Remember Me as A Child

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Their mother said to her two elder children as they all sat at the kitchen table with black coffee in front of them. It was an early summer afternoon, and they were all draped in black attire.

“Well, he’s no longer suffering.” Katie said to her mother placing her hand on her arm.

“At least he can’t hurt us anymore.” John said to his sister and mother with no emotion in his voice.

“John, please don’t. Not today. Tomorrow fine-but not today.” His mother said to John.

“Fine, but you know it’s true.” John said getting up and leaving the room.

After a minute spent listening to the clock tick away from above the fridge Katie interrupted, “Now what?”

“I really don’t know. I suppose we try to carry on as we have ever since your father,” she paused at the mention of him, emotion rising to her throat. She swallowed the pain with an audible gulp and continue, “since he was in that accident that crippled him. Katie, please tell me you know that your father loved you and all of us. Please, tell me you won’t forget what he was like-how happy we all were.”

“Mom, I will never forget, but he changed in the end. He absolutely allowed the pain to get the better of him.”

“But you can’t blame him. He lost his identity in that car wreck.” She replied frantically.

“Well, I wish he had held it together for the remaining years.”

“So do I.”

“Mom, seriously though, what now? Isn’t there a will of sorts?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. You know we don’t have anything.”

“I guess I should get going then.”

“Going where?” her mother asked with horror. “Don’t leave me.”

“To work, mom.” Katie said with pity in her voice.

“Your father loved all of you, Katie.”

“Yeah, well that love won’t pay for rent or food or anything, now that he can’t work. We have to pay rent this week, so I need to go in for a shift today.”

“Please don’t.” Her mother pleaded with her. “To hell with everything else. Just stay with me for a while. Can’t we talk for a bit on the good times we had before everything went sour?”

“Sure, Ma.” Katie said sitting back down. “But not all day. How about for an hour or so more?

“Alright, thank you.” Her mother said relieved and smiling. “You know what, your father told me that he did have a will of sorts. Said he wrote something down in a little black book. Let me see where that is.”

At this she got up from the table and went over to a bookshelf and started going through a bunch of notebooks. “I was so mad at him when he told me, I barely acknowledged him when he put it here.” She came across a little black book and flipped open the front cover and said with hesitation, “I think it’s this one.”

“Think?”

“Yes, because it just looks like one of the many notebooks you kids used for school.”

She went back over to the table and set it down between herself and her daughter and started flipping through the pages.

“I remember this book. This was the one that we all used to draw in. Back before everything happened. Us kids would draw in here and give it to daddy.” Katie said surprised at the emotion in her own voice.

Mother and daughter flipped through the pages and old memories contained in the book.

“I drew that when we first moved here.” Katie said pointing to a rough child’s drawing of a family standing in front of a house. “I didn’t know he kept this,” she said in a quiet pondering voice.

As they continued down memory lane John reentered the room. “John, look at this. Didn’t you draw this one?” John looked down over his mother’s shoulder at the page presented on the table. It was a rough drawing of a child holding a comically large baseball and throwing it towards another taller character.

“I did.” John answered confused. “What is this? Where did you find it?”

“Your father told me a few months ago that it was his will and testament.”

“I remember the fair we went to.” Katie said pointing to another drawing. “I remember now; dad always had us draw things in here for him. I thought for sure this was lost, but it’s just been sitting on the bookshelf all this time.”

“Well, doesn’t matter anyway. It’s nice but doesn’t change who he became towards the end.” John said determined.

“John, please, not today,” his mother pleaded with him. “See? Your father really did love you all.”

“If that were true, he would still be here and he would have made sure to have taken care of us. But no, he just left, like a coward.” John said raising his voice in anger.

“John!” Katie said yelling him.

“What? You think of few kept drawing changes the fact that we have nothing now?”

“John!” his sister repeated, this time pleading.

“Your father loved you,” his mother said to him.

“Okay. Now I’m all better. Now I’m not stressed about paying rent or buying food.”

“John, stop. Please.” Katie said to him.

