7
I waited for Matt and Hadley, but they never came. My anxieties made for a restless night with no dreams. The sun was just coming up, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to see them until the next evening.
The coffee is dark and bold today. Sitting at the table, I end up downing cup after cup just sitting there, staring off at the locked door. I brew another pot and take this cup outside. The fall air is crisp and has a little sting to it as I inhale on a cigarette. Standing outside, I start to get the jitters from all the caffeine pouring through my system. My hands shake, and my vision starts to go back to the door.
I run inside and find the prescription I picked up yesterday and popped one right away. I’m supposed to take it with food but can’t think clearly enough to make anything. I go in the fridge and pull out a couple slices of bologna. My fingers roll the round meat, and I quickly eat them before the pill has a chance to start dissolving on an empty stomach.
My head is beginning to pound harder with every heartbeat, and it feels as if my eyes are swelling. Holding onto the counter, I steady myself and lean forward, placing my forehead onto the cool surface in hopes of alleviating the pressure that was building. It didn’t help much, so I went back outside to light another cigarette, the door still on my mind. My pulse is racing, and I have to do something. Fuck it.
I toss the half lit cigarette into the old coffee bin outside and march for my bedroom. Putting in the code for the safe I turn the handle, it remains locked. I try again, still locked. I take a deep breath and continue long deep breaths while I very slowly spin the dial. Ensuring the numbers are exact with no play either up or down I stop on the last number and pause. My hand reaches up and pulls down on the latch, it opens.
My carefulness is quickly spent as adrenaline floods my veins, I grab the key inside. My strides are full of intent as I close the gap to the locked door. My hands raise to undo the padlock, and it is set free. Not bothering to walk over to the table I drop the padlock to the floor and swing the door open.
Stepping inside I turn on the light and immediately begin to slow. I take in all the gifts for Hadley on the left, two bicycles and piles of boxes wrapped for every birthday and Christmas and some items just because. Slowly scanning to the right is Matt’s bb-gun standing in the front, still waiting to be wrapped. His bicycles and presents are neatly stacked on his side of the room just as Hadley’s are. Then, I take a deep breath and look to the closet.
Standing there at least ten minutes passed as I thought about whether or not I should do it. It’s been three years since I’ve been through that door. Unsure of how I would be after exploring its contents, I waited, and then left. I walked out of the room but this time, I left it open behind me. Reaching outside, I grabbed my cigarette butt container and returned to the room with a chair from the dining table.
I sat the chair down facing the closet door and placed the butt can next to it on the floor to the right. Going back to the kitchen now I grab a beer then return to the chair and sit. I’m not sure how much time has passed, but I had gotten up several times to grab another beer. I am now out of cigarettes in this pack.
Going into the kitchen cupboards I find the carton of cigarettes, one pack left. I take the pack, undo the wrapping and throw it into the garbage. Going back into the room and sitting I stare at the pack of cigarettes and then stare at the door. Opening the pack of smokes I flip over the lucky one and then take it out right away to give it a light. I stand with my lucky cigarette and approach the closet and put my hand on the knob and then twist. The door was locked.
Last time I had the door opened I put on a new doorknob with the lock facing inwards and closed it locked. Going to the kitchen I searched the cupboards and found it, a single toothpick.
Taking my toothpick back to the room I put out the cigarette in the can and begin to pick the lock on the closet door. The toothpick snaps so I go retrieve another and come back. This time I gently insert the toothpick and fish around with it gently until I find the pressure lock inside and thrust the pick into it, popping the lock.
Opening the door, I see nothing. I panic for a second and then reach in and pull down on the light switch. Flickering into view are the three file boxes I had placed in there years ago. With one of those fat black markers they were labeled “Hadley,” “Matt,” and “Important.”
I am careful not to touch Hadley or Matt’s boxes, but I grab the file box labeled “Important” and carry it out to the middle of the room. The weight is almost unbearable at a whole ten pounds. Getting it to the middle of the room, I sit before it and try to get myself as comfortable as possible.
The top is caked in dust, and I draw a large heart with my finger upon it. I wipe the rest of the dust off with my sleeve, destroying the heart, and then remove the top, setting it off to the side.
Not having to look in, I know exactly what was inside. Without peering in, I move my hand inside the box and grasp the small wooden frame. Taking it out my pulse quickens. My eyes are shut as I bring it to my lap, and lower my head. The tears come first and fall onto my lap. The salt stings, but I force myself to open them and look.
Hadley and Matt are there staring right back at me. Hadley is two years old in the photo wearing a pink frilly dress, chubby little arms and legs with a huge smile showing off her newly acquired teeth. She sits in front of Matt in the sand at the beach who was four years old at the time the photo was taken. He’s leaned over on his side propping himself up with his right arm and trying to hold his sister upright with his left. He’s half looking at me and half watching his sister Hadley. I’m behind the camera taking the picture at noon of the Fourth of July many years ago.
