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Sister Death Watch
With Eugene, there always gave the impression to be a contest happening, life was a dispute, although, it was all a little amazing, even a tinge odd to Roland Lawton, being, as he was, a man quite observant, and particularly conscious, growing old (or older, now at sixty-two), yet still so aware (married to Piper, whom was the younger sister to Celosia). As for Eugene, he was just a few years younger than his brother-in-law (Roland), large in frame and strong in body, stubborn in mind, always seeking admiration-from or to whomever, and-as a rule-moody, for simple-if not silly reasons, but reasons nonetheless; displacing annoyance on Roland- or for that matter-on any family member, during those uncommon (or out of character) moments of shifting moods, those mood, if not anger.
By and enormous, all the relations lived by each other.
Eugene was mentally outside, not in it-the extended family, and seemingly the obnoxious one of the family (of which his daughter, Shelley had appeared to have inherited, genetically or by social comparison, his mood swings), that’s to say, or add, Eugene had a hair-trigger temper, to everyone and thing around him, even to his most regular customers at his restaurant.
As I discussed, there appeared to be a contest with him and people around him. It concerned ways of doing things, decisions, expecting those around him to surrender.
I suppose it is like that in many families, there being one usually one person, in most every family structure (relatives, and all to be contaminated by that one person), and more so within the nuclear family for essentially the most part, one which forms throughout the group this antisocial or disruptive behavior (especially while in the fall of life); to include: jealousies, concealed hatreds, silent battles with envy, all this secretly going on-with brother-in-laws, the children, the wife, brothers, fathers, as for Eugene-in all respects, all of the above pertained to him.
He had two young adult children attending college, who adored their mother, and a young boy of thirteen, who adored her likewise.
As for Eugene Jr., and Shelley, they lived within the house, inside the family structure, but within their own world. And to be quite frank, they were within the process of trying to establish their very own world, and it was not and not using a struggle from their father. The purpose was, that the mother having the center that never stopped beating, was always tender for the kids. And Eugene never understood that-the way it infuriated and hurt him at times, not to get that admiration, respect, awe, the youngsters gave to the mother-although they were of little help to lighten the load for his or her mother.
Sometimes Eugene went white and trembled with anger-and then at other times, red from holding it in. It did not matter it seemed he wanted to break his wife and youngsters, like one would break a horse: beginning with the children, then the wife, then the relatives. Having it out with whomever, whenever, and never really wining, simply just driving a wedge between himself and the family members.
“No, Eugene. You cannot,” his wife would plead. But he had learned to swear so loud, whatever she said, wasn’t heard. Where he picked it up from, who’s to say.
Perhaps Celosia, his wife, understood how he felt, never quite putting the matter, and circumstances certainly into words, not even to her mind’s eye (her second-self, her unconscious, hence, hiding it for her, because it was too much to endure, consequently saving her from a sudden, and perchance injurious, impact). But it was a type of things that started to age her quickly, weaken her immune system, arouse in her relations a curious determination to look deeper into-or at, Eugene’s maladaptive behavior (not accepting his intentions, or understanding them for essentially the most part, perhaps not able to be sympathetic to the his mind-set, reckoning, it was anything but healthy). They even caught themselves saying, “Can’t he just stop!” It was really not an inquiry, but rather an announcement-question at best. Someone even mentioned, in passing, “If she’s to benefit from the last years of her life, must he spoil what she is to have!”
They, all of us, thought she was dying, over and over and over-she had but one kidney. Especially the father of Celosia had some hidden resentment against her husband, being Eugene was likened to a tyrant-if let be; he was as if standing guard over her-them.
The two chidden in college drew increasingly more away from the father, just appeasing him so he’d not cut their tuition short, or off.
It was a rainy November, 2009, within the mountain city; Celosia was in her restaurant kitchen cooking. The rain was pouring down hard. Great streams of water were outside by the kitchen door. Lunch was almost ready, she ran out in the rain to the car-through the restaurant area, to get some groceries she had forgotten-the rain soaked her hair, but it surely felt good, it was cold against her forearms and neck, and even soaked under her cloths. She checked out Eugene; he was cleaning the tables, wiping them off, he had just priory finished moping the floor-she heard anxiety in his voiced, “We got to hurry up, before the lawyers com, and the rest of the group!” (He didn’t look at his sister-in-law, Piper, or Roland; they were standing by the kitchen, near a table one they usually sat at; he had given the impression they were insignificant, although they were his best customers; however it was not out of character.) There was fear in Celosia’s eyes.
“Oh, Eugene, you recognize you mustn’t get all worked up, we’ll be ready!” remarked his wife, faintly.
Just that was enough to set him right into a dry mood, as dry as a bone, parched. The least shock or resistance could do it. It really was simply an old, very old story.
‘Why,’ thought Eugene, ‘cannot anyone understand, that such things are a hundred times worse for me-‘
On that day, without answering his wife, he jumped in his car and rode off. He wanted to go hide himself, cool down before everyone came. Celosia, deduced how he felt.
Celosia and her sister Piper stood looking at each other, Roland sitting in a chair at a table. Celosia over fifty, Piper just fifty, it was getting to everyone in the family.
“What, Piper ” asked Celosia, there have been astonishment and a slight annoyance in Piper’s voice
“He’s always making you feel bad, if not accountable, or at fault, so it looks as if… anyhow!” remarked Piper-she wanted to cry but did not.
Celosia understood. It was at this point, an odd tense moment for them both, and then Celosia walked off into the kitchen to get ready the lunch.
Celosia, wanted to fly off somewhere, anywhere, like Peter Pan, like a child in a dreamland-dream, perhaps shake Eugene for being so impudent.
There was a lot implied-perhaps she could be allowed to die, quickly, suddenly, rather than this slow death for she was always in danger of a sudden death anyhow, but she kept to her values in life, but death was not probably the most terrible thing to her. She tuned to the side door, went silent, watched the rain because it came pouring down, dripping into the kitchen. There were no explanations.
“Well,” Celosia said presently, “what did you want for lunch, are you eating here at the restaurant today, Piper “
Piper spoke, “Yes,” meaning she was eating there.
There was a bond-between them two sisters. Piper was witty and could think of quite a lot of things to say, but they were all too risky, she had an inclination- ‘…keep hands off,’ and accordingly, there was just a little inner-world created (being re-created perhaps), and in it there was a type of-‘sister death watch.’
There are times when men who seriously like each other cannot endure one another. Instinctively one needs to be careful-do not get too close in knowing the reality of the opposite person, he may hate you for it: knowing you can describe him, to himself.
Eugene was alive when he boasted; a bit of intoxicated with dreams of the present, visions unaccomplished from the past. Some people such as he, are destined to make their lives hell, others who tag along, live in purgatory.
I hope this doesn’t all seem trivial I am trying to tell it the best I can. So this was his life, this is what I saw. Never mind my life, it’s unimportant, on this story, what must become of those others involved will become in question in times yet to return.
We are just faces of best indian remy hair brands individuals in a fleck of light; a dim shadow questioning voices, words whirled about us. We need to take a few of this life out of our heads, and live a tranquil existence-it is so very short, and then the lights exit. We’re greater than scraggly weeds growing, and when someone thinks that’s what we’re to them, after which it is time to set the record straight.
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