Closet Complete With Skeletons

I guess it really all started when I was three. I have loved music for as long as I can remember, and to be honest, three years old is as long as I can remember. I was sitting in my crib, just minding my own business, when this loud WHEE-WAHH, WHEE-WAHH noise filled my room, and though most babies would have cried in that predicament, I was intrigued. Then, following the loud bellowing, came this sweet, pure sound. It was almost inaudible at first, but growing in strength and rhythm. Why, it was a marching band! I stood up, shook, and wiggled my three-year-old behind like there was no tomorrow.

That’s when I was first introduced to real music. No radio, no television this was real, raw, and uncut! It was so exciting to my large-for-its-size intellect. I guess by now you have figured out that I am a boy genius. No one had to tell me what that was. For one thing, I didn’t care. All I knew was that Heaven did exist and that I was in it.

Now, to skip ahead a few years to third grade. Of course, from my toddler years I continued to toy with music, but it was not until I was six (Yes, I was in third grade at six years old!) did I get a real chance. We, meaning the whole third grade class, got the opportunity to purchase professional recorders from the music teacher’s music shop for half price. They were 20 dollars originally, so I knew I was getting a great deal. I couldn’t let this one pass me up no matter what Momma said.



“NO!” she shouted bluntly. She had always hated my passion for music.

“Mommy,” I argued, “I won’t be able to show the class that I am extremely musically inclined! Ten dollars is a small price to pay to get my future path paved.”

“Look kid,” she said playfully, now calmer, “10 dollars is never a small price to pay in months when your father sends no support money whatsoever. I’m already going to have to drive you to and from college when you turn 13. Gas costs a lot these days.”

“Just hear me out, Mom,” I pleaded ignoring her blazing sense of humor. “You know that my lifelong dream is to share my music with the world!”

“What music?” she boomed shrilly. She said this as though she had not heard me talk about it thousands of times. “You are six years old! Act like other six-year-olds! Ask me to go play in the sand with you. Beg me to buy you the firetruck you want so bad!”

“You mean badly.”

“Do you see? That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You never do anything spontaneous! It’s almost disgusting.”

“Mother, you are forgetting. This is not about whether or not I still immerse myself in children’s toys. This is about whether or not you are going to isolate me from other children in my grade!”

“Well, here’s 10 dollars. Go get your stupid flute tomorrow! I guess we won’t eat dinner.”

“Mommy, we’ll be fine. I’ll make dinner for tonight. You’d be surprised at what can be done with little money.” She smiled, because she knew I was right. “Mommy,” I added as I was walking out of the living room (it was almost empty, lacking, all the things that make a living room a living room. Furniture, etc.) , “thanks.” I said this pitying her huge responsibilities (mainly my welfare).

“You are very welcome, Einstein,” she said in that voice she used when I was reminding her of my father. I believe that was the first time that I saw tears fill her tired eyes. Maybe she did not know this, but I always admired my mother’s strength. It can’t be easy raising a genius…alone.

Many other times, my mom caved and gave me what I wanted. She was a sucker for my puppy eyes. She was always telling me how angry she was that I got brown eyes like my father’s. She loved my eyes, but the coffee-like color would never be forgotten. Why couldn’t they be blue…like hers? Several times she let me know that she was ready to die when she noticed I used my left hand for everything as an infant.

Needless to say, the recorder satisfied me for five minutes. Music was my drug, but as addicted as I was, I had no idea what I wanted. It may sound crazy, but it was that I did not know what to try to play next.

My mother tried to help me along. “You know, you’re allowed to play the flute thingy still!”

“But Mother, what you don’t realize is that I have mastered that and one other woodwind instrument. My goal is to learn how to play every instrument known to be played in any orchestra…ever. You are supposed to encourage me in whatever I choose to do. You’re my mother.”

“Yes, but can’t you choose to be supported in something a little less expensive?”

Of course, I tried to help my mom by playing recreation baseball, but, as stereotypical as this may seem, I, as a nerd, was never very athletic. I also tried swimming at the YMCA all summer of that year. The site of my pale, slim body in a pair of swim trunks was never very appealing, especially to me. I apologized to Mom, and, as always, she forgave me. She never really expected me to do well at anything but music. I could tell, but she always tried to be happy if I was happy.




I was only ten when it happened, but I guess when your comprehension level is so much greater than normal, you remember things better, because I remember every detail of that day. I was just sitting in my third block class, when I was called to the office.

“Mrs. Belling,” the little, plain box on the wall rang out. It did not wait for an answer. “We need Zane Goodman to the office for a message, please.” I was surprised to hear my name.

Usually the people behind the little, brown box mentioned “at your nearest convenience,” but not this time. I did not think a thing about it in that moment. Now, like I said, I remember everything.

I arrived in the small blank office in about two minutes. Really, the only thing on the walls was artwork done by the sixth grade classes. All I was thinking was I wish I had gotten to be in sixth grade instead of skipping it. Those pictures look like they would have been fun to color. You see the truth is, in my situation, you never really know what grade you will be in next year. I had never really gotten used to it though!

