When the Truth Bloomed

April showers bring May flowers, at least that's what my mom used to tell me. Unlike the rain, which was ever so present in our part of the world during the month of April, my mother was rather absent. Her physical absence never bothered me much because she had never been emotionally available to me. When she disappeared for a bit, I always assumed she was searching for more flowers to plant on our family's endless acres. Her beautiful blooms were as endless as those acres come May and they were also the envy of the little old ladies in our town and surrounding area. No one knew mom's secret, not even me. Ladies would stop by for tea and try to sneak peeks at mom's gardening tools, the soil she used, and what was in her compost bucket. Still, nobody's blooms could measure up.

Those lovely flowers were a pleasant distraction from the unpleasant occurrences happening in town. The disappearance of well-to-do men in our small area of the world had me terrified. Ever since I could remember, men had been disappearing. Maybe one or two over the course of a few years and never enough to make people curious. They would just chalk it up to, "he musta got sick of his wife and left" ,or, "maybe he found him another woman". There was no real concern and never an investigation.

These disappearances had always bothered me seeing as my dad was the first to disappear. My dad wasn't the kind of man to run out on his family. My mom might argue, but I knew my dad and if he did plan on leaving, I know he would have taken me with him. I still search for him and long for him. I don't think the void he left will ever be filled. One day he was there and the next he was gone with no explanation, no answers, no closure. In moments like these, all I have are his pictures and I lose myself in every memory. As I sit, staring at an old picture of the two of us at the park, I hear my mom's tires screech to a halt. The sound is more distant than usual, but I put the picture away to avoid having an awkward, emotionally detached moment with my mom about the only person with whom I've ever been emotionally attached.

I look over at the clock and notice it is two in the morning! What in the world is she doing out so late? Especially in this heavy of a downpour. I peek through the blinds and see her hovered over the trunk of her car, parked on the other side of the cattle guard. Suddenly, the passenger side door swings open and I can make out the shadow of a tall, slender man. It is too dark and raining too hard for me to know who it is, but I have a feeling it is the local pharmacist, Mr. Jenkins. He walks over to help my mom lift bags of soil and what appears to be large gardening shears out of the trunk. The next thing I know, they are passionately embracing one another and then....yuck! They are making love. For the life me I don't understand why I am still peering through the blinds at this disgusting moment and then....I see my mom reach for the gardening shears and drive them straight into the chest of Mr. Jenkins. I fall to my knees and began retching uncontrollably when it hits me as hard as the cold, backhand of reality only can....my father! This is what happened to my father!!! And all the other men in town who had disappeared! Anger and confusion consume me. All I see is red. In a rush, I make my way to my father's gun closet. I feel robotic in movement as I am not thinking or processing my next move, just doing. Then, there she is, standing before me, the cold-hearted murderer who I know killed my father. Without a thought, without a question, without a care, I fire my dad's twelve gauge at close range. My mother is killed on impact, her blood is coating the wooden, rickety, farmhouse floors, and I am feverishly shaking from shock. I make my way to the kitchen, dial the sheriff and wait.

As I await Sheriff Smith, contemplating my inevitable arrest and stint in prison, I sip on bourbon, the same my dad used to drink. Was this out of vengeance or do I suffer from the same psychotic desire to kill that my mother had? Sheriff Smith arrives. I reiterate the night. I tell him, "she was responsible for the men disappearing in this town, including my father. And that, officer, is why I had to murder my mother".