His mother began to cry. John looked over to her, too upset for a moment to have sympathy for her and her lot in life. This only lasted a moment though before he leaned down and put his arms around her and held her head in his breast.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” he said in a calmer tone. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop,” he said fighting the lump forming in his throat.

For a few moments they all sat and let the moments pass away. John embracing his mother and Katie holding her face in her hand and allowing a few tears to roll down her face.

When his mother had collected herself, John asked as gently as he could, “When are the kids coming home?”

“Oh, don’t bother me with that. They’re over there until dinner. I don’t want to bother them with all this,” she replied.

“Alright, alright.” John said taking a deep breath and releasing it. “Why are we looking at our little black book anyway?”

“Ma said that dad said it was his will and testament.” Katie repeated.

“Oh, that’s cute,” John began but stopped when his sister threw him a glare. John causally went on, “Well let’s have a good look at the whole thing. Let’s have a stroll through the good times before we go back to reality.”

Katie began to flip though more pages. For nearly every page one of them had something to comment about the time they were viewing, and the events depicted in the masterpieces drawn on the pages; times of old, good times, sad times, forgotten times, remembered times. Depictions of these children and the children who were now sitting with their mother in the afternoon sun, equally were missing the man who had kept the little black book.

Finally, when they got to the end, the pages began to remain empty and void of any memories depicted; the trail lost around the time of the tragedy that affected all of their lives’ so much. Katie picked up the edge of the remainder of the book and let the empty pages flip through. A flash of writing crossed their vision prompting Katie to pause. No one was speaking, but they all had noticed something. John and his mother sat and waited for Katie to flip through the pages again looking for the words they had seen. When it appeared once again before them, they all gasped to themselves and began reading frantically.

“Dear Mary, I’m sorry. I am sorry for everything. I know I’ve ruined your life and the children’s. I know I’ve allowed my lower nature to get the better of me. I know it’s too late for my redemption. But I don’t know how everything went so wrong and there’s no use crying over that now. I beg you to not hate me though. Please, don’t remember me as I was in the end. Please, I beg you to remember me as I was drawn in these pages. Remember me as when we started our life together and as the children came. I was truly the happiest man alive. The man drawn in these pages by our children’s hand is how I want to be remembered, before I lost my dignity.

Kids, I’m sure your mother has shown you this as well, so please I ask the same of you. Please, even though I know I don’t deserve it, remember me as you drew me when you were little. Remember me as I was on the day we went to the fair, played catch, had a tea party. I know you probably want to hate me for everything in my last years, but please have mercy on your father.

Words without action are meaningless. I know that. A simple note will not undo the pain I have caused. By time I realized what I had caused, I felt it was too late to make amends. You’ll find one last gift from me behind in an envelope behind where you pulled this little black book from out of. I know it’s not much, but I hope it’s of some help.

Love, Dad.

Ps. Please try and remember me as you saw me when we were younger, Mary.

Pps. Kids, please do the same. Please remember me from the eyes you had as children. “

The second John finished reading, before his mother and sister had, he rushed over to the bookshelf and started digging around behind the row of books. By time he found the envelope his mother and sister had finished reading as well and looked at him with anticipation. John turned back towards them, opened the envelope slowly, and pulled out a stack of cash. He began frantically flipping through it while trying to keep count. His mother and sister threw their hands on their faces and began to cry. John lost count and started counting again. He lost count again because he could not see through the moisture building up in his eyes. This time instead of trying to count, he stumbled over to the table and dropped the envelope. He fell on his knees and embraced his mother and sister crying openly now; not attempting to hold his tears back. He had counted at least twenty thousand dollars in the envelope, but John did not care. Katie did not care. Their mother did not care. They missed the man in the pictures. So, as they wept in each other’s arms the afternoon breeze blew threw an open window and caused the pages of the book to turn. The breeze resided leaving a picture of the three of them and the man who could no longer be there. A picture of a man and a woman standing with two of their children. A little boy up on the man’s shoulders. A little girl being held in her mother’s arm. With the picture of a better time watching, the family began to heal.