This Side of Heaven.

This Side of Heaven

The rain fell torrentially today. I love the feeling of rain. A cold, rainy day in the city excites me like no other kind of day. Today I took pictures in the park of the fountains. There was this couple that look like Mom and Dad, and it made me miss them.

It’s almost Christmas. The traditional tree in the park is a constant reminder of that fact. I can’t bear this. I used to really love Christmas, but after Mom and Dad died, I just can’t take it. It hurts to be alone in the world this young. Sometimes their death doesn’t even faze me anymore, but it’s days like this that scream memories. I think that’s why I prefer these days; they force me to remember.

I miss them. Fifteen is not a good age for a boy to lose his parents.

I’m supposed to take pictures of some young couple’s wedding this afternoon. I hate weddings, but I need the money. I’m a freelance photographer, and this lady hired me to take pictures of her wedding. I’m not the best photographer, but she thought I was good enough.

Nobody really knows what exactly happened to Mom and Dad, which kills me. Whatever it is that happened, I was supposed to be with them. I was supposed to die that day too. It’s scary stuff to think about, so that’s why every day that I am alive, I thank God that for some reason, I’m still living.

I got dressed up for the wedding. Ok, I know there are loads of guys that hate dressing up, but I like it. It reminds me of the time Mom and Dad brought me to Aunt Jill and Uncle George’s wedding. For this wedding, however, I got a cheap, vintage suit-type thing at a thrift store on the way home. I don’t think I look so bad in it…

Ok, remember how I mentioned before that I hate weddings and once went to Uncle George and Aunt Jill’s wedding? Yeah, that wedding was a disaster—fluffy pink dresses and dyed poodles. I don’t know what they were thinking. Gross. I think weddings are gross; I don’t know why, but they are. Anyway, this wedding is ok. Outdoors. Sunset. White lights. It seems strange in the middle of winter thought. An outdoor wedding in December? Lovely.

Whoa. There’s this girl down front that looks so familiar. What’s her name? I can’t remember…Dawn Berkley! She used to be live next door to our family back in our old neighborhood when I was about five or six. She and I used to play outside together all the time. I remember she had this crazy notion that she would grow up to be the librarian in the world’s largest collection of books. I haven’t seen her in ages! We used to be best friends. I wondered how she’s been, so I went up to her and talked. Easier said than done.

“Hey, Dawn?” I asked nervously. She turned around and looked at me. Oh my word, she looked like she was going to pass out or throw up or cry out of shock. I didn’t know what to do, and I felt stupid…what if she didn’t want to talk to me? Or didn’t remember me?

“Addison Hawthorne. It’s been a long time.” Oh, then she smiled! My heart returned to its place, far from the depths of my stomach like I felt it had been.

“How have you been? Why are you at this wedding anyway?” I tried small talk.

“Hah! My cousin is the bride, and she’s a little offbeat, which explains why this wedding seems so eccentric. Imagine that. Outdoor wedding in the snow. Lovely. My life’s been pretty sane. We moved out of the house next to yours shortly after your family did. I miss it though. Remember when I would come over, and we would bake cookies with your mom? How are your parents anyway?” she pleasantly replied to my feeble attempts at conversation.

I didn’t know how to tell her. My parents might as well have been her parents too. Dawn came over all the time. Her parents were out of town a lot, so she basically lived at our house. “Uhh…well, it’s a very complicated story. Do you have time?” I asked. She said she did, and we went for a walk.

Dawn took it a lot better than I thought she was going to. I was half-expecting her to completely bawl her eyes out, but then again, Dawn never was one of those girls who cried about every little thing. She has always been pretty cool like that.

“Hey, the wedding’s about to start. I think we oughta get going. I’ll meet you at the reception. Will you still be here?” Dawn asked hopefully.

I went to my spot to take pictures. It was kind of a drag compared to talking with Dawn. I took some really nice pictures, so the bride was satisfied. She was gushing so much that she said she didn’t mind if I didn’t take reception pictures. I didn’t mind either. I made my way toward the food line, but I somehow ended up looking at the bride’s pictures. It was eerie. There were a few pictures of her in her late teen years that had my parents in them. I’m guessing that she knew my parents. Man, every time that I think I’ve gotten to the point where nothing will remind me of them, echoes of their past come back to haunt me.

“Addison?” Dawn called, startling me back to the present. “Where have you been?”
My mind reeled. “Oh, sorry, Dawn. These pictures…why are my parents in them? How do they know your cousin? What’s her name?” I frantically replied.

“Well, I don’t know why your parents are in them, and I don’t know how they know Abigail—yes, that’s her name, Abigail,” she answered.

“Weird.” It was getting late, and I thought I should probably be getting home. Home…”Hey, Dawn, I think I should be getting home now. I’ll catch up with you again another time.” I hoped she would want to too.

