The Cabinet Held Me Better Than He Did

This is what waiting looks like when no one comes. Not a tantrum. Not a question. Just a boy, a radio cabinet, and the silence that raised him.

It wasn’t built
to hold weight,
not mine, not anyone’s.
But I sat on it anyway.
Every day.
Same spot. Same view. Same absence.

The window faced the street
where headlights stretched
like promises.
Sometimes they slowed down,
just enough
to lie to me.
Just enough
to feel like
maybe—
maybe this one.

I’d press my forehead to the glass,
soft at first,
then harder,
until it fogged with my breath
and blurred the world outside.
Like maybe the cold would answer me if he wouldn’t.

He was supposed to be home
by five.
But five stretched.
To six.
Then seven.
Then eight.
No call. No reason. No apology.
Just more silence
poured into a kid
who already had too much of it.

The sun left hours ago.
The lights in the kitchen
stayed off.
I was too young to be alone,
but I’d already stopped
saying so.
The silence didn’t care.
It had its own kind of parenthood.

I waited
without food.
Without news.
Without rules.
Just the hum of an appliance
and the occasional car door
that always belonged
to someone else.

The kind of waiting
that stretches your bones
into years.
The kind that rewrites your spine
into something you can sit with
but never stand proud in.
The kind of waiting
that teaches a boy
how to pretend he’s not scared,
and worse,
how to feel ashamed when he is.

He never called.
Never left a note.
Never came home early.
Sometimes,
he didn’t come home at all.
Sometimes,
he came home
and forgot I was still awake.

I’d cry
just loud enough
for the glass to hear it.
Wipe it away
before it dried.
Tell myself I was just tired.
Tell myself I was being dramatic.
Tell myself
boys don’t get to break until someone else gives them permission.
And no one did.

That record player cabinet
knew more about my heart
than the man
I was waiting for.
It held me better
than any father
ever did.

And even now,
I still hold my breath
when the sound of keys
is followed by nothing.

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This piece comes from the opening pages of Shadow Thoughts: The Silence That Raised Me,
from Chapter One—Where I Wasn’t Raised.
That chapter sets the tone: not with blame,
but with the quiet rooms, empty chairs, and long nights that shaped the boy before he had a say.

The book traces what gets buried when no one asks,
what gets carried when no one sees.
It isn’t out yet,
but soon.

If this poem felt familiar,
you’ll find the rest waiting in the dark with it.

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