Epilogue: A Satisfied Daughter

Epilogue: A Satisfied Daughter

I did a lot of good with my life when we left New York. I spent the remainder of my high school years getting nearly perfect grades, serving on student council as treasurer, and organizing food drives during Thanksgiving and Christmas. I made every effort to be the perfect student, the perfect daughter, and the perfect human being. My penance was self-serving, but necessary for me to attempt to forget what I had done. I am not an evil person, but I did commit and evil act. I could have never made a case to defend what I did; I am positive I would not have received an ounce of empathy. I don't think even JJ would have understood.

The move to Florida was a welcomed salvation for me. No one knew me there. And it would be highly unlikely that anyone would figure out who I was. In 1984, no one lived in fear of social media exposure or internet searches. My parents did all they could to support me after everything came out, especially after the police questioning and then the arrest of JJ. I was their daughter after all and no matter what people said about me, they made it completely clear that they were on my side. Thank God for them.

It took me years to convince myself that cleaning up JJ's mess was the best thing for everyone. The brain is a powerful organ, yet I was able to successfully manipulate that organ into believing altered memories. I simply erased a few details of that dreadful night. It's frightening to think how easily I was able to control my recollection of events. No one saw me, that I was certain, today's modern-day surveillance would surely have captured my every move.

Now, here I am, thirty-years later facing my inquisitive daughter. I think she was satisfied with what I told her. I didn't want to dredge up all the pain I worked so hard to suppress. But it became increasingly clear that I could not put her off any longer. She is at an age where being evasive only creates deeper curiosity. I didn't want to revisit that memory. JJ, that bastard. He is still infecting my life like a malignant tumor.

It is the night that JJ snuck into my house that concerns me the most. I couldn't sleep after everything he told me. I laid there next to him watching his chest move up and down. I listened to his resting breath and felt his heart beating softly under my hand. He fell quickly and easily into a deep sleep. After what he did, how could his mind allow him to rest? It had to be pure exhaustion. The only thing that made sense to me at that moment was to make sure JJ was protected.

It didn't take me long to find her.

When I returned home, I was freezing and completely out of breath. JJ had moved onto his stomach but was still sound asleep. I locked myself in my bathroom and began writing down all the details exactly as I remembered them. And after frantically filling four pages, I had the fatal events of the night recorded. I allowed myself to cry for a little while before smacking both cheeks hard with the palm of my hands. I had no choice but to pull myself together quickly.

I tore out the truth filled pages and began writing again. This time I crafted what I wanted the reality to be. No, what I needed it to be. I thought about the story JJ told me and what time he woke me up. I had to create a timeline that would help JJ plus fit with what I had done. When I finished, I read the pages back over forty-six times. I focused on each word intently until I committed the events to memory. I even took the time to rehearsed how I would respond to possible questions once everyone heard she was missing.

My eyes were burning from the stress of the evening, and my body felt completely drained. But, before I returned to bed, I went out onto the back porch, lit the original pages on fire and waited for the papers to disintegrate. And just like the that, the truth was destroyed.

The only minor comfort I have from that night is reminding myself that she was nearly gone when I found her. I wish I could go back and do things differently. What a foolish naïve girl I was. If I could talk to my sixteen-year-old self I would tell her to stay away from him. Stay far away from him. My heart aches when I think about the number of lives affected by one horrible night.

Nevertheless, what is done is done and has been for quite a long time. There is simply no point in torturing myself about it. I did what I did to help him and that's that. I made the decision myself. No one forced me, I alone made a choice. I can't counsel my sixteen-year-old self. I can't reason with her, or I warn her. However, what I can do is make sure Rosey never gets wrapped up with a boy like JJ.

I didn't count on a deep dive into my past from my teenage daughter. I shouldn't be all that surprised. Rosey is a lot like me; sharp, sarcastic, and assertive. I see myself in her often, especially when she laughs or rambles on and on in conversation. I became much more reserved after that night. Traumatic experiences have a way of changing a person.

I love my children deeply, but I have intentionally kept some parts of myself away from them, especially Rosey. As she has grown and matured, she is beginning to sense the space between us. I am fearful that she has too many of my traits. But rest assured, I will do everything in my power to prevent her from learning the wickedness that lies inside most of us. I am not a religious person, but I find myself asking God to please spare her from finding out what a human being can be capable of, what her own mother was capable of.

I haven't slept more than a couple of hours the last few days. Rosey continued to find opportunities to ask probing questions. And when she confronted me in the car, there was little I could do to avoid the topic. So, I decided it was best for me to control the narrative. I've gave myself a few days to organize my thoughts and to lay out a plausible storyline. I worked diligently years ago to create a false memory. I had no choice but to recall and replay those memories to ensure that I did not deviate once we began talking. I believe I was able to ready my mind to consistently unfold the events as I manufactured them in 1984.

Everyone knows that the truth is easier to remember than a lie. Experiences are much more difficult to forget. I needed Rosey to be satisfied with what I told her without giving myself away unintentionally. She had to be convinced that I was not to blame. It's imperative that she continues to accept the story I told her without reservation and does not question any of it. I feel fairly confident that I didn't make a careless error by saying something that didn't add up.

I struggle, even today, trying to make sense of what it was about JJ that would make a sensible young girl behave so horribly.

I will never understand why I killed to protect him.