I stand up the picture to my left and reach back inside the box. My fingers feel the two little bands and remove them. They are a little over an inch across and are labeled Curry Boy and Curry Girl. They are the leg bands they wore in the hospital from when they were born, and I’ve kept them since. Kissing the bands I take out my wallet and place them in the little zipper compartment inside so that they will forever be with me. I get my wallet down behind me and reach back into the box.
The next two items are thick pieces of parchment, each with ink rolled footprints from my babies, also taken at the hospital where they were born. Placing my hands next to the tiny prints I can scarcely remember them at that stage at all. Memories come forward from sleeping in that damn uncomfortable hospital chair as they curled their little bodies into me, seeking comfort and warmth from that familiar voice they heard so much from in the womb.
Then I grasp the folder within. It’s about four inches thick and has the weight of a dying star. Before it reaches me I let it drop, the thud echoing through out the room. Waiting until silence returns I look at the wretched thing and take a deep breath before removing its contents.
There is a giant stack of police reports. The titles of the reports are of a wide array. They include stalking a minor, child endangerment, assault, and domestic abuse. The list continues, but I end there. The children involved in the reports are Hadley and Matt. The suspect: Ben Curry.
I find myself starting to get angry and begin to remember why I don’t go here. I lose control of my breath as I quickly rummage through the papers. Flipping through to all the conclusions, “dismissed,” “dismissed,” “dismissed,” “dismissed” all of the reports were dismissed.
I never did anything to hurt them, or anybody for that matter. In short, I fell in love with a power crazed sociopath. Hadley and Matt’s mother was just plain evil. It started by telling me how much of a horrible father I was, all while she lay in bed doing nothing but eat and watch TV. I would bathe the kids, do Hadley’s hair, take them to daycare and 4K, feed them, take them to the park and just showed them the world that they meant to me.
Their mother had other plans. The verbal put-downs and abuse turned to a jealousy of me, as the kids quickly favored me. They could see their mother was never around and did not care to spend any quality time with them. The
jealousy escalated to throwing cups of water, or whatever I was drinking, in my face to throwing the cup across the room and smashing it against the wall. When that failed, she smashed a glass against the wall then cut herself in the forehead with one of the shards and called the police.
I told them the whole story of what she’s been doing, but they didn’t believe me so I was taken to the local station overnight because of her self injuries that she claimed were from me. From there, she got a restraining order against me on the same grounds which then prevented me from going home to Hadley and Matt.
After that, I was forced to watch my kids play at school from my car as I could not go home. This is what initiated the “stalking a minor” inquires. Then she made up a history of me beating the children and social services got involved.
Not standing for any of this, I contested everything and took her ass to court to get my kids back and away from the true child endangerment. Being a man though I was not heard. Thankfully the police were not able to prove any of her false reports, well because they were false.
Then I get to the bottom of the stack. Findings of fact, conclusions of law and judgment. Disregarding the hundreds of pages and years of fighting to get them back I came to the only page that really mattered. Sole custody and placement awarded to the mother.
In the end she had won, and I was ordered to never see my children again. When it came down to it, their mother made so many reports and allegations against me that it simply overwhelmed and stacked against the facts of all the testing and work that I have done with the sheriffs, social services and therapists. The State simply would not take the risk that she may be right about even one of the allegations, even though I mortgaged two homes I had purchased, lost both to foreclosure in legal fees, got everything disproven and dismissed, and she still won. They would not even allow me to have supervised visits with her claims that I would steal the children if ever around them again.
From there, I spiraled into major depression and found myself trying to purchase a gun. The first time I was denied because I showed up to the gun dealer in a drunken stupor. Later I sobered up enough to get one and months later gave it to Ed for in-store credit after looking down the barrel one to many times and scaring the shit out of myself. I’ve never felt safe owning a firearm since, the closest thing to it is the BB-gun I recently got for Matt.
After winning in court, their mother took them and moved without reporting it to the court. I believe that this was allowed for the children’s “safety” and the State really knows where they are. But I can’t find the information anywhere online or in any public record. It’s almost as if witness protection got together with them and wiped them from memory, but they will never be wiped from my memory. I won’t allow it.
Before they moved Vikki from the cafe had told me she overheard their mother talking about how she would relabel the presents I would send them so that they appeared to be from her. Vikki went on about how she would tell people in the cafe that I was an abuser and abandoned the children. I used to take the kids to the cafe where Vikki worked every Sunday for breakfast and she quickly caught onto their mother’s lies. This is how Vikki and I quickly became friends as she regularly saw the true father I am and felt for my loss.
There’s been many times such as these where I would go through this hell and want to burn it all, all the papers, pictures and gifts, but I never can move on. I have to dream that I am still with them. As I sleep, I watch them grow and experience life with them. Without the presents, without the pictures and everything that I have created to keep them alive, there would be nothing for me.
The papers are put away now, but I’m fuming. I light a cigarette and yell, “Fuck you, you cunt!” and kick the pile of legal documents, scattering them across the room. Not being able to control my tears I begin to pick the papers back up and place them in order back into their box. They’re all in there now, not as neatly as before but good enough for now to get them away from me. I lay the birth certificates back in and close the lid. The picture I keep out for now and place on top of the box to ward off the evil within.