“Yeah! No problem. Mom and Dad say that you can stop by the house anytime.” She handed me her dad’s cell phone number and directions to her house. Funny. She’s still the same Dawn Berkley that I knew growing up. At least some things don’t change.

I left the wedding and boarded the subway. When the train stopped by the park, I couldn’t resist taking a walk through it. That’s totally not safe this late at night, but…it’s a risk that I feel that I have to take. There is an unusual amount of people in the park at this time. It sounds as if it’s poetry night. There’s a girl, a young-looking one, reciting something she’s written. I have no idea if it’s a real poem or not…

“The sun rises on a new day, signifying a clean slate. Beginnings. Life. To start anew is something that everybody longs for…but what happens at sunset? What happens at endings? What happens? Death happens. Hearts hurt. And tears are shed. There is another place where sunsets do not exist, but that’s heaven. Then we ask, ‘What about now? What about this side of heaven?” she cried out. It wasn’t well-written, and it didn’t really flow, but it made me think.

I stopped and listened. I didn’t know what to think. My stomach dropped, and my throat was dry. My bones ached. I missed my mom. I missed dad. I missed how they used to come into my room before bedtime and pray with me, even though I was far too old to be tucked in. Look at me. I’m bawling my eyes out like a little kid. I missed Mom’s hugs and Dad’s words of wisdom. I feel so vulnerable without them. And it hurts so much that I don’t even know what happened to them! This feels so surreal. I want to know what happened.

I went to bed that night in a flurry of thoughts and emotions. Slowly drifting to sleep, I decided that I would find out who this Abigail person is. The next morning I woke up to the faint smells of sugary cinnamon wafting up into the attic. I got up from bed, looked through my closet for some clean clothes. A picture fell from the top shelf, up in a place I don’t ever look. It was a picture of me as a baby in my mother’s arms. You can’t see Mom, but I know that the baby is me. I had that stomach dropping sick feeling again. Why is there a picture of me in someone else’s closet? Why are the remnants of my past still lingering? This is too much.

I pulled up a stool and saw shoeboxes full of my parents’ old stuff. I began to realize that there is more to my parents’ death than I know. I just don’t understand why I don’t know. I’m their kid! I’m supposed to know these things! I grabbed one of Dad’s old record books and took it down to the kitchen to read through while I ate my breakfast. I was sitting there, flipping through the book, when I came across a page with the date “November 5, 1992.” Um, creepy much! That’s the day I was born! Under the date, a paragraph in man’s writing read, “Today marks a milestone in Judy and my life. Today, we have remained unsuspected for three years. Adding to that, today God has blessed Judy and I with a beautiful baby boy—Addison Scott Hawthorne. I can’t begin to fathom how much God has blessed us with him. He is a bundle of joy to both his mother and me. Closing remarks: One day, people will realize our family doesn’t belong here, and one day, I realize that our past will catch up to us…and I don’t know what will happen to Addison, but I know things will always be ok.—Benjamin Hawthorne”

That entry I had found was completely mind-boggling. My parents’ names aren’t Ben or Judy. My parents’ names are Elaine and John. I flipped over to another page. My mind was reeling. Finally, everything came together. I had found this hastily scribbled note stuffed in the old ledger. I don’t remember what it said, and I don’t have it anymore, but what it said…on that piece of paper completely changed my life. Apparently, these Benjamin and Judy characters are my real parents. They were underground missionaries to who knows where (still haven’t figured that much out yet), but I can tell that wherever we were, the people there didn’t want us to be there. My parents had decided to go out on a three week vacation, and they left me in the care of my aunt and uncle, Elaine and John—the people I thought were my parents. It was John and Elaine who had mysteriously passed away last Christmas. Mom and Dad had been caught some kind of hold-up in the hotel they were staying in. The gunman had shot my parents because they had boldly admitted to believing in God when the rebels had questioned them about their faith. Tears started falling down my face…I guess these guys couldn’t threaten my parents with heaven. Though my heart was torn as I faced the reality of the end of my real parents’ death, I was proud. Proud that they died for something they believed in. They died for Someone worthy.

Since John and Elaine were relatives, I suppose I was allowed to stay with them…I found out later that they grew up with Abigail, which explains how they’re in pictures of when she was growing up. It’s so strange how we’re all connected like that. It’s still anyone’s guess as to what happened to them last December.

Yet for some reason, I don’t feel so melancholy anymore, knowing that they weren’t even my real parents to begin with. It’s interesting how things worked out. If my parents weren’t afraid of dying, then I can’t see why I should be afraid of it either—or just scared about it.
I think Dad is right. Things will always be ok. God is in control.


Um, after rereading this baby...uh, I'm actually not very proud of it. Ironically. It's really choppy, and I'm really bad at pretending I'm a boy. Uh..I repeat myself a lot. And uh..it's so cliche. And guess what? If you do the math for his birth year and the age he gives at the beginning of the story, he's really 16. Whatever. It's not like I'm good at math. Oh well. I have next year to steal the show. ;D