Feeling and Old Boy

There they were. The torch. The compass. Lying on the floor as if they had no significance in the world. My eyes fixated on them. The glass of the torch smashed, cracked, useless. The compass was no longer in working condition; it could no longer fascinate a young boy with it’s’ ability to navigate someone lost in the right direction. Hope, which could have once been seen in the objects, had been vanished years ago, swept away silently like the sweep of a kitchen brush.
Then it hit me; a bullet to my chest, ripping and tearing me open, exposing emotions that been stored away, like a box full of old toys under a bed. Hidden away but not forgotten about. Memories flooded my mind, drowned my thoughts; suffocated my body. The camping trip. April 18th 2003. Memories flooded through me, a storm erupting in my mind. Feelings sunk into my chest like a brick being dropped in a river; smashing into the water, crashing to the bottom helplessly. I was just an 8 year old boy. An 8 year old boy who craved love and attention off his dad, an 8 year old boy who would have run marathons to be cared for like other children. Then I cherished my dad more than the air I breathed. God knows why.
Ten years on and I can still remember every detail from the camping trip, despite my attempts to try and forget it; it invaded my thoughts. I just couldn’t get it out my head. That morning I was so excited, the feeling so powerful it took over my whole body. That morning I was a child wrapped in innocence. That morning I was a child full of hope for what the day might offer. I remember my heart beating so quick; it was a moth against a hot light, fluttering endlessly. Butterflies scattered in my stomach made me feel sick, scared, and nervous. My palms were sweating like it was the middle of summer; adrenaline was coursing through my veins. My hands trembled and my eyes were wide, alert and intent; ready to watch my dad with full attention. Dad was so abrupt and I was so nervous. He wouldn’t look at me, I was confused to why. His face was sturdy, always facing forward, always rushing ahead. Why didn’t he look at me? Questions flooded my mind, question’s I did not know the answers too; questions I was dying to find the answers too. By the end of that day part of me was broken. What I realise now is that there was no father and son on that camping trip. There was just a man and a boy. Strangers. A relationship as lost and broken as the torch lying in front of me.
The dream. Always the same dream. Thud! Thud! It was a hammer banging in my head against my skull, getting louder and louder until I woke up screaming and sweating. The horses so wild, so powerful; frightening with their ghastly faces and bloodshot eyes. To me they were vicious tigers, ready to pounce and catch their prey. I stare over the windblown landscape in my dreams; dark thunder clouds form in the distance over high mountains, sending out a gloomy and miserable atmosphere. Everything around me bleached and bruised, closing in on me, the ground swallowing me whole. It made me feel small, un-wanted, like Dad had made me feel. Those horses sensed the distance between my Dad and I. They knew. Their eyes were deep black coals, wild and observant as they watched me and dad; they sent shivers down my spine. In my dream the horses chase me and I run, the wind tickling my cheeks as I run, pass the lake, through the misty moors. The silence of the landscape chills me. I’m tired of running.
Flames of anger bubbled up, burning from inside me. Why was he my Dad? My hands gripped the torch so tight you could see the white bone through my skin on my knuckles. My slow breathing turned into raging pants, my blood boiling and my flesh red and irritated. Emotions poured out of me, a volcano erupting in my mind. Fury raced through my body, heating me to my very core and igniting a flame so hot within my heart that I almost screamed in agony and anger. Why didn’t he try to connect with me? My face was flushed, infuriated, anger radiating through my body. Was it my fault? The worst feeling of all, guilt. It settled upon me like mist, poisoning my thoughts, refusing to move. The feeling surged through my entire body, screaming at me, forcing itself to be heard.
Here I was, eighteen years old and about to go to university. I carefully put the torch and compass back under my bed; I won’t need them anymore. A torch, once meant to light up the relationship between father and son; now broken, damaged and discarded. Who would have known that a torch and compass would evoke so many memories?
Jim and Mum are stood beside the gate. Mum starts to cry, Jim comforts her and at the same time grins at me, I’ve never seen such a proud look on a man before. I gaze ahead of me at the settling sun and my insides almost bust with joy. The breeze blows my hair into my face and I sigh in contentment. Birds chirp and sing and the trees sway freely in the wind. The air smells strangely sweet and salty at the same time. I breathe in the scent. An orange haze appears above the horizon, lighting up the sky as if lit by fire, yet the haze was so crisp and clear. The clouds are splashed with warming colors’ of hot pink’s, reds and even hints of purple and blues; the disappearing sun cloaked by hanging clouds. The golden sun sinks lower and lower in a lazy manner; almost as if it never wants to leave. In the distance I hear car’s zooming, a whole world out there. The silence around me calms me. It takes away my worries. Tears of triumph welled up in my eyes, happiness glowed around me. It wasn’t my fault, I said to myself. I said it again, it was not my fault. Emotions my body has been dying to feel crash over me. Relief. Happiness. Joy. After the sun disappeared, accepting it’s time to shine, I get into the car smiling, and set off on my own journey.