and he consistently tries my mother’s patience with his frequent absences from home and his inability to provide for us. Deep down, I know all this about him. I know his behavior betrays his good nature. And yet I still love him. I certainly don’t absolve him of his many sins, and I can understand why my mother gets so mad at him at times. So I ask myself, Why did she ever marry him? Then I spend time with him and think, Who could not fall in love with Ray “Swisher” Eaves?
Maybe this is a character flaw of mine. I consider myself a good person, moderately smart, and hardworking. I’m generally kind and respectful to others. I have volunteered my time down at the nursing home and the local rescue shelter. Some boys even think I’m cute in a nerdy sort of way. So why am I so drawn to exciting, reckless people, like Willow and my father? Do I take after my mother in that regard? Am I hoping that whatever glow they possess rubs off on me? Or am I merely basking in their limelight?
It makes me sad to know that I’m drawn to these types of people, because I don’t consider myself a shallow person. I know most of my father’s shortcomings, and yet I refuse to take sides against him. My mother, despite her mood swings and temper, is my hero and always has been. Without her, our family would have never survived and stayed together all these years. Raisin might have succumbed to his diabetes or, at the very least, never gotten his service dog.
I didn’t befriend Willow to get on a reality show or hang with the cool crowd. I didn’t even know her father was planning to shoot that stupid pilot. Or that he wanted Willow to be the star. Willow said the odds of the show getting picked up were extremely low. She wasn’t counting on it, and with her talent, she didn’t need it. But I knew she dreamed big. Only later in our friendship did I learn that she had the talent to match her oversized ambitions.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” I ask after he finishes playing.
“Nothing’s wrong. Why you asking?”
“Come on. I know when you’re not being honest with me.”
“It’s just hard seeing you like this, hon.” He places the guitar down and stares at me.
“That’s not it.”
He sighs. “I just don’t want to upset you more than you already are.”
“Forget about upsetting me. Tell me what’s going on so I can remember what happened that night.”
His handsome face grimaces. “I got a call today.”
“A call about what?” I sit up, my nerves jangling. An intense throbbing consumes my head.
“The police found a body this morning.”
“Is it her?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t said yet.”
Just then my grampa walks into the room, dressed in a wrinkled suit and tie. He looks ready for church. He sits down in the armchair and stares at the blank television screen.
“Where you going, Walt?” my father asks.
My grampa turns and regards us oddly. “I don’t . . . I’m not . . . sure.”
“All dressed up with nowhere to go, huh?” my father replies.
Grampa mumbles incoherently and then turns toward the television.
My father asks, “You want to watch one of your shows?”
My grampa stares straight ahead.
“I’m not sure Gunsmoke’s on, Dad, but I’ll check.” My father turns on the TV and flips through the channels until an old Western comes on.
“Bonanza,” my grampa utters. “Little Joe.”
The irony of this doesn’t escape me: two generations of memory-impaired people living under the same roof. I think it strange that my grampa can remember all these old TV shows but not what he had for breakfast. And he could forget his own granddaughter’s name. The human brain is a crazy organ. How can I recall things in the past and yet not remember what happened the night I disappeared? Or what happened to Willow?
I lay back on the couch and let the tears flow. A body has been discovered, and I pray it isn’t Willow’s. Could I live with myself if it’s found to be hers? I close my eyes and try not to dwell on the worst. Why had my life been spared? I desperately need to know.
* * *
Willow ignored me in school that Monday, even though we were in all the same classes. Was she mad at me? What had I done to piss her off? I’d stayed with her that night after the party