Why?

Who am I? Who have I become? And why? I was visiting my parents for Thanksgiving. I was satisfied to see my parents again, the holidays are always my favorite time of year. I stood in the breezeway, my home made 180 years ago still maintained its refined and elegant charm. Moving through the halls the only sounds were my wingtips on the oak floor. Pristine with shine and vitality, time had no effect on them. Not a speck of dust, no nail out of place, not a creak in the hardwood floor. Someone visiting my home would see perfection.

I walked over to the stairs in the corner where no one dared to look. I pressed my foot on a board. The groan that followed tainted the silence of my home, quite a disgusting blemish. Why?

“Clean yourself up Caleb.” father said.

Fathers voice eminated from the walls as my mind drifted back to when I was a child.

My father flexed his hands while he fixed the cuffs of his shirt making sure nothing was out of place.

“I hope I do not have to repeat myself. You must always be presentable. We cannot have anything unseemly tonight, we have guests coming.”

I rose from the corner by the stairs, nodded, and ran up to the bathroom. I took delicate care to clean myself, made sure my shirt was tucked in, free of wrinkles, the appropriate belt, no hair out of place. I mustn't anger father, not again. Why?

A few tolls of the bell. Guests were here. I walked calmly out of my room and down the stairs. My mothers instruction of posture, politeness, and silence is what makes a good boy. What I truly felt buried deep inside of me. My mother gathered herself for a moment and greeted our guest at the door. Her smile from ear to ear. Perfectly rehearsed gestures like a ballerina on opening night. Completely content in her role as lovely wife to a successful man. To my father and those like him she was what men should strive to attain. Maybe that's why?

“I probably couldn’t buy a better woman.” My father jested and everyone laughed.

I joined them and waited like a good son would.

“Ah George, Ellie, you remember my son Caleb?”

I put on my smile and extended my hand.

“Of course! What a handsome fellow.” I shook his hand squeezing with every bit of strength I had without my smile slipping. Something my father had me practice. Father said that a weak handshake signified a weak character.

“Quite a handshake you have! You will be quite an athlete one day!” George said.

“What else would he be?” My father said a cue for another laugh.

I stood there quietly as everyone went to their designated areas. The women went to their kitchen and the men to the living room. Father sat in his big turn of the century leather chair,

“A proper king has a proper throne,” he used to say.

I took my seat on a stool on the edge of the living room.

“So, how's the architect biz?” George asked, sitting on the couch next to my father.

“Lucrative,” my father said smiling, “I have several contracts around the state and everyone pines over my work.”

“Oh really, maybe it’s time for me to get into that racket.” George said

“You don’t have the brains for it George.” They shared a dissonant laugh.

After a moment the smile slid off my fathers face. He leaned forward locking his eyes with George.

“I’m not kidding George. You do not have the mind for my work. I create art, feats of modern technology. And you George…Some are meant to do more in life and others like yourself…well… are where you are meant to be. We mustn't allow lesser minds to pollute progress.”

George stirred uncomfortably on the couch and coughed. My father sat back smiling again.

“Chin up George, you are doing well enough! Keep at it. How about some drinks?”

George cleared his throat again, “That will be lovely.”

Father gestured to me, “Son, get some drinks for my friend and I.”

I walked briskly over to the kitchen. My mother and Ellie were at the counter. There were many empty bottles of wine and my mother had her favorite glass filled to the brim.

“I could drown in this,” my mother said.

“Absolutely, this vintage is magnificent” Ellie replied.

“Ellie, if I may ask why do you go by that?” Mother said, taking an elegant gulp of wine.

“Elanor is such a lovely name”

“My mother went by Ellie so I chose to go by the same,” Ellie said.

“We mustn't blame her for that. You have an opportunity to redefine yourself. Plus Eleanor sounds so wonderful off the tongue.” My mother smiled and exaggerated the next words, “George and Eleanor… Sounds like a lovely couple.”

“Well I have always gone by Ellie and I have always liked it.” Eleanor said awkwardly, fingering her glass.

“By all means then it is so important to do what makes you happy.” They both smiled and took another sip.

“Although if it is not an imposition can I refer to you as Eleanor when you come up in conversation? I am afraid that if I use Ellie, people would think I’m talking about a horse or something.” My mother giggled.

“That would be fine I suppose,” Elleanor said.

