Remember
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“I didn’t do anything. You did great. I’m just glad you didn’t make get up there, I don’t think I could have done it.”
“That’s why I thought it best you not take the stand, as much as your mental state has improved. All this must have been really hard for you to watch.”
I shrugged. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to go back to that room?”
“I don’t know. Ethan admitting he still loves you put what this case is really about in perspective.”
“You think I have a chance now?”
“Oh yeah. You’re not going to walk out without a scratch, but you probably won’t have to spend a day in jail.”
“Good.” I smiled.
“May the foreperson please stand.”
A young, bald, white guy stood up in the jurors’ box.
“We, the jury, believe that the defendant is guilty of second-degree attempted murder.”
I put my head down.
That was all I needed hear. I wasn’t going back to my solitary room.
I was going to prison.
As I lay in the cell I was going to be in for the next five years, I thought of Maya Angelou:
“I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else.
I find it impossible to let a friend or relative go into that country of no return.
Disbelief becomes my close companion, and anger follows in its wake.
I answer the heroic question ’Death, where is thy sting?’ with
It is here in my heart and mind and memories.”
I love you, Dad.
And Piper.
And Mom.
Fourteen Years Later
Pyper was playing Thing 1 in Suessical, the fall musical debuting that night at Cypress High. The musical had been the only thing talked about in my house for the past three months. I was proud of Pyper. She was shy growing up, which worried me, of course. By the time she turned six, she had come out of her shell. She became popular in high school quickly—always had a bunch of friends. I couldn’t wait to go watch her. It wasn’t my weekend so I hadn’t been able to see her beforehand. I knew I would only see her for a second after before she went to celebrate.
Pyper was the most talented, most beautiful Thing 1 I had ever seen. They had dyed her golden curls blue. It was the cutest thing in the world. I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face through the whole thing.
I saw Ethan waiting at the stage door. I awkwardly walked up to be in his line of sight.
“Hey, wasn’t she great?”
“Yeah, she was.” We both smiled at each other. For that moment, the past was forgotten and we were both just proud parents.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“They should be coming out soon.”
A teenage boy stuck out his fist as he walked past Ethan. “What’s up, Coach T?”
Ethan pounded him. Ethan was a really good father. He was made for this. He was Mr. PTA and the coach to the high school soccer team. It just came so easily for him.
Pyper worshipped him.
“You know my soccer team…they’re really killing it this year.”
I smiled.
“Dad!” Pyper came running as fast as she could toward Ethan. He hugged her and kissed her mess of hair.
“Hi, Mom.” Pyper came to give me a hug.
“You were so good, Pypes.”
“Really? Did you laugh?”
“Yes. I did. I missed you.” I gave her another squeeze.
She glanced over at her friends. There was still a part of her that was embarrassed to have me as a mom. I completely understood. She backed away from me and handed Ethan her stuff.
“Okay, Dad, so we’re going to the afterparty at Ruby’s. I’ll be back by midnight, I promise.”
I took a deep breath.
“I swear, Pyper…” Ethan started.
“Dad.” She drew it out to at least three syllables. “Promise. Love you. Thanks for coming.” Pyper gave him a kiss on the cheek and started to walk away,
“Pyper, say bye to your mom.” Ethan snapped.
She came to give me a quick hug. “Love you, Mom.” I squeezed her tight and off she went to find her friends.
I looked around at Ethan.
“You okay?” he asked. “It’s okay if you’re not. It can’t be easy watching her go off with her friends after a play she was just in—”
I cut him off. “I’m fine.” I turned to watch her walk away. I could make out her curly hair dancing as she laughed with her friends.
The way I never had.
I was so proud.
I smiled. “She’s got this.”
About the Author
Patricia Smith was born and raised in Los Angeles, CA. She wrote Remember, her debut novel, after dealing with depression, cutting, eating disorders, addiction―she wanted to be part of the author club where you can save lives with words. She always says, “writing is not what I do, it’s who I am”. You can always find her at pop punk shows and coffee shops. Follow her on Twitter at @pssmith92 and Instagram at @patriciashanae. She also hosts an open community where people who are going through a hard time can submit their troubles, secrets and express how they’re feeling without judgement at www.tell-patricia.tumblr.com.