(Psychological Differences) Nothing But A Piece Of Garbage

“Those are the psychological differences between you and me,” I said to my father when he told me about him making a deal on some property during our stay in Florida when he hadn’t even seen the property yet, “I bet the trailer park property is a piece of junk.  Nothing but a piece of garbage.  No honest realtor is going to accept money for property nor make a deal with a prospective client without showing the property first.  That guy saw you coming.  You’ve always referred to me as being dumb, even though I’m not.  But it’s you who is dumb,” I shouted to my father while sitting at the kitchen table of our motel room, eating my scrambled eggs.

Putting the fork up to my mouth filled with a piece of scrambled egg, I ended up dropping my fork onto my plate, with the piece of egg getting sent unto the floor, when my father walked over to me and slapped my face.

I retaliated by slapping him back, shouting, “Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again.  You hear me?  I know what I’m talking about.  You used our money to buy that crappy property without having seen it yet.  Mom isn’t any brighter than you are, considering you both have the same stupid mentality.  The both of you have minds of children.  All my life I’ve always felt like I was the parent, and the two of you were the children.”

“The man is a good man who sold me the property,” my father shrieked while smacking his hand down onto the kitchen table, causing my plate to slide off of it and land on top of my lap face up.  I managed to catch it before it fell to the floor and broke.

Getting up from the table, I walked over to the sink, and washed it.

My brother had just come out of the bathroom.  While heading over to the table to eat breakfast, he cleaned his nose with a tissue.

My father headed into the bathroom, where he checked the waste paper basket.  “What you doing here.  Why you have all these tissues in the garbage,” he shouted as he walked over to my brother and slapped his face, “The two of you are an embarrassment, you and Kiki.  You kids are no good.  All you do is embarrass me and bring shame to me.  What are the people who own the motel going to say.  I know the people.”

“You don’t know them.  It wasn’t until we first got here that you started kissing up to the owners of this establishment,” my brother Stanley shouted as he slapped my father’s face, and pushed him out of his way, “I’m sick of your crap.  That’s all you do at home, too, is count the tissues in the garbage basket.  You sick.  Not only that, but you’re stupid.  Both you and mom are stupid.  Why couldn’t my siblings and me have normal parents who actually care about their kids, instead of abusive pieces of garbage like you and mom.”

I gathered my duffel bag, and headed out the door.

My brother gathered his duffel bag, following behind me.

We walked together towards the beach.

“I can’t believe how stupid he is.  He’s always calling me dumb, Stanley.  But he’s the one who’s already made a deal to buy property down here in Florida without having seen it yet.  He already paid for it in full, “ I grunted while feeling the warmth of the sand against my ankles as it hit my flesh, while walking through it.  I wore flats, but the sand still managed to creep around my skin.

“He bought the property already?  What an idiot.  It’s not even his money he’s using,” my brother complained to me while we walked on the sandy area, and headed further down the beach.

“He said he paid for it in full, because he trusts the realtor.  I told him, no realtor would accept money without having shown the property to a prospective client first.  The guy ripped that father of ours off.  If it was his own money, I wouldn’t care.  But, it’s not his money.  It’s yours and my money from John’s restitution.  How could he take money we acquired from John’s death, and squander it like that.  Clearly, he cared nothing for John.  He wasn’t concerned about getting justice.  All he ever saw were dollar signs,” I shrieked, while kicking the sand around when walking.

“Let’s not talk about that right now.  There are people looking at us, and listening to what we are saying.  It’s best if we speak about this later when we are buy ourselves,” my brother said as he ran further ahead where there were some young men and young women playing volley ball.  He dropped his duffel bag down, and joined them in the game.

I went to the other side of the beach, where I unfolded my towel, and lay on top of it.  Unzipping my duffel bag, I pulled out my sunscreen lotion, and my sunglasses.  I put on my sunglasses.  Then, I opened the bottle of sunscreen, poured some onto my hands, and rubbed it into my flesh.

The sun seeped into my face, stinging a little, but it was a comforting warmth.

Turning onto my side, I observed some children play in the sand, and building sandcastles with their little buckets and shovels.

Smiling at the sight, I thought back to when my brothers and I were little.  I remembered the years when we lived with my grandmother, aunt and uncle.  They raised us until we were out of diapers.  My uncle took all of us to the lake where we met up with some friends of his and their daughter who was only an infant at the time.  I’d take my little pails, fill them with sand, and tip them upside down, while packing the sand with my shovel, so I could make a castle.

Over to my right, I noticed some teenage boys and girls who were kicking sand into the air.  I thought about how immature they were being.

I then ignored them and their loud voices while I lay my head back down onto my beach towel where I absorbed them warmth of the sand creeping in.

After some time, I sat up, gathered some sand into my hands, and rubbed it between my fingers, to feel the moisture.  It was a nice feeling of nostalgia, while remembering my own childhood.

I then glanced over to my left where my brother and his new friends were further down the beach playing volleyball.  I watched the game for a while, before heading back to the motel.

© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2015


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