Echo V

 Sometimes I forget about the conflicts within which I was raised. We edit, we omit, we polish to make the memories more palatable. The core elements would converge upon our house. It was like the Supreme Court. When there was a challenge, two decades before the internet would cross the threshold of our homes, the heavy, armor-clad black-and-white World Book Encyclopedias were just too bulky to lug around, so we had our own think tank. It was all-knowing and decisive, and often came with a messiness I did not understand.

From minor skin conditions all the way up to where to live next and how to meet the challenge of that. There was always a price to pay. In my heart, I played it safe, but I fear it was not truly safe at all. Somehow, there was an ancient standard that held back the storm winds of truth, allowing homes to stay together. Without it, I wonder if there would actually be any houses.

Photo by Azzedine Rouichi on Unsplash

Sometimes, Echo would look at the trimline in her hand and know that once the call was made, this meant war, and she could not always control it. The rescue would sweep across the land like a wildfire that could never be stopped. In my recollection, it only failed to save us once. 

She always walked the balance beam of what our incandescent times could publicly acknowledge. When ground support arrived, help was unfailing, powerful, and comforting, but then, argumentative, judgmental, and laced with daggers, whispers, and insecurity. Perhaps this is where we draw our strength. We had to survive with subversives in our midst. They were our only hope of survival.

The real wonder for me is that, as children, we somehow made it to a better place. Better than those who protected and put us down. We grew; they did not. Talk about protection. I may never understand how one thing can lead to another, but then again, I get it. It is a cycle of endurance. It is a slap, and then a hug. You know it's coming, and you know it is the only hope, so it conditions you. 

I am thankful for all of the unconventional protection we received as the sky rained missiles on us over and over again through the years. I am in shock that those who helped mold us, albeit, unintentionally, are still stuck right where they were 59 years ago, 50 years ago, 42 years ago. Wow... Just wow!