HOT
JULY DAY
Written by M. Melody Tuli
My parents have been arguing
most of the day. I went outside to get away from all that noise.
My mother called to me to come inside. "Your father would like to
talk to you," she said with a sharp emphasis on the word father.
I came inside the house, per mother's request. I saw my father sitting
in a chair in the living room. I see that he is pushing something
back behind himself, between himself and the chair he's sitting
in. His mood and the tone of his voice, it's a solemn, serious tone.
He is explaining to me that he loves me very much but he has to
go away for a while.
I question him where he is going, and have a perplexed look upon
my face. "Where are you going daddy?" I asked. He said, "Daddy just
has to go away for a while, but I'll see you again real soon. Just
always remember that I love you very much." I said, "Daddy can I
go with you?" "Are you going to the store?" He said, "No. I'm sorry
but you can't go with me this time." He hugged me like he'd never
see me again, tightly almost taking my breath away and kissed me.
Then he told me to go back outside and play.
We walked our bikes to the end of our yard. My bike wheel ran across
the curb…
I heard what I first thought to be the sound of a firecracker. "Pop."
I turned and looked at my mother. I said, "Mom, did you hear that?
That sounds like a gun report." She said, "Yes it did." Where had
I ever heard gun report? But that's what I said. Not gun shot. I
said gun report.
I laid my bicycle to the ground and began to take a few steps towards
the house. My mother immediately grabbed my wrist and said to me,
"No don't go in the house, the next one could be
for us. We don't know where that shot came from."
We took our bikes and sister as we walked across the street to the
neighbor's house. As hot as it was that day none of the neighbors
ever invited mother or sister and I into their homes. Mother knocked
on the neighbor's door. She talked with the neighbor lady primarily
through her screened door. Mother asked her if she could please
call the police. She told the lady we had heard a gun shot.
I wipe away the perspiration from my forehead. I look upon my mother's
sunburned and bewildered face. One gun shot…no, I guess I called
that a gun report, funny. Funny, damn thing sounded just like a
firecracker to me. Still to this day, over 30 plus years I can't
stand to hear a gunshot or firecracker go off.
Well now we are waiting across the street… We are just standing
here, out here in the hot sun waiting. I don't know what the hell
we are waiting for? Here comes the S.W.A.T. team. They all scurry
out of their van, like huge black piss ants. They surrounded our
house with guns drawn.
Their helmets cover their heads so they seem rather faceless, non-human
to me, almost moving in
a robotic nature.
We're still waiting over here. Are we invisible? Doesn't anyone
see us standing over here across the street in this God forsaken
sun, baking? We have been standing outside here all day long, my
mother, my sister and I. Mother's face is beet red, all sunburned.
She looks exhausted.
There was a lost look of expression upon her face. I don't know
how much more of this heat we three can stand…
The Swat team still peering into the windows of our house. Around
and around and around they go. We're still waiting. Their scheduled
routine seems to go on for what feels like hours. Darkness falls
upon our house and the people standing remain standing in place,
almost like black silhouettes. There was a darkness other than just
the mood or the current surreal atmosphere that currently surrounds
me.
Well here comes the channel 15 news van. Here comes the channel
21 news van too. Here come people, neighbors and strangers I know
I've never seen before. Do I know all these people?
Where the hell did all these people come from? Oh, people, people,
and people everywhere. Hungry aren't they... It must be feeding
time for all these hungry vultures.
The streets all lined up with cars, people, and police. Ah, yes…the
police, now that's another matter. I ask one of the police men who
seemed to hold a superior stance of being the one in charge of things
around here what was going on. He just answered me, "That's none
of your business little girl." I sassed back, "I think it is my
business, that's my father in that house!" He quickly replied after
partially swallowing his tongue, "We don't know what's going on
here yet." I wasn't allowed to tread pass the yellow tape that seemed
to outline our house. I ask my mother what's going on…
She doesn't seem to know either. Or if she does, she doesn't tell
me… She's not saying much.
I think I see an ambulance with their lights flashing and sirens
blaring. Also see a big black hearse somewhere in this abstract
flashback. Or maybe it was just the big black hearse; guess the
ambulance was never called. Think the S.W.A.T. team has entered
into our house through the back door. Finally!
Some young neighbor girl, young but older than I, asked if I wanted
to go for a swim with her in her pool. I thought to myself, sure
I'm hot, why not. I didn't have a swimsuit with me so she graciously
gave me one of hers to wear. She took a shoelace and tied the back
of the straps together so the suit would stay on me. The cold water
felt so good on my sunburned face. For a moment I had forgotten
that my father had just placed a single bullet through his brain…
Guess that was the whole idea. Time stood still for me as long as
I was in her pool. There was some conversation between us, ideal
chitchat for the most part. I've forgotten over time now, who she
was. What her name was? But she most assuredly was my abiding angel
that day.
By the time we had returned to the crime seen, yeah crime scene.
I'm hearing that key phrase a lot today. That has an ominous ring
to it. The S.W.A.T. team, how efficient they were. It took them
hours to get into our house, around, around and around for hours.
Well good, they are gone now. The robotic black piss ants have left.
There are two men from that big black hearse; they are placing something,
looks like a big black body bag to me, found out later that was
my father, into their hearse. There is some other man present. I
can't tell from which organization he's affiliated with, guess his
job duty is to hose down the garage.
I don't ever think I'll forget this hot July day. Hotter than any
other I've ever experienced or hopefully will ever again.
Hot
July Day
Written by M. Melody Tuli.
About 1,075 Words
Short Story - Non-Fiction
First Rights
_________________________________________________
"Hot
July Day" was
written in memory of my Father's tragic death.
Melvin R. Spader,
June 2, 1920 - July 11, 1971.
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