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I know that I shouldn’t pry but my curiosity gets the better of me. What secrets does Reese’s childhood hold?
I set the makeshift hockey stick aside and start my treasure hunt.
I feel like I’m peeling back layers of Reese. Through a series of Polaroids, I see him grow up from a toothy, lanky boy with a bad bowl cut into a scowling teen who’s put on muscle and gained height. The gap in his teeth slowly closes miraculously without a brace in sight. His jerseys, each one bigger than the last, are in various states of fading, holey disarray, and spattered in blood. The trophies are scuffed and dented, but I can still see his little fingerprints on some of them. It makes me think of a young Reese, cuddling his medals in bed at night.
I start coming across pieces of paper. Some folded, some crumpled. All faded yellow.
I pick up one of the crumpled ones and delicately flatten it out. Sloppy writing in thick pencil scrawls across the wide-ruled page.
Dads a piece of shit
He yelled at mom today AGAIN because dinner wasnt hot. If he came HOME after work it would be!
I promise when Im married I wont be a big ASSHOLE like he is
Ill make food for my wife
Ill even CLEAN up after MYSELF
I wont even ever yell at her
This is a PROMISE
My stomach sinks into a pit. His words are angry, but the way they’re etched into the page is even more furious. A stream of consciousness putting his feelings onto paper. The pencil marks are deep and thick, scarring the paper.
I unfold another one.
Dad missed another game
He said?—
Hockey is stupid
Why doesnt he like me the way I am
What did I do wrong
My heart aches. I want to tell that little version of Reese that he didn’t do a damn thing wrong. That he was perfect the way he was. So what if his father can’t see that? Surely his mother?—
Oh.
Another piece of paper. Three simple words. Unlike the others, these are faint, barely there.
Mom died today.
There are more crumpled and folded papers in the bottom of the box, but suddenly, I feel sick. I shouldn’t be reading these. This is bad. Unforgivable, to go snooping through a man’s life like this.
I swallow back a lump in my throat and start putting things back in the box as I found them.
It makes sense, though. Why he is the way he is. All the answers are right in front of me. A terrible father. Lost his mother at such a young age. Did he go from suffering under the weight of all this hurt and anger as a child, to numbing it as an adult with drinks, parties, and women?
My head hurts. My heart aches. I need something to break me out of this, because if I’m not careful, I’m going to start crying.
I look up and catch sight of the pool glowing in the backyard. It looks like something out of a fairytale, shining in the dark like the facet of a sapphire.
I haven’t gone swimming since I moved in here. But now is as good a time as any, I guess. Maybe dunking myself under the water will clear my head of thoughts that don’t belong there.
One wardrobe change later, I’m gliding into the pool. The water is toasty as I swim from one end to the other in silence. My chaotic thoughts about Reese, my worries about my mother, the lingering fear I felt when I saw Violet’s flushed skin and heard her shuddering breaths—it all melts away into the warm waters, just like I was hoping for. I even catch sight of a star overhead. Dallas is being kind to me tonight. I lose myself to the peace of it.
