Meet the Richards

1.1 || The Richards

We called her Elena, but we didn't know why. Our oldest daughter, as I could recall, had a name close to Elena but not exactly. It was Elane because I had come across her birth certificate recently while trying to find my resume in the books and papers that filled shelves and shelves in our little suburban home in Philly. It was a nightmare. So was the escrow process in buying another house. I've been sitting at home, unemployed, while my wife goes to work as an aeronautical drafter for NASA. You might have heard of her - Irene Richards. I'm her lesser known husband Dirk. We have three beautiful children. Elena or Elane is the oldest. For the sake of my fixed memory, I'll refer to her as Elena. Can't believe me and my wife have been calling her the wrong name for her whole life. I remember naming her, and even registering her at school as Elane. She's very adventurous, always looking to run away from home in a positive way. Anyways, Oviraptor is our clodhopping middle child and her name comes from me and Irene's shared love of the Jurassic series. You can imagine the delicate variety of insults that could be made from this name. Our smallest one is Jonah.

The mounted hunting rifle above our fake fireplace brought me shame. It was my father's. I took a drink from the Budweiser and set it down on my resume. The gun brought me shame because my father had been successful in life. What did successful even mean to me? This orthodox tenet that I would fail in life compared to my father has been gnawing on my mind. He was couth. Me - I'm lazy and unpopular. Dare I say it, supercilious. Defining characteristics of a jobless jackass. The children were at school and my wife was at work, so I had the house to myself. But soon I had to leave as well to meet with a particular boy. I had taken a photo of my resume I had fought to rediscover again and was now uploading it to the laptop, so I could send it to ALDI. What a new low for me.

I drove the car to a diner. The boy I was meeting with was by the window. He waved at me. I waved back hesitantly. I entered the cafe and sat in front of him. The boy's name was Zheng. He was fatherless because of me. I lost a job because of what I did to his father. I killed his father.

It was an accident, blatantly caused by me. Back when I had a job, I was happy. Happiness brings alcohol into a man's life. No one really drinks to get sadder. So I drank a drought with friends up at a pub, playing pool and later on heading to a pool party. Not really my thing so I left early to head home. Driving drunk because no one offered to drive me home in the heat of the night. I wasn't even speeding if I can remember. I crossed one red light and t-boned another car. I had hit the steering wheel with my head with such force that dazed me and shook me sober. It might have been the news in the hospital that I had killed a man which slapped me into sobriety. Or my family crying. But being sober never worked out for me. Now I drink to forget the accident instead of drinking for fun. I always question myself about that day. What was my family crying about? I hadn't been severely hurt. Even Elena, who rarely cried had sniffled her nose into a shade of red. I knew the answer to that question, as I stared at the Asian boy ordering a jam donut for me across the diner.