[ WP ] Suffering from you

Papa always said, “ Suffer no fools, delight in no-ones pain, and love was a tool better left unused. ” Course, he died alone and, more to the point, lonely. So I tried running in the other direction, thinking I could avoid his fate, or at least I wouldn ’ t be like him. 
 
 Course Grans would tell me “ there ’ s more than one road to reach Halverston ”, whatever that meant. 
 
 Having really no role model on that front, except the romantic movies and shiny fiction novels that made love seem like Sasquatch – something findable if you believed hard enough and looked long enough – my pendulum swung too far in the other direct. And far too easy. 
 Strings, yes strings – emphasis on the final s - of boyfriends in high school didn ’ t deter me. “ Got ta shuck the shaft to get to the kernel, ” Grans would often tell grandfather. Something I didn ’ t quite understand, and didn ’ t really care to. At that point I was simply looking for any escape from my life. Or at least the rubble that my life had become having had to move into a small farmhouse to live with a couple of people I barely knew. Dad hadn ’ t really left any instructions for me when he passed – granted I don ’ t think he had planned on it – so the closest relatives I had, really the only ones I even knew about, were these two geriatrics. 
 
 The farm lay in a long wide valley. In actuality it was the valley, handed down from generation to generation. Well, until my father. Gran certainly had that hopeful look behind her eyes when she opened the door to find me and my two small suitcases drenched on her porch, but she didn ’ t say anything directly for at least a month. By then I had a response queued up for firing. 
 
 “ I ’ m only here until I turn eighteen. I ’ m not taking over some farm. ” 
 
 “ Onto bigger things are ya ’? ” She inquired immediately. 
 
 “ Well…yes. ” What those things were I didn ’ t know and her condescending knowing look in response was more infuriating than anything she could have said. I stormed off slamming the barn door behind and took perverse pleasure in the fact the sideboard popped loose again; even though I would have to fix it again later. 
 _One year. One year! _ I repeated that over and over as I stormed up the path to the farm house. Grandad Will watched me storm across the kitchen to my room, but wisely didn ’ t say anything, even after I slammed my bedroom door. 
 
 Laying down on my small bed, staring at a stained popcorn ceiling, I took stock of my life and sighed. “ Oh dad. ” Knowing I was a fool for my own suffering more than anything else, I still could help blame him for leaving me in this situation. “ Suffer no fools. What do you do if the fool is yourself? I ’ m suffering you! ” 
 
 Anger welled inside, but I shoved it down and buried my head under my pillow. 

