Ben

I felt a bit uneasy in the moment. It wasn’t nerves, or anything like that. I was just, uneasy. I really can’t explain it much more than that. And I don’t think it had anything to do with the fact my father was dead. Quite frankly, I was surprised it took the old prick this long to die. I know that sounds harsh but, the old man did not deserve compassion. He had chosen a life on the road, and that road rarely led him to me. Honestly though, I was at peace with it all.

The funny thing was, I didnt even know that he had died until I got a call from some strange sounding man saying that my father had left me something and I should come pick it up. When I asked him who he was and how he knew my father, he hesitated and then quietly, but sternly said "I'm the accountant". I had a few questions but decided not to ask any of them because, well, I had come this far not knowing much about the man so, why dig a hole I would'nt be able to refill.

"What did the bastard leave me"? I just wanted to be sure I wasnt waisting my time. "A key", the voice said". I fell just short of laughing and hanging up the phone. "A key? And, where is this key"? I heard some papers being moved about on the line and was a little weary. " You must pick up the key at my office in New Orleans.”

New Orleans? I lived in New Orleans. Of all the places I knew my father had been, here, in my home town was not one of them. So, I pressed the accountant on the phone a little bit more. " So, what is this mysterious key doing here"? He stammered a bit but then said, " Um, well, your father lived here. He, Uhh, lived here for about twenty years." Dumfounded, I gathered the address and all other helpfull information reguarding the key and hung up the phone. I can only describe the feeling I felt of being told that my father had lived in the same city as I for the last twenty years as numb. However, I was not overwhelmed. It was, afterall, very fitting. I spent the next few minutes gathering my wallet, keys, and hat, and then I was off.

As I drove to the the accoutants office to retrive the key, I mulled over all of the possible reasons one might have for choosing not to see his only son. I, being childless, tried to place myself in the shoes of someone with a child. After I piddled on the matter a bit, I decided that it was a useless endeavor and moved on to the task at hand. Besides, I was not the selfish asshole so, how could I understand?

I began to consider all the possibilities of what this key might be for. It was all for nought though, because even the very little about my father I thought I knew was proven to be very wrong. If that man could live under my nose for all this time without me knowing, well, then any scenario was possible.

Being that I lived in Uptown New Orleans, the drive to the accountants office was a rather quick one. It took a few minutes to find parking but not nearly as long as it usually did in the CBD. As I approached the door, a million questions flooded my brain. I had no time for all that at that moment though. This needed to be an unencumberred exchange. I just needed to get the key, find out what the key was for, and be done with this. I needed to be done with my father.

The door slammed shut behind me causing one of those rediculous bells to ring. "Mr. Wylder!"I heard coming from a man I could only assume was the annomous accountant. I must admit, he was much younger than I had imagined. His tall slim build and stylish glasses reminded me a lot of my father in the few pictures I had seen of him. "Umm, hey. So, where is this key"? The accountant perced his lips. "Im afraid I havent been entirely truthful with you".

I knew it! I knew this wasn't going to be as simple as I had hoped. But before I could unload on him, he interupted. "I mean, there is a key. However, there is also this." The accountant slid a little black book onto the table. He continued. "You see, this little black book was on your fathers kitchen table. I saw it there after he had passed. I flipped through it and landed on this page". The accountant held the book up and open for me to see. The top of the page simply said, for Ben. Under the words, a key was taped to the page.

I took the book and flipped through the pages for myself. It was mostly just dates and appointments. I had no idea what this was all about. I looked up at the accountant. "So, you knew about me"? The acountant looked at me with regretful eyes. "Your father talked about you all the time. Ben, Im your brother, Layne".

My heart dropped into my stomach and for a moment I swear that it stopped beating. My bastard father had not only lived in the same city as I for the pass twenty years, he had raised a second son. This son, however, got to see him all of the time. This son, LAYNE, got to have him as a dad!

Just when I could feel a lifetime of anger begin to overcome me, I collected myself. "What is the key for"? Layne, restraining from any further conversation he said, "It opens a safety deposit box at the Whitney Bank on Veterans in Metaire. I turned to the door in a hurry, but before I opened it i paused. " Im not angry with you Layne. Maybe, one day, it would be nice to catch up. Maybe" before Layne could answer, I hurried out the door. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wated to punch my father in the freaking face.

I arrived at the bank and requested the saftey depost box. It seemed that all of this had been set up in advance. once inside the room, I waited as the attendant placed my box onto a table. I opened the box. I didn't quite know what to think. In the box was five stacks of one hundred dollar bills totalling twenty thousand dollars. $20,000! Under the cash was a note. I placed the money onto the table and picked up the note. It read, simply. Ben, Im sorry.