“Splendid! Now that was taken care of that queer boy was in my yard again.” Mother said malice in her words.

“No! Why?” Ellie said.

“I don’t have the faintest idea. Someone should really do something about this. Perhaps I can have a talk with his parents and teach them some good sense. I might even be able to save his soul.”

Ellie clenched her chest holding back a tear, “That is amazing your kindness never ceases to amaze me.” Maybe that's why.

My mother stood tall and smiled, “That's my burden,” they shared a laugh. I walked over and prepared fathers drink from his bourbon cart like he showed me.

“What happened to your eye cutie?” Ellie walked towards me. I touched my brow with my hand and a small bead of blood rested on my finger. I looked at her pleadingly.

“Just silly boy games, a mistake not worth making again isn’t that right son?” my eyes shifted from Ellie to my mother. My father said that her gaze could turn a heart to stone. It did to mine. My silence suffocated any words that tried to escape. If I was meant to be a good boy, the quiet shouldn’t hurt. Why?

Ellie smiled at my mother then back to me, “Boys will be boys.”

I forced a polite smile and retreated from the kitchen.

George and my father were now standing by his desk. I walked over to serve my father and George their drinks. The glinted off the gold letter opener in George’s hand. The blade was solid gold and the hilt seemed to made of braided ropes of gold. The braids did not touch and created a void in the center.

“This is quite beautiful. Where did you get it?” George said.

“It was my fathers, and his fathers before him. It’s been passed down longer than can be remembered, a keepsake of what is owed to me and my family.” My father gently took the letter opener from George.

“My ancestors handcrafted this and was said to have delivered them from bondage. They were lowly peasants that were subjugated for generations. They took destiny in their hands and it broke under their will.”

My father removed his handkerchief and cleaned the blade.

“They carved their way from nothing to where I stand today. It is on us to continue to forge the future into our image.”

George nodded in agreement. My father placed the letter opener back on its wooden plinth on the desk.

“If a mountain shall crumble, it is no fault to the stone on top, nor the middle, for if the base is weak then they will all fall.”

Father said, sipping his bourbon. Why?

With their backs to me they stood quietly taking in the landscape of accommodations, awards, and accomplishments on the walls by my fathers desk.

I walked back to my stool and for the rest of the evening I spectated, as my parents and their guest shared in laughter pondering the decrepit state of society and how things should be.

The light retreated and darkness came. Handshakes and hugs were exchanged and our guests left. My legs were still numb from the stool when my father told me to go to retire for the night. I went to the stairs and heard my parents talk about my friend. The mention of his name nearly made me trip up the stairs. I waited at the top of the stairs as my mother confessed to the incident that involved my friend and I.

“I will take care of it,” My father said.

I heard him take something from his desk and his determined steps faded until the back door opened and closed. I ran to my room and stood on my bed to look out the window. I saw my fathers shadow in the moonlight. In one hand he dragged something away from our perfect home and in the other something that glinted in the light. Why?

I waited. I waited until mother laid to rest and I crept downstairs, a creek sounded as I hid in that corner that no one dared look. And I waited. My father came in and in the darkness he walked over to his desk.

“All is right in the world.” My father said.

Maybe that's why.

As is the charge of the present to force the past into submission. I walked through the halls in the mausoleum of my innocent days of childhood. Each step a memory, a moment that made me into the man I am today. I brought two drinks, one for me and one for my father, just like he had taught me to make. I placed the drink on the table next to his throne. My mother laid along the love seat opposite of me.

“It’s strange to think that after all of these years I am the closest to you now,” I said

I took a sip of my drink. “I mean I feel like we have missed so many opportunities to make a mends,”

My father didn’t respond.

“I am not the boy you remember. Are you not curious about how I have turned out? Why? How about you, mother?” I said placing my drink on the same table as my father. I stood up and my mother didn’t stir.

“Well I was always punctual, proper, and polite like you taught me. I never let my worries show like you taught me. I never found love again. Maybe that’s why?”

My mothers eyes fixed on me as I approached her, She did not stir.

“You know that queer boy all those years ago was my friend, he was more. That day… That dayI had my first kiss. A moment that I stretched as long as I could, Why?” I took my mothers favorite wine glass and poured a touch of wine into her mouth. I closed her mouth and held it shut.

