A Bag of Secrets

After the funeral, I spent the next few days in the attic, reading the letters my mother had written to him in the years before they were married. He had never been the sentimental type, so I was surprised to find a whole box of them, carefully bundled. Even more surprising was the lock of her hair. A note was attached saying, “Randall, I hope you’ll accept this token of my love and think of how much you love and adore me when you hold it. Love, Angela.”

I looked deeper in the box and found a scrap of clothing. A piece of masking tape was on the other side with a few words penned: Randall’s (mine now).

My mom’s never been the clingy or obsessive type. So seeing a note like those from her was a bit off-putting.

I sifted through more of dad’s belongings and found a picture of him, mom, and two of their friends. They were in front of a local theater at night. I remember now, dad said this was when mom accidentally spilled a whole bucket of popcorn in her purse. A pit formed in my stomach. The only person holding any kind of bag was the other woman.

I stuffed the note, hair, fabric, and picture into my back pants pocket while sprinting downstairs to my dad’s office. I flung the door open and slammed the items onto his desk. “Who’s my mother?”

He put down his newspaper and eyed me as if I had two heads, “What kind of question is that?”

I tapped the purse in the picture, “popcorn.”

“Oh, I did tell you about that. Well, that was my mistake.” He sauntered to his safe and pulled out a revolver. He acted as if he was inspecting it, but he quickly aimed it at me. “But mistakes can be corrected.”

My eyes grew wide in confusion and surprise. I scrambled to step back as far as possible and kept my back to the wall. “Dad, at least explain things before going through with it.”

“Ugh, fine.” He kept the gun in my direction while he spoke. “After that night at the theater, we all decided to switch things up and went home with each other’s partner. So your mom is technically Cindy, the lady with the purse, but you figured that out already because you’re a nosy little brat.”

“Then why did you and mom raise me?”

“I didn’t want to, but the woman you call mom didn’t think you belonged with Cindy. She was off her rocker. That’s also why I married Sharlene. After the one night stand, Cindy would send me all sorts of creepy things, I even found that piece of my underwear on her nightstand.”

At this point, my dad’s aim had slowly descended. I was creeping my way to his desk while he rambled. I was hoping to find a letter opener or a sharp pen. I needed something- anything- to use for defense if I got close enough.

“Why did you keep this stuff then if it wasn’t from mom?”

“It’s nice to feel adored… plus I never had a night like that with Sharlene, so I definitely want to go back there when I can.”

I didn’t say anything. This was a lot to process on top of me facing my potential death.

Dad was annoyed at this point; I had to do something quick.

“Any more questions or can I get on with this?”

“Yeah, I hope your insurance is up to date.”

That confused him for just a split second, but that was all the time I needed to dive over the desk and take him down at his knees. I knew it was a dangerous game, but I wrestled for the gun. If I was to die, I’d go out with a fight.

After about 30 seconds of struggling, I managed to get the gun. I contemplated my next move carefully but swiftly. I put a bullet in his calf. I couldn’t bring myself to actual murder, I didn’t want that on my hands. With dad incapacitated, I was able to ditch him and make a break for the front door, grabbing my keys on the hook. As the heavy door closed behind me, so too came a bang. I wholeheartedly believe that would’ve been my head had I not moved when I did.

I’m not sure where to go, who to call, what my next move is. I’ve been driving for what seems like days, but I guess I’ll figure it out and just keep being grateful that I won’t soon be joining my mother in the grave.