As I approached the gray and black desk, I noticed a big, silver picture frame with a picture of a dog in it on the desk across from me. The small-framed, petite woman spoke softly, as though holding back tears. All of a sudden, her eyes filled up with shiny, clear liquid and began to spout, and I finally realized that she had uttered the words of a bad dream: “Your mother is… is… gone!”

Funerals are difficult and awkward, especially when you are “that dead girl’s son”. No one gets it. They think that if you are not crying, that you don’t feel pain or that you just don’t care. That is not at all the case. In fact, that was the hardest day of my life. I just knew that if one more distant relative approached me and whispered, “I’m here for you, little guy!” I was going to have to leave. I knew that they had never really known me, and I also knew that they were only trying to help, but I was ten and really confused. I really understood the concept of “gone forever” (thanks to Daddy), but I just couldn’t accept it.

Well, while I was at my dear mother’s funeral, something else happened. I was sitting on an old, silk couch with a single rip along the seam waiting on another relative to give me the pitiful eyes, when I heard the creaky door crack open. The tall man peeked in and glanced at me. He opened the door and looked away quickly and strangely. His brown leather jacket and pair of dirty jeans were not hidden in embarrassment, but flaunted in disrespect. He almost seemed out of breath and like he was just trying to blend in.

I shot him a hateful glance, but that was only because I knew he wasn’t looking at me anymore. The truth is, I would never dare look at this man that way. He didn’t look too muscular, but his facial features looked so strong, that it appeared he could crush me with one glance. To tell the truth he looked a bit like one of those models in those pre-placed pictures in a picture frame that you could buy at a dollar store, or maybe I recognized him from somewhere else.

He didn’t bother to travel over to the casket directly across from the door. He just sat down on the identical couch across the room from me.

He glanced at me again, quickly as once before, as though it was painful for him to look at me. As if it wasn’t hard for me to look at him! The man looked ragged to still have dark brown hair—not a trace of gray. It was about the color of mine. Either he dyed his hair regularly, or he had done a lot of partying over the years, which made his face appear older. Maybe both!

It was strange. I wanted him to come over and start a conversation. He had an inviting face that was wrinkled with much previous laughter, but now his look was solemn. Maybe he was sad about my mother’s death.

I was still trying to figure out how I knew him, when out of nowhere, it hit me. It just dawned on me. He was the guy from all of the photographs. He was always standing right there with Mother, bless her soul, and she had told me that it was her high school boyfriend, Gene. I already wanted to go introduce myself, so I put back on my sadder face, got up, and approached him.

I have never seen a man so happy to see me than when I went to see Gene on his respective couch. I found out who he was, and by the time I left the couch, I was so confused.

“Oh, you must be Gene. My mommy told me how you used to date in high school.” I said, adding “mommy” for the effect. I didn’t want him to know I was smarter than all my years.

“Well, that’s not exactly true.” He boomed in his deep voice. Now he seemed calm compared to the car wreck he looked like. “My name is Jimmy. Your mother and I didn’t date in high school, but I know her from when we were younger.”

“Oh,” I muttered, embarrassed. “Sorry to bother you. It is just that you look just like that picture of Gene!”

He seemed like he was about to cry, and though I was protective of my mother and the fact that I didn’t want anyone to be at her funeral if they were not going to miss her as much as I would, but it appeared he missed her already. I whispered as though I hoped no one else would hear, “It will be okay.” I said this intensely as I broke out into sobs. I do not really know why he was crying as much as I was, but it was just really getting to me for the first time. I was never going to get to talk to my mom ever again!

After the awful experience, I walked over to my grandmother. She was crying. I was trying to be strong for her, so I wiped my eyes, and didn’t cry anymore that day. I thought that she still was not over her baby girl being gone, but when I said, “Granny, are we going to go home now?”

She looked at me with her large worried eyes that reminded me so much of my mother’s. She had this look on her face that was trying to tell me something, but I did not know what it was.

I looked over toward Jimmy, even though I was almost afraid to look away from Granny. Some man in a black coat was whispering to him, but when he noticed that I was trying to hear him he immediately stopped mumbling and rushed toward me.

My grandmother started sobbing louder than ever now. The man in the black coat was young. He was surely much younger than Jimmy, much taller too. As soon as he reached speaking distance of me he quickly asked, “Are you the son of James Goodman?”

“I believe that’s me,” I said concerned and confused, but that is when realization swept over me like a waterfall. I would have to go live with my dad. That is if he would take me, but that was not the last of the surprises. The shock was only beginning.

“Well, I think you should sit down.” the tall, young man said after a long pause. “I have some news for you.”

“I know the news.” I made sure he could hear me, but he acted like he did not.

“Are you going to sit down or not?” he questioned shortly.

I just sat down on the nearest couch to shut him up. I immediately told him, “I know I have to go live with my father. Just point me to him. I just can’t believe that so-called man didn’t have the decency to show up at his ex-wife’s funeral! This arrangement will NOT go over well. I just want to get that out in the open before it begins.”

