There are brief moments
in a person's long, arduous, and subjectively meaningful life that define said
person's entire existence. I have personally lived through several brief,
seemingly insignificant moments without so much as a second thought until remorse
and regret inevitably floods my once dormant conscience. This reflective,
albeit useless, frame of mind is most likely a symptom of the terror I am currently
feeling. My future became less and less certain in response to the steadily
coursing stream of blood flowing from my lower abdomen. Although the uneven
earth beneath my lower back was becoming drenched with pools of my own blood, I
could still feel the rigid texture of the scorched grass protruding into my
painfully cold skin. Losing feeling in my extremities, I am confident that my
legs would not be able to facilitate my overwhelmingly instinctual urge to flee
from certain death. As my attacker walked over my lifeless body to ultimately
win the brief battle, I was succumbing to a type of introspection and vivid
memory that could be only be experienced immediately prior to a person’s
untimely demise.
Since I had been
wallowing in the despair of dissatisfaction regarding distaste for my mundane
life at the time, I had not possessed the capability of acknowledging the
magnitude of such a life altering decision I would soon make. I wonder if
individuals are in fact capable of experiencing different subconscious emotions
as an innate survival mechanism when making either a beneficial or ill-advised
life choice. For example, I wonder if it is possible for a compulsive gambler
to instantly feel either the positive effect of winning a multi-million-dollar
lottery ticket or the negative effect of spending his last three dollars of a
losing ticket. If this theory holds even an ounce of truth, then there would
have to be some sort of guiding, psychic energy that could save us from
resulting consequences of human naivety and simultaneously encourage us to
pursue definitive success. As reassuring as this fantastic theory might be, I
must refute it on the basis that I had never once had the reflex to avoid
unfavorable situations and walk towards guaranteed achievement.
To say that I was saddened by the news of my father’s death would be
uncharacteristic of my primarily apathetic demeanor towards him. As a child, he
never gave me or my siblings anything more than dedicated neglect, which is why
I was surprised when his lawyer called to say that he had left me his summer
home in his will. Confused by the divulgence of an unknown home my father had
kept secret from me for all these years, I questioned the reliability of the
man on the phone as I was certain a joke was being played on me by one of my
sinister sisters. Assuming Darlene and Cheri would revel in my unfounded
excitement as they mocked their younger brother for being left out of our
father’s will while they received substantial chucks of change between them, I
was hesitant to convey any eagerness. I tested the alleged lawyer’s credentials
as well as the validity of the phone call as I responded with cautionary
indifference to the claim that I had inherited a farm house.
Assuring me that he was in fact a lawyer calling on behalf of my
father’s estate, I doubted my sisters’ commitment to a prank and started to entertain
the idea of spontaneously becoming a home owner. Assuming that the first piece
of land I’d own would be a posthumous purchase of a plot in a cemetery, the
idea of actually owning something of value while still alive to enjoy it was
exciting. Overshadowing my excitement with guilt as I then regretted not
attending my father’s funeral, nor did I keep him company on his death bed, my
inheritance was inferred as a reminder of how badly we treated each other.
Momentarily bogged down by guilt, I allowed myself to return to an excited
state as I ran out the door to retrieve the deed and keys to my new home. If
anything, one last gesture indicating that my father loved me was enough to let
my resentment towards him fade.
After signing a few lengthy
documents and showing my identification to prove I was Colin Steinbeck’s son, I
was given a single key along with a ratty piece of paper containing the land
description and coordinates. Expecting a long drive ahead of me, since the
rural land description didn’t even have a residential address, I entered the
coordinates into my car’s GPS and begun the three hour drive north. Trying to
make sense out of my father’s desire to own land hundreds of miles out of the
city he lived his entire life, I could not fathom why he had chosen that
particular isolated area. Also, it struck me as odd that he never mentioned the
farm house to anyone as he was known to be quite boastful about lesser
accomplishments. Once he called every person in our family phone book to inform
them of his new push mower, which was unimpressively bought second-hand from a
garage sale. Unable to rationalize my father’s secrecy, I realized I would
probably never understand the truth behind it; unless my sisters knew about it
all along and didn’t bother to tell me.
