Tuesday, March 22, 2011


I don't remember what I did to set him off. But he was in a rage. His whole body was tense. His face was beet red, the sandy blond hair askew, the veins on his lean arms stood out. I had to get him out of the house.

It's a blur now, but he left. So I locked every door. The front door, the back door, the garage door all locked. I was safe. I kept a close watch on the windows to see where he had gone.

A loud thundering clap hit the house with a thud. The force was so strong the house rattled and shook from the vibration. And then I heard it again, and again, and again. The banging on the door and the screaming. "Let me in! Open the door! Open the door! aaaaaaaah!" he screamed desperate for the door to magically open so he could come charging in and confront me face-to-face.

He raced around the outside of the house and tried every door. They were all locked. He tried the side door on the garage thinking I would have missed that one. He was wrong.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore. He clenched his fist and punched his hand through one of the little glass panes on the door. It shattered in a million teeny pieces on the garage floor. His knuckles were scraped but he didn't feel anything. He quickly reached his hand through and unlocked the door. He was in. Ha.

He ran through the garage to the door that led into the laundry room. He grabbed the door knob with all his strength and turned it with such force he burned the palm of his hand. It was locked. His elation immediately turned to fuming anger. He was going to get back in the house one way or another.

With clenched fists he started beating on the door like roaring thunder. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM. "Let me in!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. His 100 pound body slamming the door with all his strength and force as he flung his body and fists into it. Over and over, and over, until the entire door came crashing in to the ground.


He had slammed on it so hard the entire door and frame came crashing into the laundry room like a car hitting the wall at full-force. The door bounced off the linoleum floor and landed in a pile of broken wood with my brother laying on top.

I came running around the corner and was stunned to see him laying on top of the door. Sweating. Red faced. Anger had turned to fear. It was spread across his face.

"What have you done! Mom is going to kill us. We have to fix this NOW!" I shouted in a panic. We had officially crossed the line. We were going to be in so much trouble. My heart started to jump.

We had to fix this. We had to fix this before mom came home. She could not see what we had done. She would kill us. This was bad. Very, very bad. How and why? A broken window? A door off the hinges? We were in serious trouble.

Silently we each ran to get tools. We grabbed hammers, nails, glue, spackle, paint, everything. We could fix it. We had to fix it. Fast. We worked together to patch up our mess. The frame was split. The wallpaper was torn.

We were instantly a team working together. Our eyes locked. No more yelling. No more anger. Our petty argument was history. All was forgiven. We had way bigger problems to deal with now.

"I'm sorry." I said, taking a deep breath. "Me too." he whispered.

TRDC prompt for today was writing about forgiveness.

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