Fake memories ?

“Prick”

At four I don’t know this word, but by the tone my mother uses, I know it can’t be good. We’re sitting in the parking lot of some old run down bar in the middle of nowhere. I can hear music coming from inside. We’re watching my dad. I don’t understand why we are staying in the car, but I’ve been told we’re not getting out. So we sit there.

“Fucking Prick”

It’s dark, way past my bedtime. I know this because I was already in bed sleeping when my mother got me up for this little ride. I don’t understand why we came all the way here just to sit in the car. I’m about to ask my mother when I catch her reflection in the mirror.

Her face is a mixture of neon colors and dark makeup. I can see she’s crying, but her eyes are what scare me into shutting my mouth. At four my experiences with tears come from falling off my bike or being scolded. I’ve never seen anyone cry like this, especially not my mother. She may be crying, but the tears can’t cover up the look underneath. I follow her eyes to the scene on the bar porch. And keep my mouth shut.

I can see them quite well, considering how far back we are. My dad, still in his work clothes, is swaying as he walks with his arms around a small lady with the brightest red hair I’ve ever seen. He’s saying something and she is laughing. I decide it’s a really funny joke, because they can hardly walk and both almost stumble to the floor. I wonder if he’s ever told my mom that joke. They make it to dad’s truck only by holding one another up. I can hear the doors of the old Dodge close and again wonder why we’re here if dad was just leaving anyway. I’m about to ask if we can go home too, when my mother gets out of the car.

She doesn’t go towards dad’s truck, but instead walks around a couple of cars and stands in the shadows. I can see the small light on the end of her cigarette get bright each time she puts it in her mouth. The look on her face turns my attention to the Dodge again. I can only see two shadows in the cab of the truck. I can tell dad from the red lady only from his hat now. They are sitting so close that I wonder how dad will drive. Sometimes he lets me sit on his lap and steer, maybe she’s going to steer for dad. I wait, but the truck doesn’t start. I decide dad must be teaching her about the pedals, because her shadow goes towards the truck floor and I don’t see it again. Soon the windows become foggy and I can’t see dad anymore either. I look into the shadow where I last saw my mother. She’s gone.

I’m scared, I start to cry. I curl up in the backseat close my eyes tight and try not to think about what monsters might live in such a dark place. I wonder who the red lady is and where my mom went.

I wake up in my bed. The sun is bright and I’ve nearly forgotten about the night. I grab my stuffed monkey and race downstairs. Mom is in the kitchen, her coffee in hand, a smile on her face. She kisses me good morning. As I eat my breakfast I watch her. Her gaze moves out the kitchen window into the yard. I see it settle on my dad's old Dodge. A year has passed since Donny the town deputy parked it. Mom’s never moved it and the weather has all but defeated it. It was empty when they found it. No dad. No Red Lady. I asked my mother about it once. She only said dreams can seem so real that we mistake them for memories. I watch her face, a tear in her eye, a smile dancing on her lips.

It’s at this moment I realize that tears are the result of most emotions.