by Christopher Hivner

John had just stared at it for many hard, insistent minutes. Twice he felt his hand reaching for the envelope only to pull it back. He had waited seven years. His stepmother had finally given it up, and now he didn't know how to complete the simple act of opening it up and reading it. When he finally pulled it out, he did so with only two fingers as though it were brittle and would crumble at his touch. The words "for Johnny" had been scrawled quickly, and he laughed when he realized he had no idea if it was his father's handwriting or not. He knew so little about the man except all the things he never wanted to be true. He had flipped it over to tear it open when it suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on him. Sweat was pouring down his temples, and his heart beat harshly against his chest. He had finally crammed the envelope inside his jacket pocket and ran from the house. Ran through the back yard, ran through the woods, just kept running until now.

Jonathan Adam Barber was going to find out the truth, or at least his father's version of it. He stood up and walked over to the pond. There was a ten-foot by ten-foot slab of slate rock that had been placed at the edge like a giant stepping-stone. John knelt down on it and lifted up a palm full of water to splash across his face. Then he sat back and stared at the ripples he had just created. Quickly they rolled away from him, disappearing to the other side of the pond.

"I guess I've stalled enough," John said to his reflection in the water. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the envelope. "Let's find out what big daddy had to say." He tore open the envelope, pulling out a single sheet of yellow legal paper. He unfolded it, illuminating it with a small flashlight attached to his keychain. The label on the envelope was apparently his dad's handwriting as three quarters of the page was filled with the same barely legible scratching. John bent the flashlight away from the paper, took a deep breath, took another deep breath and then shone the light back on the letter. He read out loud:

Dear Johnny,
I'm writing this in hopes that someday you won't hate me as much as I know you do now. Being sick like I have been makes a man think about things differently. I haven't found religion or anything because I don't believe you can buy your way in at the last second the way some of those preachers say. But I have thought about my life. I have no excuses. I ran out on your mom and you and never came back. Whatever problems I had with Ruby, she deserved better. You deserved somebody that would stick around. I was never much for staying in one place for too long or with one person. I ended up with Tess for so many years because I just got lazy. I wasn't in love with her and having another kid wasn't in the plans, but I stuck it out because it was easier than starting over again. And she didn't put up much of a fight about my cheating. Everything you've ever said to me has been right. I didn't treat you fairly, and I didn't make my life worth anything, and I have no excuses for it. I'm not as stupid as you think I am; I just didn't do the right things. I regret a lot of my decisions, but they've come too late for me to make amends. I do love you, Johnny. I know you think I don't, but I do. Maybe one day you won't think I was such a bad guy.
Love, Dad

The words faded into the darkness as John let the flashlight beam drop to the ground. He stared out into the greenish-black water, his head jerking toward the croaking of a frog. A leaf fell from a maple tree to his right. It fluttered on its own breeze and landed gently onto the surface of the pond only to be spit back into the air when a water bug swept past it. John noticed the beam still emanating from his keychain and switched off the flashlight, painting himself and his surroundings black.

All of his life he had believed there had to be answers for his father's behavior. For the last seven years he fought with Tess to get his proof. Here were the reasons he was abandoned and ignored, held in front of him like a delicate piece of ancient papyrus that had been preserved for civilization to study. The quest was at an end, the document was in his possession. And it said nothing.

John started to lift the flashlight back up. He was going to re-read the letter, study it, read between the lines, glean its true meaning for there had to be more than met the eye. He held the light steady, his thumb on the on/off slide-switch, but he stopped. John let the paper go. It floated out over the water a few inches, then changed course and glided to shore, landing in a patch of saw grass.

It was all there for him to see plainly. Henley simply took off because he didn't want to be bothered. There was no magical reason. There was no deep, dark family secret that kept him and his son apart.

It also meant there was no excuse for John's behavior up to now. In searching for his father, he had found him in himself.

*****

He knew he was high so it had to be an induced illusion, right? He was three hundred miles from home at a beachfront resort, about to go to the movies because it was raining outside and he and his friends were bored out of their minds. They had all toked up before hand to enhance their evening and were now entering the mall complex. There was a snaking line in front of the theater. As the four of them moved to get in line, John was sure he recognized the man standing third from the end. His friend Jason made the kind of terrible pun that only comes out of his mouth when he's been smoking weed all day and the man third from the end laughed, turning around.

"Dad?" John said, louder than he meant too. Henley Barber's face held more surprise than John's voice.

"Johnny, what are you doing here?" Henley's eyes darted from his son to the blond on his arm back to his son. Then he not-so-slyly unwrapped his hand from the woman's and distanced himself, his eyes glancing sideways in her direction, desperately pleading with her to be cool.

John tried to bury his smile and wasn't sure if he was successful. He walked up to Henley and shook his hand. He hadn't seen him for almost five years. The old man was graying around the temples but still had a full head of thick hair. John was now a good six inches taller, although Henley was still built well except for an extra roll around the middle. Henley almost smiled as if it was good to see his son, but there was the woman who wasn't taking the hint. She was younger by at least ten years, bleached blonde hair down past her shoulders and wearing a tank top that barely contained her tits. All this was held up by very tan, very well-shaped legs in a denim miniskirt. She had moved over next to Henley again and tried to take his hand, but he was having none of it. If he weren't high, John would have been disgusted by this meeting, but in his condition now he found it delightful.

"So, who's your friend?" he asked.

"Oh, uh, this is . . . this is."

"Not Tess," John finished for him. Henley's eyes widened, and he shot John a fiery look.

"I didn't know you two had broken up," John continued. Henley's hands balled into fists and his face turned red.

"We . . . uh . . ."

"Who's Tess?" the mystery woman finally asked, crossing her arms over her chest, squeezing her escaping breasts tight to her body.

"Whoops," John said, not able to contain his laughter anymore.

"Henley, who's Tess?" the woman demanded.

"No one."

"I'm sorry," John turned to the woman. "We're being rude. I'm John Barber, Henley's son." John took her hand in his and shook politely.

"My name is Rhonda," she said with a confused smile. Then she turned to Henley. "You didn't say anything about having kids."

"Yeah," John said nodding his head. "Daddy forgets about me sometimes."

"John! Can we talk privately?" Henley said through gritted teeth.

"Wait, you never told me who Tess is," Rhonda said, gripping Henley's arm.

"Oh, that's my step-mother," John said brightly.