His adrenaline in high gear, he swung open the front door. The loud voices were coming from the kitchen. Then, like the flick of a light switch, his whole world changed, as he heard Mike Kinsley yell, “Eventually you’re going to have to tell Ethan who his real dad is! I’m not going to keep pretending to be some stranger, not now that Keith’s dead. I think it’s time I took responsibility for the kid.”
Ethan was too stunned to move for a moment. His heart pounded in his head like a loud drum. This can’t be real, he thought. There’s no way this is real.
“I can never do that,” his mother cried. “It would kill him. They were so close. Now get out of my house and don’t come back, ever!”
Mike entered the living room and saw Ethan standing there. “Uh, Sandy,” he said, “I guess I won’t have to worry about telling him. I think he knows now.”
Sandy entered the room but stopped abruptly as though frightened. “Oh, Ethan,” she almost whispered. Her mouth opened as though to say more, but no words came out.
“Sorry, Kid,” said Mike and walked towards the front door. He hesitated for a moment, turned, and said, “Your mom’s got my number if you want to talk about this sometime, Son.”
“Get out of here!” Sandy screamed, breaking out of her stupor. “Get the hell out!”
Mike angrily slammed the door and left.
Ethan held the palms of his hands to his pounding head.
“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way,” said Sandy, crying hysterically.
“So it’s true? Please tell me it’s not true.”
“I’m sorry, Honey. I never thought you’d find out.”
“But how? I thought you loved dad. Did you have an affair?”
“I did love Keith. It’s not that. We just had some hard times before you were born. We separated for a while.”
“So my whole life has been a lie,” he said, still too thunderstruck to even cry. “I don’t even know who I am now. Everything is a lie.” At this point his emotions broke through, and he began to cry an avalanche.
Sandy approached him and put her arms around him, saying, “I’m so sorry.”
Ethan pushed her away, and she nearly lost her balance. “Get away from me. I don’t know who you are, either. You’re certainly not the mom I thought I had. The mom I knew would never have lied to me nonstop for thirteen years. Did Dad know, or did you lie to him too?”
“No, he never knew.” She could barely talk between her tears.
“I guess you were too embarrassed to tell him he’d married a whore!” Ethan screamed and ran out of the house.
“Come back, Ethan,” Sandy pleaded hysterically. “Please, I’m so sorry.”
“Stay away from me!” He picked up his bike and rode away. “And don’t come looking for me.”
He rode his bike like the Devil was chasing him. He had no idea where he was going. He didn’t know anything anymore. He just wanted all the horror of what had just happened behind him. He rode across an intersection without looking and was nearly hit by a pickup truck. The driver honked his horn, but Ethan didn’t look back. He wished that the truck had hit him; it would have been a quick end to his misery. Finally his bike’s front tire bumped into a large rock, and he was thrown from the seat, receiving scrapes on his legs and arms as he slid across the asphalt and landed in a ditch.
He lay in the ditch facedown for a time, hoping the accident had by some miracle been bad enough to kill him. He didn’t move until he heard a siren approaching. Figuring his mom had called for help, he stood up and concealed his bike behind some wild bushes, then hid himself behind an overgrown fencerow until a police car had passed. He started to retrieve his bike when he saw another set of headlights approaching. He soon saw that it was his mom’s car. He stayed hidden until she had passed by. “She won’t get by that easy,” he said to himself. “If she thinks I’m just going to forget this and go back home like nothing ever happened, she’s got another thing coming. I never want to see that woman, whoever she is, again.”
Seeing that the road was clear, he retrieved his bike and rode slowly away. Suddenly he thought of somewhere to go. His so-called mom would never think to look for him there. She didn’t even know about the place. He would go to Flintridge. Yes, Flintridge would be just the place to go, a place to go and think until he could figure out whether or not he wanted to go on living. What was his life worth, anyway? He pedaled rapidly in the direction of the old house, clouds sweeping over the pale grey moon making it more and more difficult to see.
Although he wasn’t sure of the best way to get there from his location, after a bit of riding around and thinking, he finally found the road he’d taken twice before to Flintridge. Corn and young tobacco plants surrounded him on both sides, and not a house was in sight, only the occasional barn. The place seemed as lonely as Mars. When Flintridge finally became vaguely visible in the distance, it began to rain, a gentle but heavy rain, soaking his clothes. He didn’t care though; nothing mattered anymore. The more miserable he was, the better.
For a brief moment, as he opened the large front door of the house, he felt fear, fear of ghosts or whatever a person might be afraid of when entering a forsaken place. But then his fear left him. Fear is only for people whose life matters, who have something to lose. He reasoned that since his life was worthless, what difference did it make if a ghost or anybody or anything else attacked him.
After making his way to the dining room, he sat down in a corner with his arms crossed over his knees and his head down, looking towards the wood floor, seeing only darkness. Thinking of the events that had just happened, he wished he had arrived home a few minutes later, just late enough not to hear those horrible words. His life would have been so much better if he’d never known the truth, if he had spent his whole life thinking that the man who raised him, who had been a friend and someone he looked up to, had been his real dad.