At that moment, I noticed Jimmy waving his way into the conversation. He said with a hurt voice, “I’m the so-called man.” My jaw dropped open as Granny began another series of sobs. The tall, young man’s face came together as though he really didn’t want it to come out that way, but Jimmy was too impatient to let it wait.

We, Jimmy and I, were in the car when I got the urge to scream. I wanted to lash out with all the questions to which I needed the answers. I knew that wouldn’t help, so I asked calmly and suddenly, “Why did you leave Mom and me?” The question ran out of the shadows of my mind and right into the awkward silence that was our relationship.

“Uh…” Jimmy began as though trying to decide where to begin which made me angry. It sounded as though there were many things wrong with my mom. “I was the crazy, off-the-wall musician, and she was the beautiful, level-headed, smart, but a little bit rebellious, daddy’s girl. She wanted different things than I did. But you shouldn’t feel bad. You were the reason we split up, but it was the best thing that ever happened to your mother and me. I will always love her, but we were not right for each other. So, I guess… thanks.” He said this as though he was trying to lighten the mood. I wasn’t laughing.

Wait. What had I heard? Yes he thanked me for his divorce, but I heard him say that he was a musician! This explained almost all uneasiness between my mother and me every time I mentioned music and my passion for it. It was like a revelation. This was very exciting news for a depressed ten-year-old boy. Maybe I had more in common with my father than I thought; though I didn’t want to have anything in common with him.

“Ah, so you are a musician? Or is that already over?”

“Already? It never ended, and as far as I’m concerned, it never will!” He said this playfully as though he was offended.

“Okay! Sorry,” I said not as playfully. “I am a musician as well. I hope that we can discuss music later.”

“Listen, Sport,” I had always hated being called “sport". “I am not over your mother’s death yet. It’s not even been 24 hours since I first found out about this.”

It was true, but I was one who knew that if I kept thinking about her, I would never get over her. Little did I know, you never get over the death of close loved ones, because we are all different. Not only do all people react to death differently, but everyone is different. Everyone you know has a different effect on your life. If they are suddenly taken from you, your life may never be the same. Chances are, you will miss them forever.




“I really think you could handle it, Zane!”

“I don’t know if it’s that simple. I mean, I have no prior, important experience.”

“Listen to me. I know you are strong enough.”

Jimmy is not always bad, but sometimes he tends to press dead issues. He doesn’t know when to stop. I was asked to conduct the school orchestra. “I am only 12 years old.”

“That’s true, but you are in tenth grade. Look, I would have killed for this chance when I was in tenth grade! I really think you will regret it forever if you don’t take this chance. I would ha-“

“NEWSFLASH! I’m not you! I know you think we are just alike, but that most certainly is not so! Just because we have a similar interest doesn’t mean-“ He cut me off just the same as I had done to him.

“Well, Mister-Man, you should know that we have two similar interests: music and your mother. She was just as important to me as she was to you! And you should also know that I am still your father despite the fact that I made the choice to leave your mother a long time ago! I will not tolerate anymore of this you-cutting-me-off thing! It makes me sick.” I stood with a look of astonishment for a long while.

Once again, I had to admit it. He was still my father though he hadn’t acted like a dad much in the past. I should listen to him, but he was nothing but disagreeable. I could not stand to be around him for too long. So, I pondered for a while, considering the fact that I was not the spontaneous type, and finally after mentally calculating the pros and cons, I figured it was time to move out. I was 12 years of age, but I had the mental comprehension level of a 35 year-old who was smarter than average, for sure. That was as good of a reason as any to move from my cage-like existence to a possibly smaller, but much more comfortable apartment.

I had to keep reminding myself that this was not a child-like attempt to “run away”, but a mature attempt to distance myself from a dream-killing son-of-a-gun who wanted nothing more than to live the life he had let slip through his fingers through me! He was so obnoxious that it had not even occurred to me that he must have feelings, but I didn’t care. I just wanted not to have to be around him.

I already had it planned out. I would, first, sneak to the car of an awaiting classmate who is a drama club participant and a great liar. This was for the purpose of afterward questioning. This way, if the person were questioned, they would be of help in concealing my plans. I would not be the conductor of any school orchestra. All of these people were amateurs. They hadn’t the slightest clue of how to play so much as a triangle—let alone the commitment to!

Anyway, the dramatic classmate would then take me to the train station where I would wait for a train to Philadelphia from Pittsburgh. It wouldn’t be easy to go home to my grandma after one short year without seeing her, but I knew that she would take me in.

You couldn’t exactly say my childhood was traumatic, but could you say it was normal? Most certainly not. Well, it was two days before the big escape. I had the dramatic student chosen: Melanie Peterson. I knew she thought I was cute. Of course she meant that in a totally childish way, but any attention from Melanie could make any guy shiver. She looked at least 25 years old. The mere thought of her was absolutely mind-boggling enough to give you cold chills. How did she learn how to tease her hair and make-up in such a way that you fell over when you saw it? Why couldn’t other girls look more like her? I guess they thought the same thing, but she wasn’t the smartest kid in school.

