We did a walk around downtown American Fork today and stopped to write for ten minutes in each of three spots. This is what I wrote after walking through a pawn shop. We stopped to write in a really cute alley way with benches, trees, and flowers. Here's what came out. First draft.
I'm thinking of lots of things. I'm thinking of Seedfolks. I'm trying not to let the heartbreak of my brother seep into my brain and my writing.
I'm thinking about that pawn shop we just walked through, of the people who might go in there for money. The ones who are poor and need groceries, but mostly the ones who are less human. The ones like my brother, my uncle, my cousin. The ones who are possessed, who need the money to satisfy the demon living inside of them.
I wonder where my DVD player is that I left at my grandma's. I wonder whose house it's in now, and I wonder if the person who has it now realizes it's not rightfully theirs. It was mine, taken and pawned by my uncle so he could get a fix.
He's made it up to me, you know. He's clean now--been through a program. He helped move my washer and dryer in and back out. He helped me move last week. That's all worth a $30 DVD player, right?
But my brother. How do I get back what he's taken from me? My parents, my little brothers. The time, the tears, the energy, the holidays. He pawned all those things too. He gave up all that was and was not his to the addiction he allowed in a long time ago.
I need to write that letter. I need to tell him how I feel, but I don't want to give him the little energy I have left. Not willingly.
I just saw a roly poly on the ground and had flashbacks of so many childhood moments spent outside playing with him, my brother, my friend. And I miss him. I miss those days. I'm glad he couldn't pawn the memories I have. I am relieved that those are mine, and they can't be bought or sold in a place where sad people go.