Then he had a thought that almost made him feel better, almost gave him a reason to go home and try to put his life back together. It occurred to him that many adopted kids have a great life with parents who love them. So it doesn’t really matter, he thought, if he was blood related or not. He was still my dad, and that’s all that really matters. He stood up, deciding to make his way back home. He would work on forgiving his mom, but that was going to take a while.
But then another thought hit him as hard as a sledgehammer, and he fell to the floor face down, crying uncontrollably. “He didn’t know I wasn’t his,” he said out loud, almost screaming the words. “He wouldn’t have loved me if he’d known. He would have hated me!” The love his dad had shown him had all been based on a huge deception. His dad wouldn’t have wanted to even look at him if he’d known the truth. Ethan felt embarrassed and ashamed. He cried until he could cry no more and eventually drifted off to sleep, exhausted from it all.
The dream came again. He was back home in his bed in eastern Kentucky. Hearing his dad call his name, he opened his eyes. His dad was standing there, and Ethan felt greatly relieved. Everything was okay again, all the bad things had not really happened. “Hi, Dad,” he said. “Can we go shoot some hoops?” His dad looked confused and said, “Who are you?” “I’m your son, Dad, of course.” “I don’t know you,” the man said. “I’m looking for my son. What are you doing in his bed?” Ethan pleaded to be recognized, but the man he called Dad turned red-faced and shouted, “Get out of my house! I don’t know you.” Ethan jumped awake. The reoccurring dream was evolving into something that threatened to destroy him.
The morning sun was just beginning to make its way through the wavy glass of the antique windows. Ethan, feeling too numb to cry or do anything else, continued to lie facedown, his head resting on his curled right arm. He figured they would eventually find his body in this same position, and that was fine with him. He realized he needed to pee but couldn’t find the motivation to make himself get up and do so, so he eventually just went where he lay. He felt far worse, far darker, now than he did wh
en he’d first lost his dad. This was twenty times worse, knowing that his dad wouldn’t have loved him for who he really was, would have hated him, in fact. And to think, yesterday he had been worried about stupid things like trying to fit in or what clothes were cool.
As the day progressed, the house became almost unbearably hot and humid, but still he lay nearly motionless. His right arm feeling numb and tingly, he finally allowed himself a small bit of comfort by pulling his shirt off and making a thin pillow out of it. But that was all the comfort he deserved in his mind. He’d be dead soon, anyway. He’d heard many times that a person can’t live very long without water.
Night came and dreams along with it, nightmares more like. He dreamed that he was at a family reunion at his grandparents’ house, but no one there would look at him or even acknowledge his presence. Even his own mom looked away and wouldn’t talk to him. Desperately he begged for someone to at least look him in the eyes, but no one did.
Daylight came, then night again. Ethan was feeling nauseated and dizzy, like the room was spinning, but still he found no reason within himself to get up and live. Knowing that someday they’d find his body and carry it away, he almost wished they’d leave him alone in this very spot. The old mansion made a nice tomb, really. Before falling to sleep, he thought he saw faces and hands coming out of the walls. “Now I’m starting to imagine things,” he said, smiling sadly, as he drifted off to sleep.
“You’ll make yourself sick if you lie there much longer,” said an old woman’s voice.
Frightened, Ethan looked up and saw Zelma Green sitting at the end of the long dining table on the opposite side of the room. She was wearing a black dress and a black hat and veil. It was still dark out but bright moonlight illuminated the room with a soft grey light.
“Why don’t you get up from there and have a seat,” she said. “There are a lot of things we need to discuss.”
Feeling somewhat relieved to have someone to talk to, Ethan stood up, nearly losing his balance as his head did a spin. He put his sweat-soaked shirt back on and seated himself on the chair at the other end of the table.
“Why are you all dressed in black?” he asked, immediately feeling silly for asking because black seemed to be one of her favorite colors. But this outfit was different somehow, almost macabre.
“This is what I wore to Benjamin’s funeral. We dressed appropriately for funerals in those days, showing respect for the dead. Today most people dress like they’re going to a party.”
“But why are you dressed like that now?”
“It’s because I’m in mourning again.”
“Oh, what happened?”
“I think you know what happened. A good friend of mine has run away from home, and now he’s letting himself slowly die.”
“I guess you’re talking about me, huh?”
“You’ve guessed correctly. You won’t last long in the heat of this old house, especially without food or water. And your mother’s worried sick about you. The whole town’s looking for you. So tell me what’s going on. It can’t be so bad as to merit all this.”
“It’s worse,” said Ethan. “But I’m glad to see you here. I was starting to feel kind of lonely. I guess I should have come to you first. You always seem to have a good insight into things. I don’t know what made me think to come here. I just wanted to get away—had to get away. I’ve lost everything. I don’t know who I am anymore. I lost my dad again, this time for good.”
“You’re certainly talking to the right person on that subject. I’ve lost nearly everyone I’ve ever loved. The final piece of my heart was buried inside my son’s casket many years ago, so you see.”
“It’s not totally true,” said Ethan.
“What’s not true?”
“I think you’ve got plenty of heart left; you’ve just been afraid to share it, afraid of being hurt again.