As I was saying, it was two days before the huge escape, and I had the dramatic student chosen and enough money for train fare, when I was looking for an older picture of Mom in one of Jimmy’s bedside drawers. I had seen him moving some papers and pictures from my mom's trunk to his bedside drawer at least two weeks ago. I needed to remember the way she was a long time ago, and the way she was just before she died. I found a newspaper clipping that caught my attention. The heading read: LOCAL MUSICIAN CHARGED WITH BEATING WIFE. I was baffled. Was that what I thought it was? Was this a real reason for a split between my parents? I was filled with so much anger! If this was what I thought it was, I would get revenge. I dug in the drawer for something to jump out and explain, but all I found was more newspaper clippings.

All at once I heard Jimmy’s huge footsteps bounding down the hall. I grabbed all the papers, pictures, and envelopes in the small, square space. I crammed them all in my coat pocket and ran into a compact room across from me. I could hear the footsteps coming closer, so I shut the door of the bathroom to a small crack, but I could think of only one thing. I had forgotten to close the bedside drawer.

Jimmy entered the room very similarly to the way he had entered Momma’s funeral. Looking carefully in, and then easing the rest of his body in. “Ah. I see I left this drawer opened last time I took a walk down memory lane.” He shut the drawer not even noticing the fact that nothing but a few paper clips and an eraser were in the drawer. Was he toying with me? Did he know that I had found everything, but wanting to wait for me to slip up and admit it?

Well, all of the other newspaper articles had been ripped out, not cut as neatly as the more recent one. I knew the other ones were old because they all spoke of Woodstock, a huge hippie music festival in the seventies, and they were delicate and yellow. I should have figured Jimmy would have attended such an event. There was a picture attached to one of the articles of Jimmy and mom in high school. The back of the picture read: Me and my baby skipping. They were standing in front of the same lockers that still guard the walls to this day, but some things did not add up.

Jimmy and my mother hadn’t dated in high school, or at least that is what the scoundrel had told me at my mother’s funeral. According to his birthday, Jimmy would still have been in middle school during Woodstock. My mom was three years older than Jimmy. Then again, some people lied about their birthdays. Uncommon for a man, but not unheard of.

Along with the Woodstock articles there was my mom’s obituary, and two letters. They were both to my mother from prison. They were from Jimmy. The ink was smeared in several places, the sign of a lefty. The first one read:

“Dearest Rosaland, [she hated to be called that]
I think you must know that I now realize that my actions are more than regrettable. I would love it if you would forgive me for how I released my anger by abusing you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I would hate for you to let this incident forever ruin your opinion of me, but I would also hate to know that I have hurt you. I have written to tell you that after my anger management is completed, and it is my wish for us to put this behind us and get back together.
Signed,
James P. Goodman”

The second letter read:

“Rosie,
I regret to say that I will not be mailing you anything more after this letter, except for divorce papers. I know you may think this is “convenient” considering the fact that you just sent me a letter stating that you are carrying my child, but I am in love with another woman. I sincerely apologize for the heartbreak I must have caused.
From,
Jimmy Goodman”

This letter was much less formal, but still used large words and still seemed too formal for a letter to a person that you love.

They say that every mystery has a logical explanation, but this one did not seem to. The age difference was strange, as well as the fact that my mother had never dated Jimmy in high school. What was going on?

I decided to postpone my effort to get away long enough to try to figure out why nothing was fitting together, because the next weekend was even stranger. Jimmy worked at Broad Street Mechanics. This was a simple little store that was made entirely of brick. It had a quaint, yellow, tin roof. Around back there were two garage doors, but when you entered through the front, the first thing you saw was a large, white desk. The people behind the desk were like “desk ladies” at a doctor’s office. They asked which mechanic you wanted to use, and handed you a form to fill out explaining what was wrong with your car, and all repairs you have had done in the past year.

Everyone in Jimmy’s (not my) huge town knows that the dainty shop is closed on Sundays, but on Sunday morning as I was preparing for church, Jimmy came up and told me to go back to bed because he had to go to work. What? Yep work. His place of employment was closed on Sundays. I quickly interjected. “What about church? I thought Broad Street Mechanics was closed on Sundays”

“Well, uhhh…” he hesitated for a long time. “Well, we just recently opened our doors on Sundays, as well as Labor Day, Arbor Day, and Veteran’s Day.”
“Oh, ‘cause I can go with you if you want. I will be bored here alone anyway. I would love to see the master at work.”

“No, you’d be bored. Besides, there’s supposed to be a parade or something today!”

“Really? Yes! I can’t wait to see the band,” I said sharply.

“Just go back to bed. I’ll be home in about two hours.”

I questioned, “What kind of repairs do you need to do?”

“I am not so sure,” Jimmy said, which was extremely odd.

“Fascinating,” I mumbled.

“What?” Jimmy was quick to ask. “I would hate to know you’d backsass me.” He chuckled sadistically. I realized that for a year, this whole year we were together, I had never heard Jimmy laugh. It was a strange, unfamiliar sound. I almost didn’t like it, even though I was sure he meant it in the most pleasant way.

