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I convince myself that, unlike me, Buck, the kid with a filthy attitude but clean record, can make something out of himself. He’s not going be a prisoner. He will have choices, but he will toe the line. I am going to make damn sure of that.
I look around the space. This small apartment is about to expand, doors shut are now going to be open, and this place is going to start resembling a home rather than a crash pad.
I think I like it. Then again, I’m in a different state of mind today.
I’m not a stupid man. In fact, my high school exams said I was borderline genius. Lot of good that did.
I remember what Annie wrote. Memories, good ones will always be there. I wonder if maybe the bad ones fade faster in time.
Annie. Tatum.
Fuck.
I run my hands through my hair, telling myself to get a grip. Reality, here and now, not that damn book. Focus.
I step inside the room, seeing all the boxes. It’s overwhelming.
With all the pent up energy I feel, I tackle them one at a time. The pictures haunt me, but the bitter pain isn’t the same, and I’m not sure why.
I blow the dust off and realize it’s not Shaw’s box I’m opening, it’s Pandora’s.
My past. Hell, not even my past. My beginning.
I hold up my parents’ wedding picture and stare at it. The way she looks at him, the way he looks at her, there is a feel to it, and the realization makes me feel foolish. But the picture... The picture of them is one that doesn’t belong in a fucking box.
One by one, I pull out framed picture after framed picture. There are dozens of my parents and my parents with Maria. They are a family. They look so fucking happy. They are happy.
My chest tightens, knowing I took that away.
The pain is real. It has a shot of regret, making the concoction even stronger.
I took a man’s life, and I never felt that pain. Not even for a minute.
I turn to walk toward the door and see Buck standing there with a bucket in his hand.
“Need some help?”
“I’m good,” I tell him, walking over and taking it from him. “Thanks.”
“You need help, I’m—”
“Said I was good,” I comment, walking toward an old dresser covered in dust.
“This gonna be my room?” he asks.
I survey the room and see the same handwriting on all the boxes. All of them have an M, and I guess this is all from my childhood home.
“No,” I answer.
“You want me to get started on my room?” he asks.
“Haven’t even opened that damn door, Buck. Wanna give me—”
“I did. It has trophies and shit.”
“Well, if you’re in such a yank, just set them to the side and don’t break anything. If there are boxes, leave them alone.”
“No boxes, but...” He pauses and chuckles.
I look back. “What’s so funny?”
He holds up his hands. “Nothing, man. You sure you don’t want the other room?”
“Said I was good, Buck.”
He nods and smiles. “Perfect.” Then he walks out.
I take a deep breath as I shake my head and feel a tad better about this little self-torturous memorial service. At least Buck seems happy.
Once the dresser is wiped down and I have the pictures I want on it, I step back and look at it.
Jonathon’s apartment has pictures, I think to myself.
I turn around and grab a box, faintly making out the scribble of “Maria’s things” on the top. Slowly pulling back the tape, I find an old, leather bound journal on top. Opening it, I find the pages are yellowed, but the handwriting is clear.
Life lessons I hold dear:
Never waste a second.
Never look back.
Live, love, and look on for family.
Omo and I are starting our own family. I have found my love, my life, and I look back without a regret. Even in the loneliest of times, when I couldn’t see things turning out this way. It’s the unexpected treasure. The love I have with this man and the future we are going to have is worth every heartache I’ve ever endured. He is my beginning, my end, and my every in between.
I set the book in the top left dresser drawer. My mother’s words, a treasure that has faded, but I will be damned if I don’t keep it.
Buck has a room. I have a room. This was mine before I was even here. Now I can give Shaw’s legacy of good on to the next person who needs it.
Hours pass. I have everything sorted into what will be donated, what I will keep, and what Buck can use.
With more anxiousness running through me, I feel the need for closure in a way I have never felt before. Therefore, I head toward Highland Park, a place I venture around but never to them. I can go there; I can be in this city; but I haven’t yet faced the finality of their gravestones.