“How very intelligent and insightful for someone so young,” said Zelma through the black veil. And I believe you are absolutely correct. You’ve shown me during the short time I’ve known you that I still have plenty of love to give.”
“To be truthful,” said Ethan, “I thought I wasn’t going to like you at first, but now I think you’re really cool, and I’m glad we met.”
“Perhaps it was meant for our paths to cross. You’ve certainly added light and youth to my grayed existence. Until you came along, I had become as one confined prematurely in a tomb, like the tomb that awaits my body at the Rocky Creek cemetery, everything of what they call life behind me. But now I’m losing you too.
“But you, you have your whole life ahead of you, so many things to look forward to. You may not see it now, but you do. Please tell me what has compelled you to give up on life.”
“I don’t think I can get past this,” said Ethan. “It’s too much.”
“A person as young and healthy as you can get past anything. So tell me what it is that troubles you so greatly.”
“I just discovered that my dad, the one who raised me, wasn’t really my dad. My mom had an affair, I guess. I found out by accident when I came home early and heard her arguing with the guy she had the affair with. To make things worse, Mom told me that Dad never knew about it. So I figure he would have hated me if he’d known about it. I mean, what guy would like the son of a guy his wife had an affair with? I’m just dirt now, in my book. To add icing to the cake, I don’t have a bit of respect for my mom anymore. She’s not the person I thought she was, not by a long shot.”
Zelma Green sat silently. Ethan tried to read her expression but he could barely see her face through the black veil and in the gray moonlight. His heart sank. He guessed that she had lost all respect for him too. He should never have told her such a shameful thing about himself. After all, she was a respectable woman.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I hadn’t told you about it. I hope you don’t hate me for it.”
“Now why would I hate you for such a thing? I was sitting here reflecting, wondering who might have told you that you live in a perfect world. People these days treat their children too much like children, whitewashing anything that might cause them discomfort, leaving them ill equipped to deal with the adversities that they will inevitably face. If you survive this, and at the moment I’m not sure you will, you’ll be much stronger for it.”
“Mom was more worried about herself than she was about making a perfect world for me. She was too embarrassed to tell the truth, I’m sure. Dad and me would’ve been so much better off if she’d just been honest. Now I’ll never know if his love for me was real. Oh, but really I think you and I both know the answer to that question: he would have hated my guts, but at least it would have been an honest hate. I could have somehow found a way to of lived with that, I think.”
“I’ll tell you something, and I hope it will help you understand,” said Zelma. Ethan noted how still she had been the whole time, almost as though not breathing. “Life’s journey does not take place down an easy roadway, as some might imagine. It takes place inside a giant house with a million doorways. Every day of our lives we are faced with decisions to make, doorways to walk through. It can be confusing at times, like walking through a carnival maze. Some decisions we make are big, some small, but they all have consequences. Thirteen years ago your mother faced two especially important doorways: one leading to an ugly, messy room; the other leading to a beautifully decorated one, all the dirt swept beneath its elegant rugs. She chose the attractive room, not noticing the cloven hoof exposed beneath the ornate curtains. That decision has surely haunted her every day since, finally catching up to her.”
“Wow, that’s powerful,” said Ethan. “Again you amaze me with your insight on things. The problem is that it doesn’t really help me. My dad was still not my dad. She chose not to tell the truth, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive her for it, not in this lifetime. My life is ruined. Everything is a big mess. Dad might have loved me anyway, but who knows? I don’t ever want to spea
k to Mom again. She’s queen of the liars. I’m pretty much an orphan now.”
“Oh, I see how it is. You hate your mother for her actions because you have the moral authority to do so.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you’ve most certainly never hid things from her, stretched the truth, lied. Since you’re so judgmental about your mother’s bad decisions, you must be an expert on making all the right ones.”
“Maybe I’ve hid the truth a little bit,” said Ethan, looking down. “I didn’t tell her I was staying over at a friend’s house on the nights I wasn’t staying at yours. But I would never flat-out tell a lie as big as what she did—that was major.”
“So it wouldn’t have been a big deal if something bad had of happened to you, some accident or worse, while you were staying over at this friend’s house, your mother having no idea of your whereabouts?”
“I guess it would of,” said Ethan.
“Well, you’re young. You’ll make plenty of bad decisions in your lifetime, some of them big, assuming you live through this. No one is perfect, but the people who are closest to being perfect are the ones who recognize their own shortcomings and are able to forgive others for theirs.”
“But…”
“But nothing. You’ve got a big decision to make right now: do you stay here and die, or do you find a way to go on living?”
“I could go on living if I somehow knew that Dad would have loved me despite who I am.”
“My guess is that he would have, but that is irrelevant.”
“Why do you say it’s irrelevant?” asked Ethan, his head spinning inside. “It matters everything to me.”
“It’s irrelevant because your dad never knew the truth. In his world, his whole life, he never knew anything besides that you were his son. All the what-ifs in the world don’t matter at this point. And in Heaven, the only thing that will matter is the love that the two of you shared. None of the times you spent together can ever be taken away.”
A Million Doorways Page 17