Accidents Happen
I’m out. I’m free. I can say goodbye to Dr. Tanaka, group sessions,
the roommates that would come and go. I’ve gotten used to saying
goodbye. I’ve had practice.
My parents and I up and moved a week after I first heard the voices
in the park. A quick note to friends about Grandma Carter needing us,
and we were gone. But I knew the real story. The night before, I’d
heard Mom and Dad arguing. Voices – theirs this time – filtered
through the walls. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I could
feel the passion. I’d never heard them argue like that.
They always said they were meant to be together. They met in college
at a Rush Week party. Love at first sight? No. Mom comes from a
“nice” family. Old money, maybe, or just there used to be money and
they like to pretend it’s still there. But Dad’s family, well…
Grandma Carter was an activist in her day. Liked to shake things up.
Dad inherited some of that. Guess I did, too. Mom thought he was
brutish; Dad thought she was stuck up. But Mom and Dad were meant to
be together, so they fell in love.
Mom’s family didn’t approve. They didn’t go to the wedding. I wonder
if they went to the funeral.
I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.
The accident, they said, was painless. An electrical short started
the fire. The alarm never went off, and Mom and Dad died of smoke
inhalation in their bed. That’s what Dr. Tanaka told me in the same
breath he said I wouldn’t be going to the funeral. Bastard. So that’s
what I’ve had to live with, the story of how they died.
Except that’s not what I remember.
Grandma Carter will know what happened the night of the fire. I’ve
never asked her – in the short visits we’ve had together, it didn’t
seem like the right time. But now we have time. She’ll tell me like
it is – like she always does. She’s the only one I’ve never had to
say goodbye to.
-cc ;-)
