no fishing going on…stuck inside doing meetings….saw a facebook memory that got my attention though….so decided to kill a second…or two…
On the anniversary of me being pulled from the stands of a high school softball game (twice), followed home by a county sheriff to meet with detectives after a SWAT team had swarmed my house – catching the neighbors attention….I sit here smiling.
….not because I was dragged away as my daughter cried, unaware of why the police wouldn’t let me talk to her….thankfully some other parents helped me to get a message to her…
…or because the game disappeared as “the guy in the stands” was pulled to a police car by a county cop and the school resource officer (then by the cop again after 15 minutes)…
…or because of me telling the cop within earshot of the whole crowd, now focused on us, that I WOULD NOT be censored; they could just forget that (insert expletives)…
…or because they wanted to look in the trunk of my car…when I drove a freaking truck!!
No. But because I had written something that had so touched another human that I knew I could fake it as a writer on the internet.
How it got to there:
I had an English teacher in high school who told me I should write more, then in college I wrote some papers that elicited conversations with the instructors and making me wish I had listened in high school and practiced more.
So, I wrote on a blog for several years just to let stuff out. It was ramblings mostly, to help me through some self-induced pain and the pressures of raising a daughter as a single parent, but I would occasionally write some story that would bounce around in my head until it made it into “print”. This blog was linked to post on my Facebook page – probably for some attention I was missin’ in my life (a therapy session for another time) – and occasionally people would ask if I was alright or hurt; based on some work of fiction. At first, I didn’t get why, I had a disclaimer there that I wrote fiction sometimes and that the stories were stories…then I realized that maybe I was making it too close to home and not everyone could distinguish a post vs a link to the blog.
But, I also realized that maybe I could write better than I felt I was doing – ‘cause they were “buying” it as real…maybe it was ok?? I kept doing it. I kept forming sentences, and cramming them into paragraphs…little short snippets inspired by passing conversations or by Facebook friends saying “write about this”. Meaningless at times, deep cathartic releases at others…fiction, fact or on certain days a mix of the two.
Then in the middle of a period where I was enjoying writing some dark stuff…when I was enjoying digging into the dark corners of my (and humanities) psyche for a minute…I was pulled from the stands at a varsity softball game, taken to my house where they asked if it would be ok to search inside.
I let them. Showed them three ring binders where I kept all the stuff I had written, answered some dumb questions….then started to post “THEY DIDN’T LOOK UNDER THE BED!” but decided not to tempt fate.
Then continued to write on the blog for many years; mrcsworld.wordpress.com. Much of the original content has been removed (but still a lot of me but it is still a part of who I am, and the journey to my today.
Now I write on TopwaterMoon.com about tournaments, what it is like to be chasing fish or just what I feel that day; rarely non-fishing related because that has become my life; and on Anglr. But deep inside…I am still collecting shoes in the trunk of my car, writing about homeless parents, creating incredibly bad poetry….or maybe (today) celebrating anniversaries of the day I realized I could write something so believable that folks in black with high tech weaponry surrounded a single dad’s house searching for bodies that only exist between the lines of text. It was really a good day all in all……peace.
—————-so….here is what all the drama was about——————
This was two days before the one that sparked the events….but it was mentioned in the interrogation too….
I haven’t written anything is so long, I can hardly remember how to type. I thought I would try to write a silly story, but today I am not in the mood for silly….so……..
the birds were singing behind the new leaves, just out of sight as he sat with eyes clinched against the morning sun. Sunday, the name seemed very appropriate this morning and he smiled as the thought ran through his head.
he could hear her walking across the floor, probably to the bathroom
he was surprised when the door opened behind him and she pulled a chair across the wooden deck
please come back in, it is so bright out here
he didn’t say anything
I am going back in
he looked over his shoulder at her, but she wasn’t really asking him to come in; nor was she even looking at him
the sun is too bright, are you coming in….are you going to church with me today
he sat watching a cloud drift off to extinction and never opened his mouth
he listened as the door closed behind him, her…them and stood up
he walked across the drive to his truck and opened the passenger door
reaching between the seats, he pulled the semi automatic pistol from the holster and walked back toward the house
three scenarios ran through his head
they had for a few days
three very distinct scenarios
two…not that ether
he stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading to the deck, to the closed door and finally opened his mouth and uttered a single word
he placed the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger….
after a second, the birds continued to sing
she covered her head with a pillow and cried
…this is what caused it all…..
Tomorrow, my life will be the front page news. I made a very big mistake that will leave everyone who knows me questioning my sanity, their relationship with me.
I am sorry.
I never meant to end up in this situation, nor do I imagine my parents ever wishing their son to become the person you will learn about.
If I could set back the clock, only a few seconds…I wish that were possible. Never have I wanted to pretend a day never happened or erase it.
I know when the fascination started.
It was winter and the neighbors had a bird cage sitting behind their house. I took it and tied a piece of string to a stick and propped up the cage. Then I sprinkled bird seed under it and climbed behind the house to wait.
It was a cold winter, I was 12, and it didn’t take long before a small bird had fallen into the trap. I ran out and carefully slid the bottom of the cage in place and took them both under the house.
I spent the next hour terrorizing the small thing until I was bored with the activity. Then I reached in the cage and took it into my hand and crushed it. I remember the look in its eyes, the fear. But I mostly remember the power I felt; the extreme power.
Anyway, if I had left a few seconds sooner, that car would have never hit me. The police would have never come, found her purse, her driver’s license or the shoe. They would have never opened the trunk to find her.
Guys, I am sorry. I am still the person you knew. I am still the little league volunteer, the PTO member…the father of my daughter and a nice man.
I know that by the time you finish reading the story, or hear it on the news you will forget all of that. You will see the monster that tortured and killed for the sake of pleasure.
I should have stuck to animals, the homeless derelicts that crowd the cities. But the fear of an innocent, the look in their eyes…the cries, oh the beautiful cries of a human as they beg and plead for you to stop hurting them.
Well, please don’t take this out on my daughter. She is the sweetest kid and will need you guys to care for her. To remind her that she is going to be ok. Please.