Distinctly I hear the front door but do not bother to move. I sit there in the chair, staring at their picture. I can hear Ed outside the room now, standing there, staring at me but he says nothing, just waiting. He makes his breathing loud so that his presence doesn’t go unnoticed.
A few minutes pass. I wait for my tears to stop. I don’t want anybody to see me in this shape, not even Ed. Somehow I manage and wipe away the remaining dampness with my now dirty sleeve and stand up to face Ed.
Turning around I look at him and just shrug as if to say, “What? What am I suppose to do?” No words are needed. Ed walks in, puts a hand around my back and guides me outside to the back. Ed sits me down in a chair around my bonfire pit and walks back inside then soon returns with two cold beers from the fridge.
We both stare off in our own ways sipping on the beer. Ed is the first to move and it is only to start stacking wood for a fire. He grabs the lighter fluid from the garage, sprays some on, then flicks in a match, flickering a new warmth into the world.
The heat coming from the fire is nice, and I scoot in a little closer. It’s slowly curling the hair on my legs. It’s almost unbearable, but it is also evaporating my tears as quickly as they come, hiding my feelings. I take the heat.
Blazing now, the heat forces my eyes closed and real memories come flooding in. Hadley is trying to climb up a jungle gym at the park to go after her brother but she is to short to reach so I walk over and hold her hips as she magically floats to the top of the wooden bridge. Matt comes over and guides her from there, holding her hand to the middle of the bridge where he teaches her how to jump and manipulate the boards so that it acts like a trampoline, sending them ever higher into the air. Afterwards they shake the bridge as they walk across it on their way to the slide on the opposite perch. I walk over to the bottom of the slide as Matt helps his sister get her legs straight and butt down, then gives her a gently push forward. She leans back with speed, and I swoop her up before her momentum would take her to the ground if I were not there to be her hero. Matt inches his way forward on the slide on his stomach until just his feet are grasping onto the top of the slide. His feet can’t hold on any longer and he paces his descent with his hands ensuring a safe stop before climbing off himself.
We then walk away from the playground equipment to the pond at the park and slowly inch our way around, each of us pointing out every small fish we see to the other two. After making a full lap around the pond, we find a patch of pebbles and begin throwing them in and watching the ripples dance and fade away across the water. Hadley spots a goose behind us and goes bolting away. She nearly catches up to it within a few feet before it finally took flight and disappeared beyond the tips of the trees. I walk up to her and give her a huge high-five for her effort.
Winded from all the playing we all sit together and begin picking grass. I teach Matt how to put the grass between his thumbs and blow to make a buzzing sound. Hadley tries to copy us but just ends up blowing air and eventually starts to eat the grass. That tells me its probably a good time to go get food in these little two so I pack them up into the truck, and we go off in search of some fast food with yet another play place.
“Are you alright?” asks Ed, taking me back from the past.
“Yeah,” I didn’t realize the fire died down and the tears caught back up with the memories. Taking a sip, my beer is gone. “Want another one?” I ask Ed, getting up.
“Another one would be good,” he says handing me his empty bottle. I bump the garage door open and head to the fridge in there. Tossing the bottles into the recycle bin, I grab two more beers out and head back to the fire. I hand Ed his beer, and I notice his eyes too were watered, no doubt either thinking of his wife or in sympathy of me.
Sitting back in my chair now I try to avert my concentration to the embers in front of me. The logs would dance in a glow of orange, sweeping fro
m side to side as the oxygen around us would seep in and out of the flames, fueling the fire. Vehicle tires in the driveway catch my attention, but I don’t look. I’m afraid it’s the cops being called for the fire so I’ll just try and let Ed handle this one. Sound of heels approach and with relief I turn around to face the guest.
Vikki comes walking up the drive around the side of the house and heads straight for me, arms open. I stand to welcome and embrace her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly to me.
“It’s okay. I’m better this time.” We hold our embrace for a moment and then part to invite her to a seat by the fire. Ed must have called her at some point and filled her in about me going through the box. This is a cycle of mine. Repressing the memories of my children to live in a belief that they are still with me only to relive the truth every couple years or months or weeks, all depending on how deep into their reality I become.
The three of us sit around the fire now. Vikki is the first to speak. Telling tales of Hadley in the diner with whipped cream all over her face from her french toast.
The mood is finally lifting as they no longer have to hide the truth from me. Revealing their memories comes with humor and we laugh as Ed tells of how Matt cut his hand on a fish in the river behind his shop, and he walked into is shop bleeding slowly, with rod and fish in tow seeking help from the old man he barely knew.
It cycled between laughs and tears for the children with spouts of hate towards their mother. We were there for hours getting louder and more animated with each tale we remembered. Then another car pulled in the drive and we all suddenly became silent. This time it wasn’t Vikki but the cops I feared before. Now being drunk I really didn’t care and burst out into laughter staring at Vikki when the officer approached.
“Do y’all know what time it is?” the officer asked. We all laugh in unison, and I respond.
A Father's Dreams Page 8
