The Cemetery of Buried Feelings


He would flip on the light in my room. I would pretend to be asleep. He would loom over me until my eyes opened. Fear would distort my breathing. The walls would seem to lean in. If I tried to scoot away, he would grab me by the arm and drag me back and crack me across the face with the flat of his hand. He was buried on a cold Sunday next to my mother. Some thirty people, mostly family, attended. It began to snow as we stood at the graveside. He had finally found a solution to his loneliness.