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Fiction. © Copyright 1996, Jim Loy
Let me tell you about my son Richard. My husband, Roy, and I named him Richard because we both liked that name. Roy called him Richey. I called him Richard. After Richard was born, I could no longer have children. But Richard was enough for me.
Richard seemed to be a smart baby. I'm not sure when he said his first word. Roy said that he heard him say "electricity." I doubt it. Roy spent weeks trying to get Richard to say "electricity" in my presence. Roy would say, "Say it again, Richey, say 'electricity.'" Then, Richard would make sounds that almost sounded like words.
Richard became a good little boy, mostly. Sometimes he did bad things. He stole a toy from a neighbor boy once. We gave the toy back to the neighbor boy. And we gave him one of Richard's toys, too. Richard cried about that. Richard never stole again. He fell out of a tree, once, and broke his wrist.
On his fifth birthday, we gave him a bicycle. He loved his bicycle. It was red. He rode it every day, rain or shine, all over town.
Richard did pretty well in school. I think we set a good example, by reading a lot, at home. Richard did very well in reading. He had difficulty with arithmetic. We tried to help him. But, Roy and I were not very good with numbers.
Richard played baseball, in the summers. He played in Little League. We watched every game. He was not bad. He was not a star. But he was OK. He made an amazing catch, once. And he hit a few home runs. He ran very fast. We never yelled at him, as some parents do.
He was on the basketball team, in junior high school. In high school, he was cut from the basketball team. Richard was tall, and had black hair. He joked a lot, and smiled a lot. He had a girl friend in high school. They broke up after a while. He was too young to get serious. He became editor of the school newspaper.
Richard went away to college. He wanted to be a journalist. I was very proud of him. He did well there. He worked summers. His senior year, he surprised us by getting married. She was a pretty girl named Susan. She seemed to be very nice, once we got to know her. She was thin, and quiet, and had blond hair.
After graduation, Richard got a job for a newspaper in another state. My husband, Roy, died soon afterwards. Richard and Susan were a great comfort at the funeral.
They later had a daughter, and named her Whitney, cute as can be. A couple years later, they had a boy, named Thomas. Everyone calls him Tom. I call him Thomas. I spoil my little grandchildren, at every opportunity. They call me Gram-ma. They are very smart. They read to me from their children's books.
I visit when I can. But they live a long way away. Richard seems to be doing well, financially. He has a nice car, and a nice house with a big yard and a dog.
You may have gotten the impression that, besides Roy's death, nothing bad has ever happened to our family. Actually, one other thing did happen. You see, almost thirty years ago, shortly after Richard's fifth birthday, he was out riding his new red bicycle, when a drunk driver ran over him, and killed him.
Author's comment: You, the reader, were just set up for a shock. Do you feel betrayed? If so, who betrayed you, the author or the narrator? If it was the narrator, why did she make up that story? Did she actually believe that her son grew up to give her grand-children? Or was she knowingly fantasizing? Or did she intentionally shock you out of anger?
Drinking and driving is easy to do. You can do it. I can do it. Please don't do it.