If You Only Knew-1

       I was ten years old the first time I heard the sound of a broken heart.

It was a warm night in July, just a few days before my birthday. At ten, you are still young enough to get excited for your birthday. You can't wait to see your extended family and friends, and you think about all the presents that are wrapped in your parents' closet or under their bed. Yet you are old enough to understand that even though you may not get everything you wanted, you should still appreciate what you do get.
I was down stairs putting the dinner dishes away with my older sister Rachelle, when we heard the sound of what we thought was the alley cat crying outside the kitchen window. I banged on the glass a few times, in hopes to scare it away, but then it cried again, and this time it came from upstairs.
Our older brother, Dallas, was at work, and our Father wasn't home, so the only person it could have been was our Mother. I dashed up the stairs, closely followed by Rachelle, and we skirted through the door that lead into my parents' bedroom, which was unlocked most of the time.
"Mom, was that you?" Rachelle asked as she watched the crumpled form of the woman on the silken sheets. Our Mother, Cecile Heart, was usually the well-dressed, talkative, and most pleasant person you could ever come in contact with. But now, she was sprawled out on the comforter of their queen sized bed. Her chocolate-brown dyed hair was escaping its elastic hold, as her river-blue eyes let their waves flood the banks and roll down her cheeks, causing her mascara to create black tears. Her T-shirt and jeans were stained with paint, but her shirt also had specks of blood on it, as if she had tried to claw out her heart.
Mom sat up slowly and breathed in carefully. She stared wide-eyed at Rachelle and me, before collapsing into more screaming cries.
"Mom, Mom what's wrong!?" Rachelle screamed, panic lined her porcelain face. Mom held up a piece of crumpled piece of paper, and Rachelle snatched it out of her hand and went over to the lamp on the wardrobe to read it better.
It was a letter from our Father, basically saying that while he had been doing 'business' in Vegas, he had found a dancer by the name of Nadine, whom had stolen more than just his wallet. It said that he filed for divorce and a slick-and-sleazy guy had made it final. And that he had gotten married all with in a few hours. He promised to send us a paycheck every week, and other than that, said goodbye.
I felt as if my heart had stopped. Was this real? Or was I dreaming very vividly? Rachelle's hands were shaking as she continued to read the letter, her pale green eyes sparkled with tears, but she blinked them back. "Kristopher…"  She only used my full name when it was something serious. "…can you call Dallas at work and tell him what happened? I'll deal with Mom…" She instructed, while glancing at the crumpled form with pity once more. I nodded and went back down to the kitchen, not wanting to show them my tears.


"I'll be home soon, kiddo." Dallas says from the other end of the phone line. I nod, even though he can't see me do it, I figure that's what he'd expect me to do. "Thanks Big D…" I say, and listen for the dial tone on his end before hanging up myself. It is now seven-thirty four at night, and my sister has been up there with Mom for hours, it's quiet, so I guess they are sitting in silence.
I turn on the TV, and flip through all the stations until I find a ball game. The Red Sox are playing the Yankees, and it is the bottom of the ninth inning, with the Sox up at bat and two men on the second and third bases. Someone new hits, but I don't read the name on the jersey before the Sox win by three. The audience cheers from the bleachers, from the distance the camera zooms to, everyone's head reminds me of Fruit-flavored Mentos. That's when I hear the jangle of keys in the front door lock, and Dallas's head pops through, until his whole body is in the house, and he is closing the door behind him.
"Hey." He says nonchalantly, and tosses his worn leather jacket into the kitchen chair along with his wallet and keys. "Where are they?" But he is already up the stair before I answer "In the bedroom."
I sigh and flick the TV off before heading to my room. I am forced to pass by Mother's room just as Dallas enters. There is the muffled sound of sobs and condolences, and I can see from the crack between the door and frame, the shattered picture of Mother and Father on their wedding night.