For someone who had been convicted of beating his wife, he surely did seem gentle. I supposed that the anger management worked like it was intended to. One more thing. About his letters, How do you meet a descent woman in jail? Not to mention anyone you would leave my mom for!

While Jimmy was awfully strange, I had to hand it to him. While he was not the best musician (he really stunk!), he could definitely make it as an actor. The only reason I knew any of his stories were fake is because nothing added up!

I had already made up my mind. I would have to look through the trunk that he actually brought in his car to the funeral! I guess he thought that somebody may need something from it, but I couldn’t be certain until I looked through it. Easier said than done. He kept three padlocks on it, and kept it locked in his closet. This was all confusing to me, but that was a sure sign that I would find something interesting in it. There was no question about it!



I woke up on the Friday following the Sunday’s bazaar happenings. There had been no parade, just as I had suspected. On Friday, I immediately looked out my window expecting something big, only to find that everything looked in order. How? This was Friday the 13th. Something had to be different. I was smart, but not smart enough to question the natural order of the universe! I quickly glanced around the large driveway. The lilies across the street danced in the breeze as a car came by to quicken their pace. The shiny, black car still sat in the driveway looking just as it did the night before.

After checking all things in the house, and looking out every window for signs of change, I decided that the universe was not out of order. It was decided that if everything in your life is weird for a while, Friday the 13th should be a normal day. Little did I know at the time, this day would change a lot of things for me, if I could remember the details as well as I could on the day of my mom’s death.

You see, that day, Jimmy received a package form UPS. It was my mom’s diary. After one year, they just found it amongst her things. My grandmother didn’t want it. That was the strangest thing I heard all day.

When the doorbell rang, I knew it would be someone handing us bad news, but this was good news indeed. I could find out new things about my mom.

There was a tall, round man looking dull in his brown suit holding a thin, long, brown box. When I looked at it, it made me think of the small box on the wall that first summoned me to the office for the worst news of my life. Jimmy lifted his hand across his chest to his shirt pocket on the left side. He grabbed a silver pen from his pocket and scribbled his signature on it. He wrote very quickly and sent the UPS man on his way. He was anxious to tear into the package that he seemed to be awaiting, When he opened the box, he slowly pulled out the tattered spiral notebook. It had a purple, paper cover. He looked disappointed.

He said, “Oh, this is your mother’s diary. It is from when she and I met. I was hoping to find one from high school. I don’t know much what she was like then.”

“Can I read it? I don’t know much about what you guys were like then!”

“No. I will put it away for when you are older. There is some stuff in here that you may not understand until then.”

“Is it that you got put in jail, and wanted mom back until you found about me?”

“Who told you that bull? Did your mother tell you that? She always was a compulsive liar!” I was mad, but he didn’t seem half as mad as he should be.

“Now that’s crossing the line!” I ranted. It made me so angry that anyone would say that about a person that they were supposed to care about, especially after the person had died! “That is one of the most untrue statements I have ever heard! If anyone’s a liar in this whole state, it’s you!” There were some weird mysteries about this place and Jimmy that I was still figuring out, and I decided that when I did figure them out, he would be exposed for the liar that he was. “I can’t believe we are even related!” It was true, I had made this statement many times, and I would many, many more, until I thought it had set in on both he and I.

Don’t you just hate it when you forget something really important to someone else because you are so wrapped up in yourself? It makes you feel like such a jerk!

“RING! RING!” the phone sounded off. I picked it up with a short “Hello?”

“It took me a long time to find your phone number, so listen up!”

My eyes swelled up to the size of a watermelon. “I’m so sorry!”

“That’s not good enough Zack!”

I didn’t even care that she had called me by the wrong name. “Melanie, I can explain,” I had to think of a story she could sympathize with. It had to involve something cute, cuddly, and helpless. “My dog, no puppy, had to be put to sleep.”

All of a sudden the loudest racket I had ever heard carried from Melanie, through the phone line, out of my phone and fed itself straight into my ear. Melanie was blubbering. This is what I got out of it. “I’m oooohh horry. Ehh….ple…ger!”

Well whatever it was, she must have felt bad, because she apologized again every time I came into the small grocery store she worked at. On the downside, she always offered me a smiley-face sticker. And I thought she was starting to fall for me! That’s a real laugh!



“The cookies are ready.”

“Okay. I will be there is a sec. Just let me finish this book!”

“What’s the book called?” I asked, but I knew it was called Machine Work For Idiots.

“Well, I had never read Gone with the Wind, so I decided to give it a shot. I just finished, so just let me put the book in my room.”

“No, you can just lay it on the table. The cookies are going to get cold.”

“Okay,” Jim said hesitantly.

“I already know what you’re reading.”

“Okay. You caught me,” he said. This would be the climax. I would now find out the truth. “It’s just that some of the younger mechanics at the shop are already having WAY more requests than me. I feel I must be losing my touch.” Darn! Another dead-end! I almost felt bad for him, but it also kind of frustrated me. I thought I had finally caught him in a lie, and may figure out what was going on around him, but this was the first thing I had ever heard him say that seemed to be the truth! I decided not to divulge anymore information to him. The less he knew about my quest, the better.

