36. Excerpt from Anthony Stephens’ Mood Journal

September 1 2003 (continued)

What I remember about my parents being together doesn’t have anything in common with that picture of my mom and dad.

In fact what I remember about my dad is so far from the image that picture creates that I’m starting to think the photo was a fake. Or that the guy in the picture wasn’t really my dad but some other dude pretending to be my dad.

The last clear memory I have of my father is him walking into my room one day, around the time I was about to start middle school, and just staring at me.

I was watching TV and he stood in the doorway looking at me for this awkwardly long period of time; like, that point where you have to look away and wiggle around because the person staring at you is starting to creep you out, like they’re going to kill you or just freak out and start screaming at any moment.

He just stood there staring at me, like he was in a trance or something, and finally I said what? What is it?

He kept staring at me for a second longer then dropped his head, said nothing, then another long pause before he said, quietly, I just wondered… and that was it.

My dad never acted like that before, from what I can remember. He barely said two words to me before that day, just used to shuffle my hair around and pat me on the back every once in a while. I remember that. That was our affection.

So at this point I’m like, whoa, what the hell’s going on. I waited and he didn’t say anything for a while and finally he just shook his head and said never mind then walked away.

The next day I came home from school and all the blinds in the house were drawn and my mom was lying on the couch with a pillow over her head. I asked her what happened and she blubbered a little bit and then I walked into her bedroom and saw my dad’s side of the closet was cleared out.

That’s the last time I heard from my father. The last two words he ever said to me: never mind.

Next