This I Believe

The Truth About Family

The sun woke up at dawn. It stretched luxuriously and yawned. The clouds, who had been keeping it warm during its sleep, parted and prepared it for another long day in the skies. Fully awake now and ready, it rose above the clouds and smiled down at the hamlets and cities, rivers and lakes, humans and animals, the whole wide world.

Far below, another woke. He kept his eyes closed for a moment longer, not ready to brave reality. It had been such a wonderful dream, flying amongst treetops and chirping with the birds. Oh, what would he give for a life like that, to be free and joyful, to have people treat him as the birds do. They didn't care that he was different. They didn't care that he seemed to float around instead of walking, that he just seemed to possess and aura different from the rest.

A rooster cuckoo-ed in the distance. The sun had finally reached its coop, and his heart as well. With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and began to dress. Today was no different than any other day. He'd probably work on the criminal case he was assigned, then be told to take less time on the case, the guy was going to lose anyway. The mayor himself might pop in with the request for him to ditch all else and work on the case of his son. Edward Junior frequently got into trouble with numerous misdemeanors: robbing the shop's bank of coins, stealing a the grand cake on display at the bakery, breaking into a neighbor's home for an heirloom; all small things but nevertheless involved the law. He never liked the mayor, yet he had no choice but to comply. Indeed, the man he was defending had convicted murder in the presence of a half dozen men, but there still was a reasonable chance that he hadn't intentionally and purposely done it. He doubted the jury would actually listen to the case- no one listened to him. They just laughed and carried on with their conversations.

He neared the train station just as one pulled into it. The horrible sound of grinding metal reached his ears, the sound of upcoming trouble. The train's caboose was just in sight. His father always sat in the caboose. Every evening, when the sun set, he would come. His father would come home at precisely dusk, never failing to down two or three glasses beforehand. He would timidly come down to dinner when told to, only to find his father sitting at the head of the table, eyes bloodshot, mouth sagging, fists clenched. He always served himself first, and with that went most of the night's meal. Afterward, his father would shout the news, and if it happened to be faulty, he, as the attentive son, would contradict his elder. The reward was a smack varying in intensity and occurrence. A glass of wine only meant a light slap on the arm and a ruffling of hair; two shots of whisky could mean an hour's worth of beating and shouting, much crying and cursing involved. It was horrible, and the older he got, the more his father drank and the more red marks showed up on his skin until his own flesh seemed to expect blows at any given moment in life, resulting in a pale complexion that never left him, even when his father had.

He hadn't realized where he was going, lost in his thoughts and bitter memories. Yet he found his office door staring back at him, a pile of papers beyond it. Those papers depicted scenes of horror, of bloodshed and tears; however that, so gruesome as it was, could not come close to his own experiences. He sighed, watched the sunlight enter the office, and went in.

As predicted, mid-morning found him at his desk, reading a long account of a witness who claimed she saw the whole murder. Her testimony, which described the defendant stabbing with a knife, did not align with another witness, who claimed the accused carried a handgun. There was something there that may help...

His natural source of sunlight became obscured by a large shadow. Expecting Edward Senior the mayor, he looked up. A large beefy man stared back at him. He wore clothes suitable for an important business man coming to assert his authority. This man was not the mayor. His badge, worn over his chest, showed his status as the head of the police department. His dark eyebrows knit together with more than a faint sign of distaste. He beckoned imperiously to the door. Handcuffs and pistols hung from his belt.