however, there was no forgetting where I’d come from.
Both mentally and physically.
After all these years, I still referred to the house I was staring at as my home.
Narrowing my eyes, I sat there for a few minutes taking it all in. I hadn’t been here in over twelve years, but that didn’t stop my mind from running wild with memories from my past. Visions that I thought were long forgotten.
From the driveway I parked my first truck in, to the bushes I once threw up in. To the roof I used to sit on, contemplating my life for hours at a time. There were so many memories that would forever live in this house.
Eighteen years of memories.
Both good and bad.
I couldn’t tell you what possessed me to show up here. Maybe ’cuz I knew no one would be home, it’d be empty. They were probably still at Bailey’s birthday party, continuing to live life like I never existed.
Did I exist?
I dreamt about this moment so many fuckin’ times, I’d lost count. Silently hoping my parents would welcome me home with open arms.
Excited to see me.
Hug me.
Be near me.
Especially my old man.
I received none of that. The house was empty exactly like me.
Something I learned to embrace.
Over the years, I discovered a lot about myself. There were tons of hours on a tour bus for self-discovery. Then you’d add all the booze, drugs, and women, and it was a repetitive cycle I got lost in. One thing would lead to another, and I’d find myself in a reflective mood. Most people used substances to forget, but it had the opposite effect on me.
At first, it was a carnival ride I never wanted to get off of. The ups and downs, the ins and outs. The peak. However, what goes up, must come down. I rode the high for as long as I could, until I’d open up my eyes and my past would play out like a movie right in front of me.
From the boy I was, to the man I’d become.
They weren’t so different. I’d never admit it out loud, but I was very much my father’s son in every way that mattered. I was the spitting image of him.
My stubbornness.
My pride.
My controlling and possessive nature.
It was all him. I was my old man to a fuckin’ fault. I’d spent most of my teenage years resenting him and wanting to be nothing like him, only to be slapped in the fuckin’ face with the reality of who I was, and who I inherited it from.
Right the fuck down to abandoning my own child, like my old man did with me after I’d left Oak Island. ’Cuz she didn’t fit in the world that I thought was right or wrong.
Do you see it?
The irony was not lost on me.
Round and round I went as if I was a hamster on a spinning wheel. Faster and faster I ran with nowhere to go. The higher I climbed, the further I fell. Sometimes it seemed as though I lived down the goddamn rabbit hole.
The expression on my father’s face the last time I saw him was another memory that followed me wherever I went. My past was relentlessly chasing me ’til the end. Yet there I was, willingly allowing my demons to hold me down in front of my childhood home.
I was my own worst enemy.
Then.
Now.
Infinitely.
“Sir, we’re here,” the driver announced. “Do you need—”
“No.” I opened the door and stumbled out, trying to govern my footing and remain upright. “Fuck.” I held my hands out at my sides until I found my balance.
Slightly swaying to the left and then right, and back again, I caught myself on the trunk of the limo. Mindlessly snickering, unsure of what I was truly laughing about. My legs finally steadied themselves, and I was able to semi-concentrate on the task at hand, whatever that was. Tugging my hair away from my face, I pulled it behind my ears and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.
I could do this.
I walked the line to the front door of my family’s home, deciding at the last second it was wise to just sneak in.
I mean, why not?
I’d made it this fuckin’ far. Let me add breaking and entering to my rap sheet. Triggering me to laugh my ass off at the thought. Drunk people really shouldn’t be held responsible for themselves. We tended to ignore the little voice in the back of our minds. It was how