Memory is a funny thing. It changes with time. This is how I remember it now. Or, maybe it’s just how I want to remember it… But the truth is, I don’t want to remember it at all.

1983

Fall. I hadn’t been six long. Just a couple of weeks, but even then sleep didn’t come easy to me. I wake up earlier than usual wanting to see my father. My room pitch black around my nightlight. Breath visible in the cold air. I slide out of bed careful not to wake my step-brother and tiptoe down the hall skillfully avoiding the squeaky floorboards. At the Master bedroom, I drop to the floor and peek under the door and scan the room. The silhouette of cowboy boots confirms he is still here. I raise up off the floor and put my back against the wall. I sit in the frigid dark to wait. When his alarm goes off, I don’t go in like you might think. You see Dad wasn’t ever much for cuddling. Even less so since he had gotten re-married. Maybe it was because he was a Marine. Or, maybe he was just an asshole. Which was okay by me, cause I wouldn’t lay with him and that home-wrecking bitch anyhow. Instead I just stalk off back down the hall towards the den. I pause at my sisters old room, now my step-sister’s, and I’m presented a vision of a rainy April afternoon spent playing board games on the floor. Passing through the dining room and seeing the large table, I recall a Thanksgiving not so long ago. One where grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, and cousins from both sides filled the house. In the den, I am surrounded by things connected to my happiest memories. The smell of cinders in the fireplace, the deer heads mounted on the wall, the gun cabinet full of rifles, the grandfather clock, the VCR. I remember happy times with my hero in the days before I knew it was all a lie.

1980

Summer. I lay dozing on the coach in the den as my mother makes dinner in the kitchen. I am exhausted. I spent the day hunting treasure (necklaces and coins my mother tossed in) lost in the magical underwater world that was our backyard pool. Yes. I was already swimming. Dad couldn’t have a boy that can’t swim living in a house with a pool so he taught me how to swim the old fashioned way. He picked me up and tossed me in the deep end. I’ve loved swimming ever since. It was the happiest I remember my mother ever being. She was glad to be living in her own home with her husband. A welcome change to living on base, alone, while your man is deployed. You see, just before I was born, she had successfully persuaded my father to leave the Marines. She convinced him to move back home to Memphis and to get a “regular” job. A decision she would soon come to regret. I knew Dad would be home soon because Doctor Who had ended and Buck Rogers and the 25th Century was starting. And sure enough, he did. He comes through the front door like a thunderbolt. Energy pouring out of him. It lit up the house. “This is going to be big! It’s going to change everything!” Usually, I would’ve ran to him and jumped into his arms. But, I was half-asleep and mesmerized by that opening Buck Rogers credit sequence. He comes in and scoops 2 year-old me up off the coach and heads back into the kitchen. “We start at the opening bell tomorrow!” He exclaims. “The guys from New York are in town.”, he says smiling ear-to-ear. “We’re going out for steaks tonight to go over the plan.” My mother, hands pressing ground beef into hamburger patties, responds lovingly, “That’s exciting! You go get ready. I can grill the burgers.” Dad plops me back down on the coach and heads to his bedroom to get ready for the dinner meeting that would change all of our lives forever.

He comes home later that night smelling of scotch and cigars. I lay sleeping in his spot next to my mother as she reads. Still excited, he shares some vague details of the plan as he gets ready for bed. Something about a “new product” and him “taking the lead “. His happy mood changes suddenly when mom asks him a simple question, “Why you John?”. See at this time, he was still a junior guy in an office full of experienced traders. “Why me? Because I’m good at my job! Because they like me! Why else?” Why else indeed.

1981

Dad was right about one thing, it changed everything. The first thing was our family life. It reverts back to him being gone all the time, like when he was in the service. And, he and my mother don’t talk to each other like they used to. There is a distance between them. Next is our surroundings. I guess that is when the money started rolling in. John starts living out all of his childhood urban cowboy fantasies. Fancy clothes, new cars, land, house, barn, corral, cattle pens, livestock, girlfriend. Hell, he even buys a jet airplane! On the surface, just another American success story living out his dreams. Underneath, a fraud and a crook.

1982

Day after Christmas. My sister sits in Dad’s recliner reading a book. I am on the floor playing with action figures under the lights of the Christmas tree. “I knew it!” My mom’s voice echoes into the den from the kitchen. “You accused me and the whole time it was you!”. “Keep your voice down! The kids will hear you.” is my father’s response. “I don’t care if they hear! They need to know that you destroyed our family!” Screaming from the kitchen. Louder now. “Another women! After all we’ve been through! After all I’ve done for you! ” She cries as she walks towards their bedroom in the back of the house. “I can’t live with what you did to us! I’m going to blow my fucking brains out!” She screams as she slams the door. My sister and I run to our mother, but we’re stopped by the locked door. From behind it, the chilling sounds of deep sorrow and extreme anguish and the deep click of the hammer of a .357 revolver being pulled back. “Mommy! Mommy!” my sister begs palms pushing on the door. I stand behind her silent. Frozen in the moment. Then a blur. Suddenly the door lay in pieces on the floor. My mom stands in front of us, tears streaming out of her eyes, face contorted in intense pain, gun to her head. My father moving fast, snatching the pistol, slapping my mother down to the floor. He walks past us as we rush to her. He exits through the garage door, gets in his truck, and leaves.

1983

I sit in the den watching the sunrise through the windows and listening to my father give directions to his new wife as they eat breakfast with each other for the last time.
He is surprised to see me when he comes out to meet his ride. “Hey boy. I didn’t know you were up already.” I walk over to him and raise my arms. He picks me up and I hug his neck. “You’ll be alright.” He comforts me. “You’re smart. Like your mother.” Then he sets me down, pats me on the head, and says, “Take care of yourself son.” Then he walks out the front door into the light of the rising sun and disappears.

Written by Will Kilpatrick