We ate the cookies. They were delicious! But that night, I was busy thinking about how cute Melanie looked in her small, tight supermarket apron, when I thought, I don’t really love her, but she’s so adorable. Then another thought came to me. Did I love Jimmy? He was my father, but he abandoned me. He did take me in after my mom died, but he seemed only to be concerned with himself, and was the most disagreeable and dishonest person I knew, with the exception of the people who created “The Joe Schmoe Show”. I figured that I did on some level, but I didn’t like him. There was a huge difference!

Another Sunday, another extremely long brake job. Jimmy didn’t get home for six hours! Maybe Jim really was losing his touch! But this was the day that this whole mystery would finally come to an end!

First of all, I was in the garage that I had never been in. Jimmy was already gone for 15 minutes, and I was looking for the diary that came in the brown box that one day, when I stumbled on a golden key that was in a wooden box. Immediately, I knew what the key went to.

I ran up the two flights of stairs to Jimmy’s room. I opened the closet door slowly, as though I was expecting someone or something to make a surprise entrance. When the door was finally ajar enough for me to fit in it, I went in, on hands and knees, and began digging through piles of dirty shirts, and smelly sneakers, when it hit me…literally. I bumped my head on a huge oak trunk that looked as though it had jumped right out of one of my mom’s pictures, but it was only then that I realized that it had. There was a picture of mom and Jimmy at a motel about the time I was conceived (hint, hint), and there was a huge trunk on the bed behind them. This trunk was that trunk.

I shoved the key into the first padlock, and it was a fit, but I still had two more keys to find. Easy. I just had to think of another place Jimmy often visits without me. The shop!

I ran down the first flight of stairs into the living room to the phone. I put in the number quickly. 555-8967. That was it. That great-sounding voice said “Hello? Zack? Is this you?”

“Yes! This is Zane. Look, I need a favor now more than ever! Can you come pick me up at my dad’s house right now?”

“Why?”

“I have no time to explain. I just need to go to dad’s shop and ask him something.” I knew telling her that would get her there, and give plenty of time to think up a story that she would believe. That would be a piece of cake.

I would tell her that I needed to tell him that my grandmother had died. She would get me there as fast as possible!

Mel bought the story. She drove me to the shop. No one was there. I wasn’t sure, at first, that it was the right place. After all, I had never seen it. Mel drove on by the place, so I had to ask, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“That place is empty. Don’t you see?” This didn’t sound like Ditzy Melanie Peterson. Suddenly, she sounded older and smarter.

I could do nothing but trust her. The way she had done for me, so I watched the small building get even smaller. “What is this all about?”

She reached into her shirt, and I covered my eyes. “No, Silly. Look.” In her palm she held a shiny maze of numbers and letters that I recognized as a state police badge.

“What does this all mean? I’m not sure I understand.”

“First of all, my name is Melanie Hemstreet. I am a local police agent, and Jimmy is your father, but the man you have been living with is not Jimmy. He is Gene. He, at one time, dated-“

“My mother in high school. I know. What does this all mean?”

“He is a well-known stalker. He still had great feelings for your mother, and has been stalking her since he found out that you were born.”

“Then where is the real Jimmy?”

“Sadly, he’s dead. He committed suicide after he killed the woman he started dating after leaving your mother.” That was a very confusing sentence. “When he finally started taking his anger-management classes, he met some trailer-park trash that he got pregnant. In fact, he hated the thought of having a child so much that he killed her. You and your mother were lucky that he was in prison when he found out that he was your dad, or you both would have died right then. When we finally got enough evidence to bring him to court, he hopped the border and started flying drugs to a small island off of Mexico. We just caught him two years ago, and even then, we had to wait for room in the prison in New Mexico to show up. During this time, he got depressed, and I guess you’ve figured out the rest.

“Evidently, that didn’t show up on the records, because he was the first one that they would let you go stay with. Gene asked people at a news station who “this little boy” was going to stay with, and they found out. He also did some other digging and found out about your father’s absence. He decided to pose as Jimmy until he was found out.”

“I have two more questions. Why did Gene only want to stalk my mom after she had a child, and how did you guys find out about this?”

“Well, he is a sick man. Not only is he rich enough to make bail any time he is in prison, but every time one of his ex-girlfriends gets pregnant, he tries to kill the child, because it is not his. He is obsessive. God has spared you two times. You must be here for a special reason. Keep that in mind.”

The realization hit me that the man I had been living with for at least year had wanted to kill me, and I came SO close to dying, and I never even knew it.

“He has never actually killed anyone, because I have always been on his tail. We found out that he was posing as your dad when we were looking over legal documents and found a forged signature on the custody papers.”

“How come he never killed me? I was with him ALONE for almost a year!”

“Well… that one I don’t know. I guess you were the only piece of your mom he had left. I began to review all the clues I was given that I never noticed or was never able to piece together. I would've been here sooner, but it was hard to find him!"