As the city’s skyline shrunk the farther I drove in the opposite
direction, the paved road turned into gravel, then into dirt, finally running
out of road all together forcing me to drive through tall grass to reach the
white house in the distance. Hardly able
to examine the shape of my new property, my car thrashed around the uneven
farmland as I held tightly onto the steering wheel to keep from being tossed
onto the passenger seat. Eventually clearing the overgrown land, my car barely
made it out intact, having collected an inch of dust and twisted weeds around
the windshield. Surprised my tires didn’t explode from the rough terrain, I
approached the house slowly as to avoiding hitting one of the many divots in
the dry soil. Dreading the condition of the house based on the neglected lawn,
my morbid curiosity got the best of me, provoking me to poke my head out the
window to take a look at the crumbling porch. Startled by what I expected to
simply be a dilapidated structure, I figured the blowing country dirt created
the illusion of a person sitting on the porch railing.
Waiting for the dust to settle as I put my car in park, I exited the
vehicle to confirm what I thought I had seen. Looking at the person now
standing on the porch, it was evident that she was not an illusion, just an mysteriously
stunning woman. Having no idea who the woman was and why she had been loitering
on my father’s porch, she somehow had a clear understanding of who I was.
Introducing herself as Macy, she told me that she was expecting me and that I
should excuse the state of the lawn as there had been a drought in the county
all summer. Crossing my mind as improbable, the possibility that my father had
a second family out in the country seemed to be more and more likely as Macy
gave me a hug and invited me in. Holding onto my wrist with her moisturized
hand as she guided me up the rotted porch steps- unable to support my weight as
they cracked beneath my feet- I hoped I wouldn’t have to view her as my
father’s widow.
Walking ahead of me, she swung open the unhinged screen door,
slamming it against the side of the house, creating a brisk breeze that blew
her frizzed pony tail into my face. Smelling her hair as it tickled the tip of
my nose, an intoxicating aroma of berries flooded my senses. As she needlessly
apologized for her scented hair brushing up against my face, she removed the
red elastic band that kept her black hair pulled up, letting her wavy locks
fall down past her freckled shoulders. Mesmerized by the way in which her hair
fell over her tank top straps, much like feathers floating softly to the ground,
my prolonged stare was disrupted as she commented on my gawking gaze saying,
“Just like your daddy- never wanted to take his eyes off me.”
Giggling as she watched my cheeks turn bright red from being caught
adoring her luscious hair, she invited me into the house. Still avoiding her
relationship to my recently departed father, I had yet to rule out romantic
involvement. Since my mother had not been in the picture since I was a child
and the fact that Macy could undeniably lure any man she wanted, it remained a
possibility. If that were the case, I would have been stricken with
simultaneous feelings of envy and pride towards my father, who- to my
knowledge- had never even dated. My theory was debunked as Macy introduced me
to her husband, Marshall, who was coming out of the kitchen with a glass of
lemonade in his hand. She kissed him before taking the refreshing citrus drink and
then introduced me as “Colin’s son Justin.” Apparently knowing who my father
was, he shook my hand as he explained it was a pleasure to finally meet me,
adding that my father had talked about me most of all. Skeptical of that
unlikely statement, I played along, acting as if I could believe that my father
would spend his time talking about a son he hardly knew. I figured that Marshall
was just being polite and avoided mentioning that everything my father said
about me was most likely hateful.
Continuing the tour of the house, Macy and Marshall escorted me
around the first floor of the house without divulging even the slightest hint as
to why they were living in my father’s house. Once we reached the back porch,
in a similarly decrepit condition as the one out front, there was a younger man
cutting logs into kindling. Yelling out to the young man, looking no more than
eighteen or nineteen years old, Macy told Jay to put the axe down so he could
come meet me. Immediately dropping the axe to his side, Jay rushed over while
he wiped the sweat away from his forehead, leaving a trail of wood chips
smeared above his eyes. He caught his breath and told me that he was sorry to
hear about my father’s passing, admitting that he has been devastated as he oddly
always looked to him as a father. Recognizing my bewildered look, he apologized,
saying that he meant no disrespect seeing as how I was his biological son and
must be much more distraught by his death. Responding with indifference, I
reassured him that I did not take offence and muttered that I was happy at
least someone saw him as a father. Looking toward Macy for instruction, Jay
nodded his head and returned to chopping wood. I asked Macy if he was a family
member or just a farmhand, to which she replied, “Actually both. But Jay is
also my husband.”
