Beautiful Darkness by Maurice Mitchell (literature books to read TXT) 📖

was a span of about three summers where I learned to hate more then I learned to love. I was usually the life of the party, always making everybody laugh, but on the inside I was crying. I kept it all to myself because I felt that was the commendable thing to do. Quiet as kept, I still do. I never believed that anybody else should suffer because of my own misfortunes, I could do that on my own. Besides, nobody likes a complainer. That was a dangerous path, one no one should ever travel, but I did, a path of destruction. That path began when my Nana died. As an adult you may forget what people said to you, and may even forget what they did, but you never forget how they made you feel. Nana made me feel special, made me feel loved. I spent countless amounts of weekends with her, and I loved every minute of it. She loved me and I knew it, it was easy to tell. She would do anything for me, and the feeling was mutual. I drove her crazy though, to this day I don’t know how she dealt with it, I guess love can create an incredible amount of patience. Nana was special, very loving, and very kind. A true family women, one that was very easy to love. One thing I can say from being around her, my Mother, and my Grandmother, I never felt a lack of love. They all loved me very much for who I was, and I always knew that. It felt like almost every weekend, Nana and I would be playing cards, or doing crossword puzzles. When it wasn’t that we were watching her favorite game shows on television. She always made sure I had everything I needed, and that made the middle of Bedstuy feel like the Bahamas. Her apartment was an escape, one that I miss dearly.

For a few years every summer I went to Virginia to visit my Biological Father. My Father was a bigger guy, dark-skinned and average height. Heavy set and clean cut, always seemed to have a fresh cut. He wasn’t always big, but as the years went on, so did the pounds. That’s a joke Father. Simply put, those summers were bitter sweet. Sometimes it was cool, and others it was hell. To top it off there came a point when I no longer wanted to leave NY for the summer, because I felt like every time I did, someone was no longer there when I got back. The first summer, it was Nana. I remember the day like it was yesterday, although I couldn’t of been any older then nine. I sat in my Grandmothers apartment, while everyone else kind of sat around me in this awkward silence. I think a few family members and friends were there, sitting around my Grandmothers well put together living room. I remember this golden silence filled the room as everybody seemed to be intertwined in their own thoughts. I knew something was up, but had no idea what. Then after minutes of debating who was going to tell me, my Grandmother was chosen as lucky winner number one. She took me in the room and sat me down on her bed. I remember a dimness in the room that sits with me to this day. She sat next to me, held my hand and told me that my Nana was no longer alive. I remember my heart falling into my stomach, I think I literally felt it. I was crushed and I couldn’t believe it. As young as I was I looked my Grandma in the eye and asked her if I could be alone, she said “sure”. I took a minute, I dealt with it, and I would never be the same.

Although death is just a natural part of life that we all must deal with at one point or another, I didn’t see it like that. I felt that she was another person that was taken from me and I couldn’t understand why. I felt like God took her from me knowing I didn’t want to be without her, I felt like it was punishment. I was heartbroken for the first time, and had no idea how to deal with it. So I did what came natural I became angry. I cried myself to sleep for the next few nights, until I don’t think I had a tear left in me. I couldn’t sleep and my mom was there, every step of the way, but death is hard…real hard. The next summer I came home and discovered that I lost another family member. This one really hurt my Grandmother, I felt for her. Poppy died. I knew Poppy to be my Grandfather, another influence on my childhood. He was my Grandmother’s second husband. I never met my Biological Grandfather, because he passed away before I was born. So Poppy was the closest thing I had to a Grandfather. I don’t remember as much as I would like to about him, but I remember a few things. I remember when we watched sports together, and I remember him making me laugh. He was a smooth man, knowledgeable, always saying something clever. I liked that, I kept that. I remember he taught me the phrase “See you later alligator, after while crocodile.” We parted using that phrase every time, but this time we parted for good. Another summer, another death, I felt a pattern coming, and I didn’t like it.

