podium
“I hate him.”
Nola seethed with tension as she sat patiently behind the curtain like an obedient lap poodle. The many years of her father’s unconvincing lies that protected his wealth had burned a deep hole in the photo-book memories of their relationship. But this - now; watching him stand behind the sleek oak podium and stare into the faces of the men and women whose livelihoods and, indirectly, lives he was responsible for turned the ashen cigarette deeper into her skin.
“I hate him,” she whispered again to the uncomfortable crowd backstage.
“And?” Her uncle called from a few feet away, his eyes locked in on his brother. “You can love your father and hate his approach.”
Silent tears tore angry river beds into her cheeks.
“You can’t separate the two,” she barked back uncharacteristically.
Charles took a seat beside her. “This took me a long time to figure out so listen hard. Most people, especially in their own adult life don’t get this. You can be mad, you can let their words and their ideas pour so much hate into you that it fills you up, all the way. But you’ll never get through it if you only hold onto it. And nothing will change. You have got to find the seed of what’s the same in you two. The rest, you then let that go.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
His eyes remained lovingly on his brother. “You love them. You love them and you want better for them. For all of us. And that is where you start.” His eyes gripped her focus.
Her father continued to ramble from the podium, his arms waving passionately about as he promised his company hope for the dismal looking future, pushing lies of empathy into the unresponsive crowd.
“I agree, this is bullshit,” Charles continued, “and I love my brother enough to try and help him do right by himself and by his company. It’s about integrity.”
Nola shook her head, unconvinced, “I’ll never forgive him for this.”
“And that will forever be the thing you regret the most. I’ll promise you that.” Charles stood to leave, turning back, dangerously cinematically, with a final thought.
“It’s easier to blame him for being bad, than to hold yourself accountable for trying to do something to bridge the peace and make him understand another way. He’s gotta live with what he says and does, and we all gotta live with our own.”
“And if I can’t convince him?”
“Then do something better than waste your one precious life on hating somebody. Find a way to put some good back into this world and build up what you love rather than tear down what you hate.”
And as her father finished his speech to an uproar of undeserved applause from a mislead crowd, Nola sat in contemplation, wondering how to nurture the small seed that had been planted in the ashen, cigarette burn.
-b
May 3, 2020
Photo Credit: Patricia Valerio