Becoming more confused with each person I met, I continued to
struggle with the dynamic of the squatters living in my father’s house as he
walked up to the second floor of the house. Opening the first creaking bedroom
door, she called out for someone named Jesse and then looked in another of the three
rooms before finally finding the person for whom she had been looking. She
peered into the bedroom and asked Jesse to join us, explaining they had a guest
(although according to the law, they were technically guests in my home). As I
anticipated a woman to greet us, hoping to clear up the confusion as to who was
married to whom, Jesse appeared to be an African American man, introducing
himself completely nude. Trying to keep his exposed genitals out of my field of
vision, I made sure not to be caught staring as I was still embarrassed from
admiring Macy moments earlier. He also shook my hand, but didn’t say a word,
then retreated back to his bedroom. Macy laughed as she explained that Jesse
was shy, never having more than a word or two to add to a conversation. She
assured me that he would warm up to my presence in the house after a few weeks
as it took him quite some time to get used to sharing her with Marshall, Jay,
and Colin.
Baffled by two equally concerning assumptions that one: from the
sounds of it, the four of them intended on staying in the house indefinitely,
and two: Macy was obviously a polygamist and had included my father in her
twisted living arrangement, I could not comprehend what I had been hearing.
Unwilling to speculate anymore, I bluntly asked Macy why she was living in my
house and more importantly, if she was in fact married to my father before he
died. As if polygamy was a completely acceptable lifestyle and that knowledge
of my father’s participation in such an arrangement was not a shocking
discovery, Macy responded indifferently as she indicated that they were a happy
family. Noticing my confusion turn into anger, I began to lose my temper as I
cut off Macy’s rhetoric to implore them to leave the premises. Raising my voice
as Macy nonverbally directed Marshall to stay put, staring him down with a
domineering look, I told her that the house was now my property and that I
considered them all trespassers. Remaining speechless for a few awkward,
prolonged seconds, Macy whistled a high pitch call to summon her husbands. They
ran to her like well-trained dogs, then waited for further instruction. Keeping
her green eyes locked onto mine, she instructed Marshall, Jay, and Jesse to
wait for her outside while we spoke.
Trying to appeal to my better nature, Macy suggested that I reconsider
allowing them to stay in the house, since my father would have wanted it that
way. Refuting her claim, I asked her why he would have left the house to me
rather than her if he at all valued his sham marriage. Replying calmly, Macy
stated that she convinced my father to leave the house to me instead of my
sisters as a final attempt to bury the proverbial hatchet. Hearing the first
sensible explanation I had heard since receiving the lawyer’s phone call, I
started to believe Macy’s argument. If there was one thing that made perfect
sense to me, it was that I whole heartedly believe that my father would have
had to be persuaded into leaving me his house. Instead of kicking Macy out on
the porch with her obedient husbands, I impatiently asked her to clarify the
entire situation and how my father became a part of her unusual life.
Implying that my father was in no way coerced into a polygamist
marriage or into buying a house for the five of them to live in harmony, Macy
tried her best to make it clear that he loved them all and was the happiest he
had been throughout the five years leading up to his death. Taken aback by the
concept that my father would willingly enter into a shared marriage for half of
a decade, I sat down on the beige carpeted staircase and hung my head before it
exploded trying to comprehend the absurd complexity of my father’s life
choices. Macy joined me on the staircase and rubbed my shoulders, putting me
into a relaxing trance as she urged me to embrace her lifestyle, comforting me
that it wasn’t abnormal or in any way deviant. She continued to give me a deep
tissue massage while she pointed out the positive aspects of a polygamist
marriage, saying that household chores, attentiveness, and love are all things
that are easier approached as a team effort.
Beginning to grasp what she was saying, feeling quite docile from
her magical hands, she whispered in my ear that she could make me happier than
I ever imagined. Feeling her warm breath rush against my ear lobe, she had
successfully subdued my anger. Recognizing that I was wrapped around her little
finger, duped by an impressively charismatic demeanor, she offered to make me
lunch while I decided if it would be a good idea for her to stay in the house.
