“Oh. Alright.”
He looked slightly dejected but then his face contorted as he began contemplating the reasons why I wanted to diverge from our course. He adjusted the volume of the radio and put on a new song, all the while fitting the pieces together.
The music rocked me in its arms and carried me to the brink of sleep. My head was clear and the memories were erased. I knew when I fell asleep, I wouldn’t dream and I was grateful for it.
I felt the wheels underneath me chewing up the highway. With each mile the Explorer came closer to Providence, I came closer to the truth. We all did. We would be there soon.
“You want to go to the cemetery. You want to go see Lily, don’t you?” Shoddy said, suddenly, his concern rising with the inflection in his voice.
“Yes,” I said calmly. My eyes were closed but I knew he was staring at me and not the road. I just smiled. “I need to tell her something.”
Chapter 37
I never wanted to change my life until I was down on my knees praying for it to stay the same.
Funny how things turn out that way. You want one thing and some uncontrollable cataclysm shakes the opposites into power. You want to be friends with someone but you end up at his throat. You want to love someone and you end up the end of her. You try daily to gain control only to finally understand the implausibility of that pursuit.
For the majority of my young life, I traveled a common road. I was raised right, but the good values instilled in me chipped like those of any teenager. I took solace in compatriots who influenced sin, who played on the group mentality of indulgence. Lest I seem a rebel, these transgressions were of the most minor, youthful offense. Had I not just mentioned them, no one, not even those I shared them with, would even remember.
But of those typical, youthful trysts, one person went unchecked; he became a catalyst I could not rein under control. What I could control was my ability to not follow his lead, and from that spawned antagonism, competition, jealousy and fury.
As I grew accustomed to that relationship and its enmity, I lost a grip on how it influenced those I cared for. I committed sins on behalf of this rivalry. I destroyed lives.
I learned the pain of love and the pain of loss. Because of the loss, things I used to love I began to hate. Everything reminded me of that which I no longer had. I could not understand the kindness my friends showed; I did not appreciate or accept it. And still I did not see the need for change. My actions were for the sole purpose of maintaining the life I thought I controlled.
Ultimately the forces that be, be they God or guilt, grew strong enough to spark epiphany. I wrestled with the decision to pen my indiscretions and their ramifications. A confession is easy to think about: much harder to bring into existence. I even practiced on my most trusted friend.
I was trying to save my life but in order for that to happen, my life had to change. A confession is the vehicle to bring me there.
I accept the consequences, moral and legal, associated with what I have outlined here. The entire document will be hand delivered to proper law enforcement authorities, lest you think I’m just practicing self-pity, introspection and self-indulgence for the ego of it.
All of these words are not for me. I primarily want to confess to those I hurt. I look forward to their justice and punishment far less than that of any court.
Notice I have not offered apology. Very rarely have I said, “I’m sorry,” and meant it. I’ve said a sincere “I love you” more often. And then, I am not sorry for much of what I did. At a time past, I was. The guilt was overwhelming but it has since been washed away.
Two deaths stain my hands, caused just as much by what I didn’t do as what I did do. I will pay for them with my old life; change it for the better. In what tangible way, I am not sure yet. Perhaps I’ll find God and become religious, or take on a new career path, or re-educate myself in a new field. That is the next step and I am eager to set afoot. That is, if I don’t end up in prison.
If all of this sounds depressing, too heavy-weighted for a young collegiate who should otherwise be out chugging vats of skunked beer, then I’ve succeeded. Why? Because this is a confession. My confession. Confessions aren’t fun.
My name is Augustine Shaw and I’m a killer.
Stone Angels Page 30