Everything changed when that letter showed up in the mail. I rarely if ever get mail, shit the apartment barely gets mail regardless, save for bills for our electricity, water or gas that’s about to be shut off due to not being paid in months on that distinctive pale pink paper with a blinding red stamp on the front. This was definitely something I did not recall ever needing to be sent: I’ve not sent out any kind of mail that would need something being sent in return, I’ve not applied to anything, I’ve not talked to anyone in months, there’s no newsletter or subscription I have out, please, like I could afford to keep a subscription regardless of the fact. I walked back up the stairs to the apartment as I flicked the two-three envelopes stamped with red ink to the letter that had been addressed to me that I had currently put at the bottom of the stack for the sake of just keeping the stack orderly. The letter was thick, in a pale cream toned envelope that was…much softer feeling than actual paper with a strangely vibrant yellow ribbon wrapped around it and sealed with a dark pewter wax seal with a strange crest stamped into it, my name was across the upper corner marking it as definitely for me, but it was printed in an ornate script that looked just…out of place against the other mail. I closed the door behind me, ensuring that the dozen various locks along the peeling wood were properly fastened before putting the chair I have to put under the handle back and putting the gold-club I had leaned outside the door back in the corner where it goes, Dad makes me take a golf club when I go get the mail in case something happens, I don’t…I leave it right outside. As I walked through the apartment before breathing deeply as I sat at mine and Dad’s kitchen table, popping the wax seal open as I slid the letter out. The lightbulb above me softly petering out or softly buzzing because of the fact it was just a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling
“What is that?” Dad asked walking in, it was one of the few moments that he was actually home, he’s just…always working, but…never has enough for the bills, just spends way too much on cigarettes and alcohol. He was a lot better when Mom was still alive, but sense she died a few years back, he’s just let his work consume him and take over his life in a sense…probably because he was always a stay-at-home dad when I was growing up because Mom made lots of money. Probably because of the odd time it currently is was the only reason he’s currently home. Sense Mom died too, he’s just been extremely paranoid about a lot of things; he goes to work and is here and that’s about it, he doesn’t really do anything, he started smoking extremely heavily and drinking too to the point they’re big enough sinks of money to make the bills pile up. We had to move here within a month or two of Mom passing because Dad couldn’t afford the bills, Mom’s job barely gave us anything and I never know what Mom left Dad or…anything like that. As he walked into the kitchen from his room, he stood there, his arms wrapped around himself with his hands nearly white knuckled around his upper arms, dressed in a slightly ratty t-shirt, a dark cardigan, beaten up jeans and barefoot, he…always looks a bit of a mess, just always looks like he’s not slept in a week or really eaten in that long as well. He was a lot different when Mom was still alive.
“I’m not sure, it was addressed to me though” I said as I unfolded the paper. Across the paper in ornate handwriting, but my name was there, prominently along the top. Kain Shepherd. “Congratulations, Mister Shepherd, due to your pedigree, grades and multiple recommendations to our facility, you have been accepted to the Paradise Academy of Higher Learning. Because of the fact your mother was an alumni of our establishment, it is almost necessary for you to attend.” I read before looking over at Dad, “Did…did Mom ever say anything about this school?”
“No…no…Not really, not that I can remember.” He said as he raked his hand ack through his hair as his entire person was jittery like it has been.
Mom…she didn’t die from something someone like he should have died from: my mother was an absolutely incredible woman, but…one day, she was walking home from work and heard a scream, she ran down a road and saw two men grabbing a woman and dragging her into a car, Mom being the selfless person she was, jumped in to try to rescue the woman, however the moment she was able to wedge herself between the men and the woman being kidnapped, the one in the driver’s seat turned and stabbed my mother and because of where she was in relation to him…the knife…it went in her throat…she…she was dead before she even hit the ground according to the very…very blunt police officer that showed up at the house. The paramedics said that they probably wouldn’t have been able to save her if they were there watching it happen. Mom was always…so kind, so warm and everyone loved her, she’d give a homeless person the clothes off her back even if it was below zero out, she was always spending any free time she had helping the community in some way shape or form. I can vividly recall that she’d hug me tightly whenever I was doing anything close to frowning or thinking of something sad, she was always so warm and smelt of spices like cardamom, cinnamon and pears, she’s whisper such kind things to me in Hindi, the three of us dancing about the house as she tried to teach us how to Bollywood dance, watching her apply the delicate henna on her hands she loved to always have on her as a mark of her pride of her heritage, coming home from school to the smell of cooking vindaloo and fresh naan, her vibrantly patterned and colored saris and other colorful clothing, coming in from playing to a lassi, or the sound of her bangles jingling as she pet my head and held me to her. I remember being a really, really young kid and begging for “normal” food for the lunches I took to school, only to regret even thinking about that because of how much I loved her cooking.
