devil forsaken father! Is that enough reason? Huh? Do my personal reasons  inflict your train of thought at all?I then lied and replied with, “ I just got a text saying my parents would pick me up.”

“Okay . I hope you have a nice day.” Once he had driven away, a new Lincoln ad appeared and was right where I needed it. I got in and sat relaxed on top of the lush, leather seats.He turns around to ask my name when I recognize his face. The pathetic face of my father. I was too lazy to decline once more, so I simply lay back in the seat and breathe in and out.

As Toni is driving I skimmed the crowds in the city and all of the people that rotate their heads towards my direction and all of them turn out to be my father. Each time the face miraculously appears I shiver with fear . Fear about physical violence.

I am stripped naked to the bone and shoved onto the bed. My father had had a terrible day at work. I was his free punching bag.I was forced to lay perpendicular to the floor  on my twin-sized bed with ultimate displeasure, when he got out the belt of death. The belt that had injured not only my physical self, but also my social and emotional self. No longer could I speak up for myself with the fear of entitled negative consequences. Each time the tip of the terrifying leather whip slashes me, I scream with pain and emotion . No longer could I be considered a normal average child. No longer could I say that a person was wrong. Each slash indented my skin further and further into physical, mental , and social agony. No longer could I be popular! After his rage has ended I am locked inside my own silence. Each uneven breath puts me further from popularity, and love. Love,  the intangible virus that tears families apart, that poisons the brain. At the end of the day, I am still sore with the lashings which I had received.

    After approximately 54 kilometers I finally spy with my golden eyes a nice little shop that looks as if  it’s not a long walk from the flat. I pay Toni and stroll over to the quaint, colorful shop. The shop was called La Fromagerie and it aroma was simply delectable.It had a cute little old red wooden sign, also saying La Fromagerie.

After waiting twenty minutes to order; the beginning of the line was finally mine. I ordered The Pope’s Lunch  which was a prosciutto, spinach, mozzarella, some yummy sauce, a baguette, tomato, and arugula. It turns out its 8 pounds! I can’t find my money nor my sanity. I am searching my bag for my money when, somebody asks, “Is this yours monsieur?” He was dressed in a light hazel brown inspectors jacket which as far as I was sure, was from Burberry. I knew it wasn’t father this time because my father is a cheap person.

I shake that off and respond, “ Yes, sir. Thank you most definitely.”I shuffle back to the front of the line, and pay for this complete delicacy.I begin to “chow down” as some people say it when I realize, I’m not on my own time. I shovel the food down my throat and sprint to the door when my stomach lurches with the feeling of anxiety  and .

  I turned on google maps and found out I was 6 kilometers from the flat. Apparently the street was an immense, and monstrous.I start to stomp and remember, Mr. Richardson can drive me from here. Again, by fate he doesn’t answer. I try multiple times and same answer: voicemail. Each time the aggravating sound of, “Jackery Robinson is not available at the moment. Please leave a message.” Why must I be the one to suffer from my own stupidity? I had been thinking too much to have been moving quickly.

Without the love of my godparents and my mother this wouldn’t have been happening. Without the flexibility of my godparents I would be at my father’s house suffering.What would be happening to me right now if I hadn’t had found the key to sanity, and opened the door to life?Would I  still be able to live freely?

No.

I had a wonderful time in London. We partied saw all the sights. Took tour busses, did the whole thing, and I didn’t think once about my father the rest of the trip. And if it wasn’t for the escapade.. Without this adventure and state of insanity my trip would have been a normal trip. As Gandhi once said “You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty. or  “Happiness is when what you think, what you say, and what you do are in harmony.”