A Man Named Dave

special, I would have to bury my past.
    At least Russell’s letter stated that Kevin, my youngest brother, had little idea of what had happened or what was going on around him now. For Kevin, Mother’s way of life and the hell that went with it were perfectly normal. In an odd sense I felt that Ron, Russell, and even Stan did what they could to shield their younger brother. If anything happened to Kevin, perhaps Grandmother could offer him safe refuge. As I reread the letter, I began to feel a deep remorse. All in all, without a doubt, I was the lucky one.
    The letter ended with a positive statement. Russell would soon be enlisting in the Marine Corps. He seemed proud to join the elite force, and I felt that its camaraderie and values of duty and honor would serve Russell well. At the very least, getting as far away from Mother as possible would do Russell good. I smiled at the thought. Three down, two to go.
     
    As the weeks passed, though, the letter from Russell gnawed at me. Every night as I unfolded the papers that I kept in my Bible, I’d reread the letter. Why, after so many years, had Russell written to me? What did he really want? What, if anything, could I do? After years of working myself stupid on my hopeless quest, I was just now getting a foothold on my life. As much as I still craved answers to my past, part of me did not give a damn. After years of feeling totally worthless, I was now the guy with the fancy motorcycle, with the chance of making something of myself by becoming an air crew member. Overall, I thought I was a good person: I worked hard, was self-reliant, kept to myself, stayed out of trouble, and did whatever I could to better myself. I had all anyone could ask for. As time passed, my childhood was increasingly becoming an illusion.
    During one of these evening readings of Russell’s letter, I came to a realization. Though I knew my brothers were still exposed to Mother’s lifestyle, I, like my father at the time, remained passive to the situation. I never wrote anyone, called, or even mailed a simple Christmas card. After years of trying to fit in, it was I who had become reclusive. I had conveniently become nonexistent. Part of me wanted to tear up the letter in the same way I almost ripped up Father’s insurance papers. If I did, I would no longer have Russell’s letter tugging on my conscience. I would be saving myself by not being sucked in by my past. Closing my eyes, I clutched the letter. I took a deep breath, envisioning myself shredding it into tiny pieces. Suddenly my hands began to tremble. A wave of shame crashed over me. Opening my eyes, I broke down and cried. I ran the tips of my fingers down the length of the papers. After over ten years of exile, Russell’s letter was the only form of contact I had with my family. Maybe the letter was a subliminal open line to my brothers. The least I could do was keep it. For now all I could do was replace my brother’s letter in my Bible, and pray for the best.
    Three months later, I took military leave for the first time in years, and after a short visit to the Turnboughs, I rode my motorcycle from the Bay Area nonstop to Salt Lake City. Although I would be staying with Grandmother, my intention was to spend as much time as possible with my brothers, and if all went as planned, I would finally come face to face with Mother. Over the last few months since Russell’s letter, Grandmother and I had established a fragile truce. Even though at times I was still her sounding board, Grandmother now treated me like an adult capable of making my own decisions. But before my journey, when I had told Grandmother of my intentions, I knew by her sarcastic reply that I had hit a raw nerve. I did not understand what I had said that set her off. As I drew nearer to Utah, I only hoped that Grandmother would not interfere for once. Perhaps spending time with her would not only help us grow closer, but maybe, just maybe, would shed some light on how Mother came to be the way she was. The answers were within my grasp. The only thing that was certain, as I raced my super bike toward the sun, was that I was heading into the heart of my childhood, and my life would be forever changed.

7 – Foolish Crusade
    By the time I found Grandmother’s home in the midst of the trailer park, it was well past midnight. I repeatedly knocked on the door, but because of the late hour she had gone to bed. Being exhausted from the nonstop ride from California and frustrated