Dad just…lost it when he heard, just…never been the same. I remember when I was having to wake myself up early in the morning to make myself breakfast, go on a paper route before going to school then working the rest of the day doing stock at a warehouse that allowed me to work because it was in a seedy area and I was so desperate, I mean…I was fifteen and begging for work that no adult would want to do in terms of hours and the labor needed. I’d cut school to work so that we’d have money to keep the water on despite the fact the electricity bill was months late and I was doing homework by candle light. My teachers often complained about how I was always sleeping in class, but once the principle explained to my teachers what happened: my mother being murdered and how I was working two jobs at fifteen to be able to support the two of us as well as going to school, they eased up on me and often times would offer to help me or my dad, I had multiple days where my teachers brought me lunch, would hide things of toiletries in their classroom for me to take home after school, slipping envelopes of whatever dollars they could spare for the two of us, friends’ families and family friends pretending to have just been in the neighborhood offering to take Dad and I out for dinner, or bringing over “extras” of their own meals amongst things of that sort. Kids would get beat up if they made fun of me for getting help from the school or others. However, even with all of that…incredible support, Dad just never seemed to recover, it was like part of himself died that day. Dad just…he became a paranoid mess, from the day the police showed up to now, he’s just always screamed at people that Mom wasn’t just a bystander trying to help that got caught in cross-fire, but they were all people out to get her. Dad always told stories that Mom for some reason always had people trying to get her, that were people who didn’t want to two together, he always thought it was her family back in India or something, but she never talked about it. He still has these deeply wrought grudges against the people who killed Mom, the police who said they had to give up the case because Mom was the only witness to what happened, the paramedics for not trying anything despite the fact Mom’s throat was nearly slashed out amongst things of that sort.
I looked back to the letter,
“If you wish, call this number for additional information. Our next year starts in exactly three months on August 1st, we wish that we’ll see you in our classes. Room, supplies and board are complimentary for all students, however with your family connection to your mother, Padma. We would be willing to move the bodies of space to have you in our ranks.” I read, Dad was nervously fidgeting as he stood at the wall, drumming his fingers against his jaw and chin as he listened to me reading. “I’ve never heard of this place.”
“It’s probably just a scam or something” he said before laughing softly, “Maybe it’s those people who killed your mother, no…no…just throw the letter way, Kain, you don’t want to be bothered by it.” he added,
“No, wait…if this is a college offering to give me a full ride scholarship because of Mom? Why wouldn’t I want to go?”
“I don’t think this is a real school, I think that was sent by someone trying to get you. I can’t lose you too” he added, I sighed softly as I stood, I walked over and hugged him, he just kind of collapsed against me, his hands tightly grabbed my clothing over the back of my shoulders, “You can’t trust it, you can’t trust them, you can’t trust anyone out there, you don’t know who’s connected to those people who were trying to get your Mom.” He added, I sighed,
“Dad…how long has it been sense you last slept?”
“Why do you care? Are you planning on something happening when I’m asleep? Are you going to leave?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp and accusatory,
“No, Dad…of course not, I’m just worried about you.”
“Sorry” he said as he suddenly now started crying, “I’m just…a big mess over here, a big stupid mess who can’t do anything right, a mess who had to rely on his son to support to two of them when he was in school, who spent days on end asleep and not doing anything. I can’t do anything right!” he cried, my heart stung with the pity I felt for Dad, but he’s my Dad, I love him, but I’m just concerned about him. Dad was at a point diagnosed with Avoidant Personality Disorder and was given a referral to a therapist, some anti-anxiety medications amongst things of that sort, but…Dad never went, he was always thinking that the doctors nay every single person outside of the two of us was out to get him and or me, mainly me because of my mom…so because of the fact he never went to a therapist or has ever gotten his medication…he’s only gotten worse and worse over time.
“Dad…everything’s fine, just get to sleep, you need it.”
“I don’t need sleep!” he snapped softly as he softly swatted at my hand before I grabbed his wrists, “I need answers…I need to know…I need to know why they killed her…why the police stopped looking…why they didn’t try to save her…” he sobbed/snapped as he looked towards me. I swallowed hard before I started leading Dad back towards his room, he begrudgingly let me lead him there, but he put up a fight by letting his feet be heavy and letting his weight lean against me in dead-weight and complained the entire time. After a few minutes, I took Dad a mug of tea, claiming it was black tea that’ll help him stay awake, but it was actually the strongest tea I could find to help someone sleep.
After I confirmed he was asleep, I walked back into my own broom-closet of a room which was really the master bedroom of our apartment. The master bedroom would be seen as a broom-closet to some, so you can only guess how smaller the bedroom Dad uses is. I paced around my room with my letter in hand, softly letting my fingers run over the edges of the near parchment like paper which felt downy against my touch, I nodded to myself as I steeled my nerves and swallowed hard as I shook my hands out, closing my eyes to focus on breathing deeply before taking my phone out and dialing the number.
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