Chapter Four (A Stitch In Time)

By this point in my life, I’d already seen more death then I could handle, and I was pretty sure there was more to come. I started to feel as if I should be careful, very selective about whom I choose to develop a bond with. I just felt there could be more bad then good to come out of being careless. I learned to do a lot of things on my own, I learned to enjoy my own company. Being the only child at that time, I didn’t have much of a choice. I was alright with that though, I got to know who I was. I started to feel as if I didn’t need anybody though, I knew what it felt like to need, and I didn’t like that feeling. I learned a lot from those summers I spent with my father as well. Probably a little more then I wanted too. Every summer I would travel to Virginia to visit him and my Uncle. The first few summers were cool, they were different, they were fun. After a while, it became more of a routine then a pleasure. My Father and I never really had the best relationship, but as a kid I still loved him because he was my Father. Plus I felt like I needed him, there was that feeling I mentioned earlier, I don’t like to need. He tried at times, it just seemed as if he was more interested in getting me to fear him then to respect him. In the first few summers, he put me in camps and threw me birthday parties. Those were the good times, I seemed to be always be the life of my own parties, having dance contest and showing off for my friends. Those days were fun, unfortunately they were drowned out by the times that were not so good. He always had a temper, very abusive, these were signs that I should never live with him, signs that I would later miss. My Uncle made all the summers worth it though, he was a good Uncle. He’s my father’s twin brother, so he’s like the “cool” version of my father. My Uncle was like the older guy that never forgot was it like to be young, you could confide in him, and he wouldn’t judge you. He always went out of his way to help me, and I appreciated that. He would always come get me, take me shopping, do all the things that kids love, and I needed that. My father at times made it hard to be a son. Sometimes it felt like he created standards that he and I both knew I couldn’t live up too. To this day at times I think it was just to make himself feel better, At least that’s how it felt to me. When he was good, he was great, but when he was bad, he was a nightmare. You’ll come to hear about that dream a little later. I mentioned that these summers were bitter sweet, partly because of my Father’s mood swings, and partly because I missed my mother. There were good times though, I enjoyed camp, I just didn’t get along with any of the other kids. They didn’t appear to like me and I didn’t care, cause I didn’t like them much either. I remember the Kids of Today Camp like it was yesterday. It was in a run down facility that you could tell was losing money every year. They probably used all of they money they were making to keep the lights on and keep candy in the vending machine. Every parent who had a kid they didn’t want to deal with seem to put their kid in this camp. It was an old big blue building with half a playground in the back and a gymnasium, game room, and snack center on the inside. The building looked much better on the inside then it did on the out, but either way it wasn’t a five star palace. The building may have been in bad shape, but the people were good. Well most of them, the counselors I got along with at least. I was somewhat of a rebel in camp, always doing something I had no business doing. I snuck out to leave during the day, went home early, and hardly went to the instructional classes. I felt there was negative tension between me and the other kids simply because I was from New York. It could have been a part of my imagination, but I doubt it. I spent most of my time in camp to myself, counting the hours until I got to go home. Only really interacted when I was playing sports, but even then I ran into a few confrontations, one in particular that I will never forget. I remember the older kids never wanted the younger kids to play with them in anything. Well I was apart of the younger crowd at the time, and I wasn’t necessarily ok with that. It wasn’t that I wanted to play with the older kids, but I didn’t want them to tell me that I couldn’t either. I felt like I should be able to play with who I wanted, when I wanted, especially since I was nicer then most of the older kids anyway. The game room was most filled with pool tables, foose ball tables and arcade games. Pool was by far the best attractions and there were only two tables for us to play on. That caused many problems, especially around the time they held the pool tournaments. One day I remember playing this older kid in pool, and I started working him. He was known for winning and well he wasn’t too happy about being so close to taking a L. His name was Victor, bigger kid, felt like he owned the play area whenever he was in it. Victor was huge, dark skinned, with a flat top. Probably the first flat top I’d ever seen in person, it was crazy. He was a lot stronger and more athletic then most of the kids his own age, and to add injury to insult he was older then me. I looked up to him, but only literally, not figuratively. Most of