This is not a true story. Memory is an unreliable witness, and though I've tried to tell my tale to the best of my ability, I'm willing to accept not everything played out exactly as you're about to read.
When I was around the age of 8, my parents divorced. I can't say I recall the proceedings, but from what Dad relayed to me over the years, it became pretty messy. Ultimately Mom "winning" the house; custody of me; and the "right to take Dad to the cleaners", or so he would often put it.
It wasn't long after, he packed up everything that Mom hadn't "stolen" from him and moved back to North Carolina where he had grown up, leaving me and Mom living together in the family home. And I quickly began to hate it. Mom was way more focused on her career as a realtor than me, and her long hours saw me invariably spending more and more time in after-school care or being "babysat" by a neighbor or another family member.
A stark difference to Dad's place on the East Coast. On the two occasions I was able to visit him early on, he spent all his time with me. When I first arrived, there was a new PlayStation in my bedroom. On my second trip, he had a dirt bike for me which I could ride in the fields behind my grandparents' house; and on the eve of my last night, he promised the next time I came, he'd get me a puppy!
At only nine years of age, I boldly told my mother I wanted to go and live with Dad; and apart from some partly overheard late-night arguments between them on the phone, it all went smoothly, and I managed to escape the bustle of Los Angeles to the laidback rural lifestyle of the Tar Heel State.
Mom wrote letters often and even visited a few times in that first year. She wouldn't stay with us though, so the time we spent together was pretty limited. Dad said she preferred her job over us anyway and couldn't wait to leave. I wasn't bitter. I just felt sad for her. I always thought she would've been happier if she was more like Dad. He didn't let work rule his life and viewed family time with my uncles as far more valuable. That pretty much consisted of them sitting around the property drinking most of the time, and come to think of it, I don't even remember him having a job for much of my teenage years anyway.
Mom's visits became less frequent over time and eventually, the letters stopped altogether. There were plans for me to fly over to L.A. for the holidays, but they always fell through at the last minute, and as time passed, we became more and more estranged. Sometimes months would go by without even a phone call from her and despite comments on my social media posts, it seemed she was happy to have me and Dad out of her life forever. At least that's what he said about it anyway.
Which made the events surrounding my senior year of high school, all the more surprising.
Dad died.
It was my aunt Leticia who informed me. My closest confidant, (apart from my father of course) she was the one to sit me down at her table and tell me of the accident. He hadn't stood a chance against an eighteen-wheeler on the interstate. Driving the car that was to be my graduation present back from the lot, police said he'd pulled out right into the path of the oncoming semi. Drunk, they said. Which admittedly didn't come as a surprise to anyone in the family.
Academically, I'd done pretty well in school. Dad always begrudgingly acknowledged that I'd inherited that from my mother's side of the family, and it was with his (and admittedly Mom's) encouragement that I applied for entry to a few universities that I admired. Attempting to major in the arts, a small college fund that Dad presented to me in my final year wouldn't go far in the elite schools I'd targeted, and therefore when offered part scholarships at three institutions, I was the first on Dad's side of the family that would seemingly attend college.
Unfortunately, none of them were in North Carolina.
Mom attended Dad's funeral and was even back the next month for my graduation. Why she was so attentive was a mystery, but in those few weeks, I saw more of her than I had in the last two or so years. Maybe she was feeling guilty about not being there during my formative years. I don't know. But I had to admit, when she was around, I found it harder to hate her than I did when she was across the other side of the country.
*
'Made a decision yet Sugar?' Aunt Leticia questioned me as I sat at the dining table early in the evening, leafing through the college brochures laid out before me. Her eyes drifted between the Rhode Island School of Art pamphlet in my right hand, to the MIT booklet in my left.
'Narrowing it down,' I smiled as she sat across from me.
'Well, it's nice to be wanted,' she released a chuckle before stretching forward and tapping the glossy cover of my third option. 'And what about that?'
I looked down at the University of Southern California prospectus, and the acceptance letter for my scholarship slipped inside.
'Really?' I contradicted.
'It's close to yo momma!' Leticia posited.
'And therein lies the problem,' I laughed to which my aunt shook her head.
'You have to grow up sometime child,' she sighed and leaned back in her chair.
'What's that supposed to mean?' I was surprised at the statement and even caught a look of apprehension in Leticia's eyes as she seemed to reflect on what she'd said.
'Just, it's been nearly a month since yo daddy...' she left the sentence unfinished, again shaking her head.
'And?' I prompted her to reveal what was on her mind.
'You were always the bright one Oliver,' she once again stalled, looking down at the college documents. 'Talented too,' she added, no doubt referring to my artistic abilities. 'I just can't believe you can be that naïve,' she ended just as cryptically as she'd begun.
Confused, I dropped the brochures from my hands, collecting them all together in a pile.
'Aunt Leticia. What are you talking about?' I questioned and she momentarily looked toward the door before drawing a breath.
'Sugar,' she once more paused and I began to get frustrated with her stalling. 'I love yo uncle, you know that. And by extension, I loved yo daddy. But Honey. Do you recall him working an honest day in his life!?'
I didn't have any idea why she would raise the issue right then and there and threw back what I hoped was a look of incredulity.
'What's that got to do with...' I began before she interjected.
'How you think yo daddy could afford that car he was giftin' you?'
'I don't... what are you talking about?' I shrugged.
