After I was born it was all downhill. I tumbled down to my own level and came to a full stop on the grimy lawn of my childhood. The faceless matriarch stood over me and bore witness to my pain and disillusionment. When the dog limped into my life I shrieked the shriek that never stopped.

Under a bilious sky, the town trembled with rage and a hard rain spattered on the jagged roofs. Suburbs of discontent crawled away from the epicenter of the town’s dysfunction. Broken dreams lay battered and bruised on the grass. Everything was disfigured.

For years I remained at the scene of the crime. I was the baby of the family, the delinquent offspring of unspoken emotions. My parents stood to one side and allowed the best and the worst of times to descend like the gentle rain. I never grew up, dismayed that my growth had been stunted by successive disappointments.

The tableau gradually dissolved over time while the soundscape of growling cars and sobbing dogs faded into the background. Soon I stood alone, counting the cost, and did next to nothing, too proud to admit defeat and too humble for words.