First of all, Gene had dated my mom in high school. That explained the pictures. He wanted the newspaper articles because he was obsessed. The package. When he had signed for the package, he did so using his RIGHT hand! My dad was left-handed! I couldn’t believe I had missed something so pivotal. This was also the reason he wasn’t so good at the guitar. I knew something was wrong about that. What about the diary? Mom’s diary? I had forgotten to get the keys! I didn’t even get to look! Where was Gene now, anyway? He could already be at home waiting for us!

It was just then that I remembered that I was in a car. I glanced at the speedometer and realized that we were going 180 miles per hour. All of the overwhelming confusion had, not only, put me in a whirl of denial, but I also hadn’t realized that my life was in danger.

I checked the rear-view mirror and saw the old, pitch-colored Impala growing larger and closer to the bright, red convertible. I could see Gene’s evil eyes in the mirror. It was hard to believe they were the same, tired eyes that I had found so inviting at my own mother’s funeral. For the first time, I noticed their color—a bright blue. Nothing like mine. Now they looked wide-awake or pumped up with adrenaline. A sudden wave of fear showered me, and it caused me to want to just disappear.

Melanie hit the gas pedal even harder than she already was, but didn’t go any faster. She gave me clear, yet frightening instructions. “Can you reach under your seat and get out the pistol I keep there?”

My face turned ghost-white, but she sounded so calm. I shook my head “yes” and slowly reached my hand under the seat. At this most awful moment, I realized that this road could not stretch on straight forever, and when a turn did come, it would hurt.

But then, all at once, a newfound courage swelled up inside of me. I grabbed the butt of the pistol and ripped it free of its tape border. Then I tried to give it to Mel, but she didn’t notice. “Here you go,” I said anxiously.

“Haven’t you taken target-practice class? Look, just shoot at his tires.” The top of the car started to retract into a slot in the back at that moment. I stood up and turned around. I pulled the trigger, and with a louder “BANG!” than I had anticipated, one bullet popped out of the end of the gun, and hit directly on Gene’s front, left tire.

“Great shot!” Mel said as she glanced into the rear-view mirror. I was proud of myself, as I saw this, but something happened. Gene did not give up. He got out of his car and kicked the flat tire and then began running after us. Then, my worst fear came true. In this broad daylight, on an empty street, you could easily see the “DEAD END” sign. Quickly, Melanie cut the steering wheel towards a small side street as the car was depending on Mel’s side to hold us down. I felt like I was on the Madderhorn at Disney World.

We made it, and I noticed that we had lost Gene a long way ago. Finally, I recognized the street we were on. It was where my current house was. You never know where some streets lead.

A thought popped into my busy head. Why didn’t we wait on Gene and shoot him? He was only armed with a handkerchief. I asked Mel this question, and her reply was, “We should always be on the side of human life. Why should we kill him?” He hasn’t committed a hanus crime yet. Besides, why would we give such an evil man the easy way out?”

That was true. I decided that that would be too hasty on our parts. We pulled into my driveway, but we didn’t wait in the car. We got out immediately. I shoved my key into the keyhole and turned it posthaste. We pushed the door open, and locked it. Though Gene obviously had a key, it would take him time to unlock the door.

Mel followed me into Gene’s room, and I locked that door as well. Without knowing why, I yanked the huge wooden trunk out of the closet. I told Melanie that I still needed two keys to open it. She, like a pro, lifted a pair of pliers out of her bag. She clipped off all of the locks that were encasing the answer to a long overdue mystery. We opened the door with a creaky noise, and, not to my surprise, there was my mother’s high school diary.

"June 6th:
Me and Jimmy went bowling yesterday, and I bowled several strikes. First we made out and then he asked me to go steady with him! I’m excited. When I beat him at bowling though, he slapped my face. That was yesterday, but you can still see where he did it to me. He said he was sorry, so I forgave him. He loves me and I love him, so it doesn’t matter. That’s all in the past now. Besides, he promised me a surprise date Saturday night.

June 8th:
Jimmy’s “surprise date” was a motel. At first, I was appalled, but he reminded me that we love each other, and people who are in love are supposed to have sex. It’s the way things work. I gave it up. We did it, and I can’t say it was half-bad. I won’t give you details, but it was great. It feels good to be loved.

June 10th:
Mom is mad, and I love it. Jimmy proposed to me. I am going to say yes (of course!). I can’t wait to be Mrs. James Goodman! It’s not like I haven’t written it on my notebook enough!

June 12th:
We got married. I haven’t told Mom yet, but she’ll just yell. Until Jimmy can buy us a trailer, I’ll be staying here with Momma and Daddy. I don’t know how I’ll keep this a secret. I’m a married woman! Anyways, Jimmy hit me again, and I hate it when he does it, but it wasn’t his fault. He wanted to have sex and I said no because my Mom was about to be home, and I was supposed to obey him, because I’m his wife. I guess he taught me how it goes.

