We Need to Do Something

by Max Booth III

The way she laughed could boil water.

Thunder booms, drowning out any remaining hope.

It’s amazing, how quickly Mom can transform from soothing parent to bitter spouse.

Thunder booms again, rendering us all quiet for a while.

My stomach feels like acid, drip-drip-dripping into my organs.

You can’t light a fire and expect nobody to get burned.

The tone in my dad’s voice, it’s smug enough to make the biggest pacifist in the world commit homicide.

She grabbed my hand and it felt so good, I never wanted her to let go.

But it doesn’t matter, because that’s what happened. And now we’re stuck here, suffering the consequences. It’s Dad’s fault. It’s my fault. It’s everybody’s fault. We dig our own graves and then we jump headfirst.

This response seems to sucker punch Dad into silence.

I can feel the rage boiling inside me, much how I imagine it permanently cooks in my father.

“That was one time.” “It shouldn’t have been any times.”