A story….in the beginning…

I went to the mailbox.

Usually my wife does that for us, but a major headache had forced me to leave work early, so I stopped down by the road to pick up the mail.

Once inside, I tossed it on the couch and went to the bathroom.

Then I lay down to take a nap.

None of these was my normal routine, or the routine I had followed since we had been married four years ago.


I opened my eyes to find her standing over me. Then the clock on the nightstand; it was 2:22 p.m. October 12, 2015. She was holding an opened envelope with some papers.

“Hey…” she repeated again. I could hear a tone in her voice that I knew as confusion.

I sat up in the bed, the headache still there.

“What’s up?”

Reaching out with the papers she continued.

“What is this?”

Taking them before reaching for my glasses on the nightstand.

“Let me see.”

It was immediately recognizable to me. And I knew the explanation to follow would be difficult, and change things forever.

“Do you have a safety deposit box at a bank in Chattanooga? What would be in it?”

This was not going to be an easy story to tell, or for her to accept.

“Hey, are you going to answer me?”

The clock now said 2:24 p.m.

Swinging my feet off the bed and to the floor I told her, “I don’t know how.”

“What does that mean?” She took the papers back. “This is your information, and it was forwarded to our address.”

She held the envelope out. I could see the yellow forward sticker.

It wasn’t like her to be so concerned. The confusion was turning to a low simmer the longer I looked at her without a response.

“What is this about? Is there something you are not telling me?”

2:26 p.m. I stood up and walked past her to the kitchen without speaking. I knew she was following, but I didn’t stop until I was by the refrigerator.

“Are you going to tell….”

I cut her off as I opened the freezer and pulled out the bottom drawer.



She was getting angrier.

I pulled a plastic bag from the back corner of the freezer and pulled the foil wrapped joints out in front of her, then I put the drawer back.

“I am not sure what to say.”

She looked at what was in my hand as I walked out to the back porch and lit one of the joints.

“What in the hell is that? What are you doing?”

I sat in one of the chairs and motioned for her to sit in the other. She refused and waved the mail at me again.

“Who are you! Is that fucking pot?”

I took another hit of the joint, then another, before looking at her. I motioned again to the chair.

“Please….please just sit down.”

Tears were rolling down her face as she sat down, staring not at me, but at the letter.

I didn’t know where to start. So I took the letter from her.

“This is mine. For you, this will not sound like a story about the guy you know….”

I folded the letter, and put it in my back pocket.

“…but it is a part of who I am. It cannot be erased.”

I took her hand.

She pulled away.

I took a deep breath.

“I was 13. I had gone hunting with a friend of my dad.”

She knew that today I wouldn’t even swat flies, so this caused her to look up at me. I could see the questions, more confusion.

I looked toward the woods behind our house.

“It was rabbit. We were hunting for rabbit.”




~ by mrcsworld on January 11, 2016.

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