Daddy is Dead

The next few hours seemed like days. About an hour after Daddy left my uncle came and picked up Mama. She said she had to “go to town”. Well, my brother and I knew something was really wrong. I kept playing over and over my conversation with Ronnie in my mind.

When I am upset I clean. I did even back then. I cleaned everything in sight. My brother had an old motorcycle which he mounted and began going as fast as it would go up and down the road in front of our house. Now Daddy never really cared much for me. After all, I was a girl and not much use for anything in his eyes. My little brother was everything to my Daddy. Daddy took him everywhere with him – even to work during the summer. They had a special bond that I didn’t share. I never felt as if I fit in. In hindsight, my brother was probably the reason Daddy stayed at home as long as he did.

Cars began going up and down the road in front of our house slowing to a rolling stop when they approached our driveway. Our great aunt and uncle pulled up in the driveway and asked if Mama was home. When I told her that she had gone to town she looked at my uncle and said, “She doesn’t know.” Well, she was right. I didn’t know the particulars, but I was fifteen and was old enough to know something was very wrong. My brother just kept riding the motorcycle up and down the road, dust billowing behind him. I was afraid that he was going to surely wreck.

After several hours Mama and my uncle pulled up in the yard. Mama got out and I remember asking her “if he was dead”. She simply said yes. By this time the motorcycle had stopped and my thirteen year old brother was sobbing. We just sort of all looked at each other. What were we to do?

We, of course, wanted to know what had happened. It turned out that Ronnie had told Daddy to meet him down a deserted dirt road a few miles from home. They each got out of their vehicles to talk. I’m not sure what was said, but Ronnie emptied a pistol into Daddy’s neck, face and chest. After he killed him, Ronnie went straight to the sheriff’s office and turned himself in.

I was really dirty from the day of piddling around the house and in the yard. I went inside to take a shower. When I went into the bathroom it still smelled like Daddy. I tried to take in the smell of the soap that he had showered with and his aftershave. I was keenly aware that I would never smell his smell again. His towel was still wet. I began to cry.