I sat briskly at the beautiful lawn just behind our gorgeous stone-built house, while savoring the relaxed ambience brought in at sunup. The morning sun gleamed brightly sending forth it's yellow rays through the flowery compound of ours. I knew with no doubt that the day was going to be far much better and full of possibilities rather than the contrary. I could hear a distant buzzing of insects coupled with low-tone chirruping of birds. This brought with it a complete sense of tranquility since the sounds of these natural creatures especially flared me a lot. I truly liked the way nature expressed itself in such a way evoking exhilaration deep in me.
On the other end of the lawn were two posh cars, one a BMW and the other a Merc, both parked meticulously as though a team of experts had done so. The former being silvery white whilst the latter completely white. Supposedly, these were the most opulent cars of our 21st century where wealth power -especially cars, were chiefly considered a measure of opulence. We never lacked, but luck had had the better part of it; that is, if what happened had never happened, then... As a bound family, one of our greatest dreams, which at some point almost proved a nightmare had eventually came to life. Precisely, we lived the most sumptuous life which was too good for our foes to believe, maybe. Yes, we had managed to confront our greatest enemy, poverty, which had often roughened our path to this 'dream life' we now had at hand. My thoughts were completely engrossed on how life was much cordial and the state of that particular dawn-the breeze of the environment, I mean.
The exhilarated inner sentiment of mine never lasted for another hour before it was obstructed by something I thought it was an eclipse of the moon, or something which resembled the same. The bright morning sun was steadily getting immersed unto a dark heavenly body I never made out what it was then (looked like a full moon). My thoughts were converted as I took another worried stern gaze on the unfolding fiasco of its own. I stood there timorously though deep inside me I was dying of fear, but I just tried my masculinity just in case someone was peeping. Such things were much less bound to happen. I wondered where my elder brother, Maxwell, referred to by many as Max was.
I had never witnessed such before, not even during my childhood days. I had only heard of such things as lunar eclipse which were bound to happen once in a blue moon. I grew more haphazard on the scenario when it seemed as though the sun would be completely covered leaving alone daytime darkness. I could not believe my eyes which seemed to have played tricks on me.
Three quarter of an hour later, the sky was clear again and the sun had rejuvenated its course and shining even more brighter. I was elated. It was during this hour of total jollity that I heard my brother Max conversing with my mom at the dining room. I knew breakfast was ready, this was the high time I was supposed to expose what mysteriously had happened. I could seem a hero, I thought. The drama could possibly seem incomprehensive. My thoughts of going in to unfold the scenario was fore slowed by Maxwells voice from behind. His terse voice in form of a whistle hummed a tune which vividly drew my thoughts to something I considered a "monster". He stopped a bit then continued, this time leveling his voice more audibly that I could easily make out whatever he was saying. He was reciting a poem, one of his oldest. Maxwell, now on his early twenties could still recall the stanzas of the poem he had written at class seven, something I obviously considered impossible to me. I'm good at forgetting especially when the events took place at childhood
Although I could not make out the whole lines of his poem, this is what the first stanza of it read;
'The monster'
What a horrendous beast are you?
Tormenting our peace of mind,
And slaying our doting young ones,
No love, no respect, no...,
A hungry stomach-you claim,
A broke pocket-you aim.
I knew very well Max knew better than that, maybe the whole piece of the poem. His early days had been coupled with presents for his work of art, that is, writing down and reciting poems. His work had been considered meritorious. I remember at age nine he had written a poem duped 'love impaired' which saw him won the children grand poetry awards cherished by more than five hundred and fifty children from different schools in our district. He had the power of written word and could possibly change or duplicate anything to whatever he desired especially when it came to poetry.
Of course I enjoyed his poetry but this particular one was more of a nuisance. It reminded me of the past that almost became a hammock to our now brighter lives. There is nothing painful than a reminder of the worst past which occasionally disturbed the present.
When he approached where I was in his usual gait, he ceased the tune and embarked on a conversation with me though I now had a negative interest on him. 'what the hell are you doing outside here?', he began. I never helped but gave him a stern gaze which obviously dictated my possible response to his questions. He fumed once again, "Marvin, what do you probably think you're doing right outside here without breakfast?" This time I hastily replied, 'what about the tune? The one you hummed, I mean". Astonished, he answered, "one of our oldest, the one I thought you in class five, yeah". He knew very well I never liked what he was saying right at the moment. We were not fond of going against each other and so I admonished whatever he was saying, trying to sound more like a grown up. He then implored, 'Come let's go in for breakfast, mum must be waiting'. Before I grew nervous enough to answer him, he turned back and proceeded to the path that had led him to where I was. Maxwell was obsessed with the past and allowed things to stick onto him, I even wondered why he hasn't refurbished thoughts of poverty from his mind. The Sayers have this to muse: The past is probably the best place to visit but not necessarily the best place to live". I never wanted to visit my past but Maxwell seemed to be touring His most regularly, one thing that occasionally brought in the difference between me and Max.
Deep in thought with a faked smile outside there, I stared vacantly on space not knowing what to do next. I never wanted to follow my brother, best thing I could do was to just sit there. Consequently, I allowed my thoughts to race up for the past. It now proved impossible to forego my past. Our past could have been a stumbling block were it not for fate that saw us in need and entered vehemently for us, not against us. My brothers' poem evoked my thoughts to go through my painful past and here's an encounter of what had transpired out of my life.