Stationary

As I sat on that bench, waiting for my 3:47 train to arrive in all its grandeur, I reflected on what had brought me here. The sun was scorching and I was stuck wearing a torn up long sleeve checkered shirt with wrinkly khaki pants with a couple of small holes on multiple sides, an unfortunate result of a lack of funds and an inability to plan ahead. My eyes were groggy, my mouth was stuck in a frown, and my hair was a mess.

I should never have been in this city for this long.

It didn't seem like I was the only one uncomfortable though, as to my side or front there were folks with saggy eyes and composures that reeked of exhaustion. There was a kid running back and forth near the rails, obviously unconcerned with the chance he'd make one wrong step and fall, though his playfulness struck me as more of an attempt to wade off the apathetic and tired air of the adults around him more than anything else.

Actually, he's pretty darn close to the edge... is he alone? Is nobody going to calm him down so he doesn't end up falling in? Should I... and as if on cue an older gentleman steps up and puts his hand on the kids shoulder and saves me the trouble of thinking about it. He's not too rough with the kid, a little tense, and it looks like he's setting him straight. The kid doesn't seem to get a lick of what's coming out of the guys face, he almost looks like a dog. What a nice dad though, if that's what he is anyway. Better than mine at least. All my old mans ever good for is to be an excuse for when its time for me to make an exit.

Jim said it was cancer this time. Or was it still cancer? Doesn't matter, I just needed a reason to leave and using my fathers failing health as an excuse tends to end any questions about my departure. I'm not even sure if I'll bother to visit while I'm in Santa Ana. I doubt he's been asking for me anyways, since Jim  was the only son that existed to him. I could have fallen onto the tracks like that kid and be run over and my old man would be too busy talking with Jim to notice. I can see it now "Sir, we regret to inform you that your son has passed away..." says the imaginary response unit to the scene, "Yes, yes alright then, now Jim I really think you should look closer at these schools..." continues my father. I don't know if college was what they were always talking about, but it probably was at some point. The president says school is important after all.

I don't know why I act so bitter about it. Old man Ryder never gave a darn about me, so I never got the abuse. I never really got much of anything really, I was just the thing people acknowledged but showed no regard for, which I guess made me a moving piece of furniture. So I sat where I was, just as I am now,waiting for something to happen to me that never did. I went to school, got decent grades, made conversation with a few of my fellow boys and girls, and that was the most my life ever moved. When ever I came back to that cobble of an apartment on McFadden, things just stopped and I was left on some kind of hold that never progressed. That's at least one of the reasons I left.

"Why are you leaving? You're barely into high school and I'm off to college in a few weeks... whose going to take care of dad?" Asked Jim, as if he had no idea, but I think he did understand, he just couldn't accept it. We were in the apartment, and I had just finished packing the bare essentials I'd need, money I'd saved up, and whatever food I could fit in my bag. I was almost to the door when he confronted me, and when he asked I let out the truth. "There's nothing for me here. This has never been a home and it never will be. I'm nobody here." That was likely the most passionate I had ever been about something. "No... no, you know dad can't survive on his own, we're all he has left. His friends stopped coming to see him, he's... he's not well. He needs..." the sound of a gargled and monstrous cough interrupted Jim, and I knew then that old man Ryder had lit another bud.

"I don't owe him anything. I don't owe you anything. If I'm ever going to really live, I need to get out of here and be on my own for a while. If you need to reach me, you can call my cell number, it'll probably be the same for a while." I spoke with a righteous fury that scared even me. I guess I had really had enough. "I can't leave him like this. He'll whither away if there isn't anyone to still watch over him, and what are you going to do with your life without even a high school diploma? No, you have to stay here okay?" I could smell the ash coming from the room to my left, our fathers little "lounge," and that had drowned out my brothers pleading. I turned my head from my brother, to the "lounge" and then towards the old mahogany door that's faded wood spoke for this entire family in my mind.

I walked towards the door when I felt a strain on my shoulder, which was really my brothers hand grabbing me and then promptly shoving me to the side. He put his hands on both side of my head and started squeezing it, screaming out in desperation, with spit coming in full force, "You don't get to leave! You don't get to leave me here! Not now, not when I can finally leave! Not when it can all finally end... you don't have the right to leave and forget your duty!" I had never seen my brother like this, nor did I understand why he had become so frantic. Why should he care whether my father lives or dies? Shouldn't he want him dead? Why can't he leave him just as easily as I can?

My rapid succession of questions did not interfere with my desire for self-preservation, so before I knew it I had kicked Jim in the crotch and headbutted him into a wall. I ran out after that. And so there I was, alone in the world and without a true path to follow. I hopped on the first train to anywhere and traveled.

So why then, do I keep coming back? It didn't hit me until I had made my first "home" in LA. I got a nice part-time job, a place with decent rent, and I survived. I met a few people, made some friends and a living, and at first it really felt like I had made a life for myself, that I was moving forward. But part of it didn't feel real, and I didn't feel real. I exchanged greetings, pleasantries, jokes, and such but it never came from my heart. I couldn't be as genuine as the people around me, or as loving, and I eventually realized why. I had never truly moved on from my family, and that I was still stationary emotionally. Because of that household, those people whom I had to call a family, I had never truly grown as a person and I couldn't fit in with others. Nothing has really changed, and the longer I stay in a place the more I truly realize it and the more it hurts.

So I keep going to back to Santa Ana, I keep starting over, because it's all I can do. I can't truly go back to that home, but I'm unable to live anywhere else. I still feel like I'm trapped in that house with no love or care, treated as nothing by my own father, and nothing about that will change. It is at this point of reflection that I hear the chime of what is likely my train, and I promptly stand at attention to greet it with my bag of essentials in hand. My phone in my pocket then alerts me with its own chime that I'm receiving a call. It's from Jim. I start walking towards the yellow line near the tracks to enter into the train as a I listen to what he has to say "Aaron... it's me. I... God, Aaron it's... it's dad. He just died this morning... I... I don't know what to do." And thus, things change and move forward.