Visual Analysis
I sighed in disgust at myself as I once again shaded my reckless brother’s behavior from my father’s harsh eyes. Time after time, obligation forced me into a web of lies my brother had spun in an attempt to hide his careless actions. They say family is first, family should be every good man’s priority. But what they don’t tell you is which family. Should I side with my father who, in the long run, is only trying to protect us? Should I side with my brother who has good intentions, but somehow always manages to upset father? Should I side with my helpless mother who is in a situation similar to mine? Bound by responsibilities and familial constraints, I struggle to find a balance that pleases everyone, including me.
I come from a small town in the heart of South Carolina where everyone is familiar with each other, everyone is ready and willing to lend a hand, but behind closed doors, even the seemingly most innocent and harmless people strip away their layer of false kindness and their worst unimaginable monsters unleash upon the only people who are constrained to them- family. It’s ironic really that we all know how fabricated our gestures are, but we continue to maintain the exhausting image of “Southern Hospitality”, for no evident reason.
My father is a man of composure, of principles. He believes in nothing but the finest and that every man achieves only what he deserves. He does not believe in conformity and in foolish habits that my brother decides to indulge in such as drinking, smoking, gambling, etc. My father is the calmest when he’s the angriest. His years of utter composure have lead him to master the art of masking even his strongest emotions. I heard he used to be a jolly man. I can still see the smile crinkles around his eyes that haven’t been crinkled in a while. I can still hear a throaty laugh coming up sometimes that hasn’t been heard in a while. He was a jolly man who, like everyone, grew up to face harsh realities that forced him to harden past the point of reversibility.
Every morning at precisely 5:43 A.M, father left to watch the sun rise. He would stand in the same exact spot, the spot had now been worn down by his shoes, and he would just watch. He would not talk, would not appreciate the beauty of nature, he would just simply watch. So it came as a shock when one day he did not return in time for his routine breakfast at 7:00 on the dot. None of us knew what to do. Do you just go about your day, reassuring yourself that he is more than capable of taking care of himself? Do you enter a state of panic when the most punctual man you know is late? Do you assume the worst?
Our police force is composed of Sheriff Jackson, and his fellow policemen who all usually dealt with shoplifting, lost kids, and runaway pets. So needless to say, their skillset would be a little short considering the cases they’ve dealt with in the past. My mother and I are both secretly frenzying but hiding our true state from the other, once again fabrication. By midday, we have officially lost all shreds of hope, leading in finally dialing the police. At this point, I haven’t dared to go to his spot by the river based on the fear of finding something atrocious.
The police take a little time to show up, but when they do they bring their whole police force. Everyone knew my father as he is the minister of the town, so God forbid, literally, something happen to him. Sheriff Jackson is upfront and center asking us a string of questions before he realizes he should go check the river before assumptions are made because word travels relatively quickly in this town. I decide to stay home with my mother and to accompany her in whatever news we will receive shortly. My brother was nowhere in sight, probably passed out somewhere so there really isn’t a point of finding him to be with us right now.
The click of boots on our tiles signified the sheriff’s return. My mother and I stared at him trying to tell whether he had found good or bad news, but we were coming up blank because he, like father, was an expert at hiding his emotions. But when he took off his hat, we knew. My mom burst into tears and I stared out of the window immediately trying to find some solace in our now empty home. I blocked out what the Sheriff was saying except for the fact that my father had been murdered. Who would murder my father?
The Sheriff went on for quite some time about how justice will prevail and this town shall not rest until we found the culprit. But I already knew who it was. As I waited for the hovering policeman to leave and for my mother to cry herself to exhaustion, I went over what I would say to my brother. I softly left the house with the rifle in my hand, the last memory of father I would have. I found him by Cowboy Casino with a drink in his hand, as usual, and a girl around his arm. I pushed both of them to side, ignoring his objections and virtually dragged him out to the car that so strongly smelled of father.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I quietly asked him, even though it was more of statement than a question.
“What’re you talking about my brother?” he slurred back
I breathed heavily as I tried to level myself as to not make rash decisions. But the truth of the matter is that I made the rashest decision when I loaded the rifle into the car.
“We are not brothers. We are not family. Family does not kill one another.” I volatilely spit at him.
“Whoa relax. That old man was not our family. He just wanted us to turn into a heartless ass like him. Plus that cheapskate never gave me any damn money.”
At this, I lost it. With a quick motion, I slammed his head back into the window until I heard a deafening crack and saw the crimson of the scum I called my brother drip down the window slowly, like his death. I then took the rifle from the backseat and with shaky hands, put it in my mouth. This should end all the bloody hospitality. How are you going to fake what everyone will see on the front page tomorrow? All the Southern Hospitality in the world can’t cover this up. I felt remorse for my mother, what an ironic thing that all her family leaves her in one day. But I didn’t feel enough remorse to put down the gun and sacrifice my own peace. I reflected upon the last moments of my life and how family is nothing but a web of obligations. Being born into a family is nothing. Becoming a family, despite seeing the worst of each other is the true task that not many can master. One that we definitely didn’t master. And with that, I let go.
By: Arsalan