A short time later, I realised that I held no interest in doing things my mother would request me to do. She would ask me to do the dishes and I would sigh and show dismay. She would ask me to fetch the mail and suddenly I would have several other million things to do. I was beginning to strain our relationship to somewhere beyond repair but I didn't care anymore. It was unlike me to act such a way, I had always been such a filial child after all. She ignored me all the same. Why had I grown so bitter about her rejection? I did not know. By the time senior year came to a close, we exchanged nothing but compulsory pleasantries and I was involved in all sorts of nonsense. My friends had begun to distance themselves from me in fear that I do them wrong, my grades slipped to rock bottom and I had taken up selling drugs in my neighbourhood.
It was a small town and word spread like wildfire when someone ousted me for my dealings. When the police discovered, I was arrested and placed in jail for three months. My mother did not visit me once. When I finally left the big house, I grew afraid of what I might face the moment I stepped in my home. Everyone knew what I had done, I had dragged our family name through the mud. For the first time in a long while, I was afraid of what she would do. My father had appeared outside the prison, not who I was expecting, not that I was expecting anyone at all. She was gone he said. I broke down and wept like a baby by the crossroad. My father was a temperamental man and I received the harshest scolding I've had in a long while, the last time being the time I broke the antique vase that sat in his office. The man who was never a family man in the first place did nothing to comfort me. He was a stranger to me. After all, he was never home, always out doing whatever it was that he did.
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