The Box

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The service was Friday. I'm glad his mother didn't live to see this day. How I'd failed my only child… how I'd destroyed our wonderful son. I will be alone in my shame and sadness for the rest of my existence.

I put him in a box on Sunday. His football pads that smelled of healthy teenage boy, his grassed-stained soccer cleats, the aluminum bat he hit his first home run with. A life full of trophies. A life full of trying to please the old man. He excelled at every sport, every activity...my son. All state, All region, U.I.L. champion. In so many things my son was near superhuman. My folly; never seeing him or listening to him. He tried to tell me once, maybe twice, but I didn't get it. More stuff in the box; model cars I had bought him done to perfection, ball caps from different teams. His black leather Tommy jacket; a gift from me for his excellent grades.

His keys to the pickup I got him; a used Dodge but in good condition. It’s still in the driveway. I suppose I should do something with it, maybe sell it I guess? His many teammates were at the service; his many friends from school. But she was the only one I didn't want to see. Jennifer looked at me with contempt but said nothing. She knew my hurt because she truly knew him; he trusted her… loved her more than me and rightly so. He is packed away now; a life so full of promise, and potential gone in seconds. A horrible waste and a lesson learned too late. In so many boxes, I will finish tomorrow. I can’t face the rest just yet.

I put her in a box today; a small box, a single box. Her few pieces of jewelry from her mom. I know the pieces; I had bought them for her mother years ago. Some pink fuzzy pajamas with Pepe Le Pew on them. I have no idea where she got this stuff; probably with the help of the only friend who knew her. A red floor-length nightgown of silk and lace; so pretty and delicate. I imagine she must have looked like her mother with the honey blond hair to her shoulders. I never saw her. I never paid attention, some green running shorts and purple and white lady Nikes. A few tops; a pair of low-rise jeans.

The most precious item of course her diary; a pale yellow with sunflowers on the cover. This is where I found out about her. Her hopes and dreams, thoughts of boys. Secrets kept by her best friend forever. Passages about disappointing her father; not being able to live the life the parent wanted. Wishing only for affection and a loving embrace from her daddy. And finally a copy of the note she left me.

Dear dad.

I have got to tell you why. I am not Gavin; I am not your son. I am Genevieve your daughter, I have known for years, longer than I can remember. I tried to tell you several times but you didn't listen, you were always bragging about something I had done. I just could not keep living this lie, I was out to Jennifer she was my best friend you thought she was my girlfriend and in a sense she was. It just got too heavy…the weight; the scholarships came in; A&M football, and Corps of Cadets. I just can’t do it, and if I said no you would push me. All I want in life is to be Ginny I know you would never understand. So I can’t stay. Better to be a fallen hero than an embarrassment to you. I'm sorry, but maybe I can see mom. I'm so sorry I can’t be the son you want. There are some things that I want Jennifer to have they are in the envelope. Goodbye dad. I hope you don't hate me.

Love, your daughter Ginny.

I never knew Ginny. I never got the chance to love her, and now she is gone. I will carry the regret of my choices for the rest of my life. Goodbye my beautiful daughter. I hope you find peace.

I put my heart in a box today and sealed it forever.

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Comments

I love it

To be who you are not is the greatest burden to carry....to lie to self is a cancer that eats at your very soul...
Good story

Love And Hugs Hanna
((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))((((((((♥)))))))
Blessed Be
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Re Lying Being Too Hard

I would not call lying hard, Hanna. In fact it As Easy As Falling Off A Bike, and with practice even stupid people get quite good at it - ask any Politician if you doubt me on this !

:)

The secret, I think, is like in "Method Acting" - one has to believe in ones' lies, at some level in one's mind. But the ordinary human mind is made for doing that anyway. Only Aspergers People find it impossible. One of my Grandsons, now 26 and doing a very important job in developing new kinds of Radar for a defence contractor firm, is completely unable to tell a fib. He is also a fantastic observer, and was last year able to describe a scene in a Court so accurately and in such detail that some young people who had drunk more ethanol than they should have were saved from a malicious false acusation leading to getting a criminal record. The magistrate was amazed.

Briar

Darn it, another....

story has left me with tears in my eyes.

How sad that The Box had to

How sad that The Box had to happen. How sad that the dad never knew his daughter and was blind to who she was. How sad that he must live with the biter pain that he denied her. (♥)

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

You have such talent

You say such powerful things in so few words, a rare gift

Katie Leone (Katie-Leone.com)

Writing is what you do when you put pen to paper, being an author is what you do when you bring words to life

The hard edge of love...

Andrea Lena's picture

...not so much conditional as the stubborn if ignorant insistence that says I know better than you who you really are. That love that shouts orders instead of softly beckoning? I am absolutely overwhelmed; if not for the grace of god, I not only would never have been the daughter save for her fate had I the resolve, but I would have remained just like the father. Truly a moving piece. How many Genevieves have already read this story? Thank you for reminding me of my own sweet deliverance.

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Wow. It's great!

Powerful. Direct. Heartfelt.
EXCELLENT.
Your best (so far!)

**Sigh**

Words may be false and full of art;
Sighs are the natural language of the heart.
-Thomas Shadwell

Sad

And so lovely...and so so sad.

Joani

wow

that's so powerful ....

Wow.

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Once or Twice

This is a sad story. The dad seems truly devestated about what occurred. He admits to not seeing and not hearing. But is it true Ginny only approached him once or twice? Did Gavin make sure that Dad saw Ginny? Did Jennifer ever try and force the issue? Was dad an ass who would not have come around if he had seen and heard or was he just deaf and blind? Perhaps he needed shock treatment. Perhaps Gavin failed Ginny in part by not doing enough for Dad to see the truth.

Rami

RAMI

WOW

WOW that was heavy & powerful WOW

Jenn! OMGdds, Astoundingly poignant!

This Short story moved me... i know i have held thoughts like this in the past. i can feel the weight the father caries in his heart... Keep writing and keep moving us. Thank you Jenn.
Hugs,
Diana

Oh Jenn!

I think it's a good thing your stories are so short. I think we'd all be blubbering incessantly with puddles of tears everywhere if they were any longer! Seriously, I don't know how you do it, but you sure know how to eloquently convey a message with few words! Thanks hon for sharing this. (Hugs) Taarpa

Pithy! So damn sad... But pithy.

Ole Ulfson's picture

Oh, Jenn...

I cried. I cried for the lost past, present and future. I cried for all the might-have-beens, that became never-would-be's.

Your writing is so tight, so succinct as to be exceptional.

Well done!

Ole

We are each exactly as God made us. God does not make mistakes!

Gender rights are the new civil rights!

The ultimate lose, lose situation? Why?

Rhona McCloud's picture

A father who has based his identity on having a superstar jock son and a daughter who would rather throw her life away than live having been fathered by a man possibly unable to love her. Salutary but I hope readers don't believe it has to be this way. Being loved is often not that great but loving another person is worth more than everything you invest.

Rhona McCloud

heartpunch fiction

I think your style of writing needs to be called "heartpunch fiction" because it always hits me directly in my deepest emotions, in the best possible way...

No box for me

He would just throw everything away....especially the girly stuff. He might keep my diploma, though, and maybe some of my pottery, the only trophies I have.