July 2nd:
Sorry I haven’t written in a while, but I’ve been really busy with Jimmy, but I’m also getting worried. My period is very late, and we’ve only had sex five times. I have got to go to the store, get a test, and I will let you know something as soon as I find out something.

July 2nd (continued):
I’m PREGNANT! My mom will kill me. That’s it. Good-bye diary. It was nice knowing you. How will I tell Jimmy? I will just wait. Maybe I will talk to you tomorrow, if I’m not dead.

July 4th:
Mom read my diary about Jimmy hitting me a while back. That was before I even wrote about being pregnant. She got Jimmy sent off to prison yesterday! I’m SO mad at her! I don’t know what to do about the baby. I guess I’ll have to tell her and face my death sentence. Diary, I’m starting to love this baby, and it ain’t even born yet. I hope it’s a boy that looks just like Jimmy. I love Jimmy. I want to name it Zane if it’s a boy, because I’ve always loved that name.

July 6th:
I told mom. She reacted coolly. She says I can get a job after I get back on my feet after the baby’s here. She will take care of it during the day while I’m at work. That is all the best news I have heard since I found out about this little thing living in me. The only problem is telling Jimmy. It’s okay, because I know he will be a great dad! He makes a good boyfriend. Why wouldn’t he make a good father? I guess everything will be okay once he’s done with anger-management classes. I’m about to write a letter to Jimmy. I am going to make it sound so fancy. And while I have out this dictionary and thesaurus, I’m going to read them to the baby. I don’t have no good books to read to him. I’m also going to play classical music for him. I want him to be the smartest boy ever!"

There was a loud jiggling of the doorknob. Mel screamed with sudden shock. We got in the closet, and I could smell the beautiful perfume that Melanie was wearing. Gene’s large hands pounded on the door.

Mel grabbed the phone and called her partner. “I need back-up now,” she said. “315 Beakers road. Bring your gun and handcuffs!” She said this quietly enough to where Gene could not hear her asking for help.

For 15 minutes, Melanie sat and held me like a mother would do to her son. Considering the fact that I was 12, I could have been her son. She kept reassuring me that Nelson would be there soon to hold back Gene, as he kept yelling for us to let him in. He was shouting obscenities so loud that I was sure some neighbor would come over to shut him up any time.

After 30 minutes, Gene had left the door many times to get things to try to open the door with. He slammed on the door with a large coffee table from the living room. I noticed what it was because part of the table’s leg slid under the door. Mel and I screamed, but only held on tighter.

Finally, as I was giving up hope, I heard a car pull into the driveway. I tore myself from Melanie’s arms long enough to get to the window. I looked out and saw a small, square car that was the color of freshly fallen snow. One of my former classmates stepped out. Actually, he was the closest friend I had since I moved to Pittsburgh. He ran up the steps to the front porch and realized that door was locked. A feeling of hopelessness bombed me.

Then, I got a great idea. I approached Mel and grabbed the keys from her hands. I had to be quiet about getting Nelson to look in my direction, or Gene would meet him at the door. So, I slid open the window and whispered at him, “Pssst!” He looked around, so I made the noise again. He looked up at the window, so I dangled the keys in the air. His eyes brightened at the sight of the keys.

I tossed the keys down onto the wet grass. Nelson jogged, picked them up, and successfully made his entrance. All the while, Gene kept hitting the door and yelling at us. It was obvious that he had no idea about Nelson, because he stayed at the bedroom door screaming. The, I heard light footsteps outside of the door. Then I heard Nelson cock the pistol he was carrying. “Drop to the ground! Now turn over on your stomach!” I heard a click of some handcuffs, and I felt a relief I have never felt before.

Melanie took out the pistol, opened the bedroom door, and stepped out into the hall. She kept the gun pointed at Gene and helped him to his feet. He was crying like the day my mother died. His face was red, and this was the time that I pitied him most.

Nelson put on a rubber glove and slipped the blue handkerchief out of Gene’s pocket and put it in a large plastic bag.

I moved back to Philadelphia with Granny, after a long series of trials, and she and Grandpa where buried next to each other the fall after my graduation. I was, then, 14 years old, so I still needed a guardian. In January, Melanie and her new husband, Nelson, adopted me. Now, I’m seventeen, and I graduated from college two years ago. Next year, I will move into the small house I have paid on with the money I earned by going on tour with a national orchestra. I have a sister on the way, to be named Rosaland. Hopefully, she’ll like being called that.

I have a job waiting for me with my house in Maryland. I am going to be playing with the same national orchestra when they come to town, but mostly, I will have my own music store. Also, I am currently finishing transforming my story into a book, which will be sold in my store.

For now, my room is decorated with painful reminders. As much as I like living with Mel and Nelson, I can’t wait to move and be able afford new stuff. The only reminder I want of those strange days is that, old, brown trunk with my mom’s diary of wishes and thoughts. Most of what she said in there, wasn’t true. She didn’t love Jimmy. She thought she did. She didn’t hope I looked like him. She thought she did, but one thing she said was true. She loved me, and until I am buried next to her, that’s all I need to know.