Once again whistling her “brother husbands” scurried back into the house to await further
instruction. She politely asked them to make me a roast beef sandwich with
homemade potato chips while we continued to speak. I added to the order, hoping
my father would have left behind a case of light beer in the fridge, but was
disappointed when Macy corrected me by saying that Colin had quit drinking
years earlier and that alcohol was forbidden in the house. Suspicious of the
localized prohibition, I respected their bizarre custom by asking for a glass
of that lemonade I had seen earlier. They happily went to fetch me lunch and a
glass of ice cold, freshly squeezed lemonade while Macy took me by the hand and
led me outside; this time intertwining her fingers with mine, staying close to
my side.
As we walked around the property, Macy pointed out the garden where
she hoped to grow vegetables once the drought ended. Circling the house, there
was a wooden fence alongside a chicken coop, but there weren’t any animals in
sight. She mentioned that it was my father’s intention to buy a few animals,
including a couple pigs, a cow, and several chickens to develop a
self-sustaining colony, but got sick from pulmonary disease before he could
actualize that particular dream. Unbeknownst to me, apparently my father had
been quite the visionary in his old age, which surprised me because he once
swore that ecological-friendly measures such as recycling and hybrid cars were
part of a liberal conspiracy directed at lowering disposable income while
distracting middle-class families with redundant tasks. Revealing a commendable
side to my father I hadn’t had the pleasure of noticing, Macy said that she
loved how passionate my father was about the future even when he didn’t have
one to look forward to.
Watching Jay run out to us with a plate of food and a glass of
lemonade, I thanked him for his hospitality before May ordered him to go back
in to help clean up. As I enjoyed the tender beef on a freshly baked bun,
washing it down with a sweet beverage, Macy asked me point blank if I could
continue my father’s vision by allowing them to stay at least until the farm
got some much needed rain. As she finished her sentence, the left window on the
second floor shattered over our heads as a blast engulfed the house. Taken by
surprise by the tremors created from the explosion, I dropped my lunch to the
dry soil, absorbing the lemonade as if the ground had been dying of thirst.
Alarmed by the unanticipated bang, I looked to Macy, who was already furious,
cursing Jesse for leaving the burner on. Knowing very well what she had just
lost in that explosion, Macy ran into the house to save the true object of her
affection. Coming out with only a garbage bag of an unknown, heavy substance,
the three men were scattering inside to put out the flames. Realizing that the
bag contained something more valuable than her husbands, I assumed the worst
and started walking briskly towards my car.
Retrieving my cell phone, I was discouraged to notice that there
hadn’t been any reception, which meant I couldn’t call the fire department and
police station to respectively put out the fire and arrest Macy. In tune with my
intention, Macy whistled again as I made my way around to the front of the
house. As I walked around the corner of the house, Jesse was standing there
with a shovel in his hand- still inexplicably nude. He swung the shovel at my
head, knocking me to the dry grass as the flames sprayed out from the top
floor. Landing on a sharp rock protruding from the ground, pain shot from my
lower back down to my feet, keeping me immobilized at Jesse’s feet. Keeping a
close watch on me as I held onto my aching head, Jesse waited for Macy to catch
up with us. She stood over me with a stern look on her face, putting her hair
back into a pony tail as she straddled me.
Explaining that things could have transpired with less violence, she
apologized for having to end my life, but she didn’t have any other choice.
Suggesting that I should have been more compliant like my father, Macy reached
towards my neck then started to press her thumbs against my throat, cutting off
my supply of oxygen. Saying that she wished I could have just let her go about
her business, Macy tightened her grip around my neck, puncturing my skin as her
nails cut the skin below my chin. Starting to lose consciousness, black spots
started appearing before my eyes, covering Macy’s psychopathic face until I
slowly faded away.
I’ve heard that a person’s life flashes before his or her eyes as
death is imminent. I’m not sure if that is exactly true, but I was given
clarity regarding the irony that the only gift my father had ever given to me
resulted in my own death. Satisfied to know that the only love my father
received on his death bed was from a deceitful succubus, my last smile came
about as I knew he got what he deserved and karma had not forgotten about him.
I always thought it would kill him to involve me in his life and treat me like
a member of the family despite his opposition to my lifestyle, but it is
evident that it would only kill me.
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