Vengeance

The uneasy silence was broken by Erik’s cheap words of escape. “I need to go,” he said with a tone of remorse I knew he did not truly feel. “I have to be at work early,” he added painfully, reminding me of the job I once held but had been let go from due to what was described by my supervisor as a “dangerous mental condition.” I looked down at my hands, which gripped the lower part of the steering wheel. Seeing the old age of them made me wonder how other people viewed me. A “loner” and an “outcast” were probably some of the milder titles others bestowed on me. To Erik, as well as to others, I must have been too much of a problem, too much of a burden for them to handle anymore. Erik began to exit my car very slowly. He must have anticipated I would bid him farewell with some cruel remark or hateful comment. Instead, all that rang in my head was the politeness taught to me as a child. “Thanks,” I said after him, even though I didn’t feel a single ounce of gratitude. The passenger door then slammed behind him as soon as he stepped out. I watched with regret as he walked across the street and into his house. I closed my eyes and winced as the haunting memories of Erik’s home passed through my mind. It had practically been Peter’s second, if not first, home. He loved going there when he was a young boy to play with Uncle Erik, as he often called him. Erik’s children would play along as well, building forts out of pillows. They would have daylong adventures in the backyard as well, conquering kingdoms and slaying dragons. Peter was happy when Erik was around, and so was I, even if I never visibly showed it. Funny how unnerving I now felt around the man who used to involve my son in every aspect of his selfless life. Perhaps my uneasiness was because of how much being around Erik reminded me of Peter, of the life cut short, of the boy who had yet to experience many of life’s joys. An hour passed by before I inserted the key into the car ignition. There was no reason to stay parked outside Erik’s house any longer. I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed two women standing on the distant street corner. They were tall and attractive, probably in their thirties. I had seen them before. I thought they often jogged together around the neighborhood. I watched as they laughed and enjoyed each other’s company, like normal people did. Their children were no doubt playing in the nearby park, enjoying life to the fullest. A subtle yet purposeful glare from them toward my car didn’t really startle me; I had sensed it coming. They now looked to be carefully whispering, hoping their comments were not heard by others. They were probably voicing their concerns to each other of how an older man often stayed parked in this quiet neighborhood for hours on end. They were probably getting suspicious, but I didn’t care. I cared for little these days. Honestly, I despised the judgment I knew they were passing onto me. I wondered how they would feel if their precious children were taken from them.