“I loved that boy. I never felt love so unconditional, Why?” Tears ran down my mothers face. “You ripped him away from me, struck him with that brick. Maybe that’s why!” Her eyes struggled as the wine snoughet out the oxygen trying to fill her lungs. “You struck him and struck him until like my hope for love was destroyed so was he!” My mothers eyes rolled back, she did not stir.

I let her mouth go and it stayed closed. I walked over to my father’s desk. The plinth that held the sum of the deeds of those long dead. The foundation of my family. The golden letter opener twisted in my hand. Why? My determined steps took me past my mother.

“Haloperidol neuroleptic agent, the perfect dosage would leave someone fully conscious with the inability to move.” I took in my mother's scene. A slight drip of wine started to glide down from the corner of her perfectly sculpted mouth. With my free hand I took out my handkerchief to wipe it off. I brushed my mothers hair away from her face.

“Droperidol would have made her less lucid, ketamine even more so, etomidate, propofol, benzodiapam, barbiturates, opioids. They wouldn’t have facilitated my redemption. It had to be haloperidol.”

I walked over to my father. I stood in front of the throne and I looked down to meet the king's eye.

“Top of my class, as a doctor I gained the prestige as I was always destined to do.” I examined the letter opener that was my fathers and his fathers before him.

“ I have explored a great many things and have learned much more. In study I have sharpened my mind. In the fires of memory my blade has been tempered. And in life I have honed my purpose.” Maybe that's why?

I held the letter opener to his neck. The braided gold of the hilt clearly was not made for my hand.

“Why? How? My mother had demons. How else can someone who had just committed such atrocities be able to welcome guests into their home? Maybe that’s why.” My father, normally a statue of power, trembled. His body stoically petrified but his eyes told the truth.

“Mother wasn’t the only sinner that day was she? Why? Maybe that's why!”

My jaw tightened and my eyes sharpened.

“She, your prized possession, could do no wrong. She after everything stood by you and perpetuated your tyranny! Why?”

My fist tightened around the twisted blade, “Maybe that’s why! You allowed yourself to belittle everyone who crossed you. Lesser people in their place, where they belong. Why? You needed to be worshiped as a god that ruled with a heavy hand”

A tear ran down my face and I closed my eyes as I pictured my friend. His lips gently touched mine like a cautious first step into new waters before diving in. His hand rested on my face guiding mine towards his. My heart pounded. My soul sang.

My eyes snapped open and the memory was ripped away as my mother had tore me away.

“Mother. Mother took me to you after her deed was done and when she told you. Why? Why when she told you, you brought me to the corner by the stairs. Those very stairs!” My free hand shot up pointing towards the corner, the corner that no one dared to look at.

“After losing my first love you beat me. As my mother smiled behind your tyranny you pounded your bastardized values into my soul! Why?! Maybe that's why! You are incapable of love! Remorse! Compassion!”

I angled the blade and wrapped my hand around the back of his head.

“Why? Why did you not stop there? Was there not enough evil done that day!? Not enough suffering!”

My muscles tightened and my teeth ground.

“I waited. And you saw me. Hiding in the corner, the corner that no one dared to look. You stood at those very stairs and looked down at me. Knowing what you did. Knowing that I witnessed. Why? Why then did you smile? As you went to retire I ran out the back door towards my loves home. Why?! Maybe that's why! In the dead of night you dragged his remains to his home and you ensured his family's fate was sealed! Why?! I still smell the burnt cedar. I can still feel the raging inferno on my skin. The taste of my first love on my lips mixed with the ash of your betrayal! Why? Maybe that's why!! Why?! So you could maintain your power, hide your shame and perpetuate your semblance of perfection?! Maybe that’s why!”

I rammed the letter opener into his neck.

Eyes wide I watch the soul and sins leave his body. The wound did not bleed the angle of which I stabbed wouldn’t allow it. I took the blade out and the slightest bit of blood stained the gold of the letter opener. Not a drop fell on my fathers suit. I placed it on the table next to my fathers drink. The tie covered the small slit in his throat so if someone were to walk in they would see perfection. A lovely family of high quality sharing a drink together. What more could you want?

I called the authorities and told them what had happened. I sat on the couch waiting for their arrival and I pondered who I have become. I honored my mothers wishes. I was honest with the authorities. I showed my parents kindness in their swift death.

My father valued power, being proper, intelligence, pride, he still looks ever so regal sitting in his throne. In reality, I became the man my parents always wanted me to be.