Left for Garbage

of baby killers.
    The day Margaret and I went to pick up Denise’s car, Margaret treated the attendant like it was his fault our d aughter had stolen credit cards and money, and took off with our granddaughter in the car we’d given her. She yelled at him and accused him of conning us, and like the tigress of a mother she has always claimed she is, she couldn’t see that maybe, just maybe, all this was caused by our lack of discipline for our own daughter.
    Sure, I felt regret , too, for what it had come to. I wish I had kept more control of my family, and mostly of myself, but a man married to someone like Margaret sometimes falters. She’s so damn strong and adamant about everything, and so much a true believer in her own rhetoric, that even if I had tried speaking up, my voice would have been lost in the wilderness that is, pardon the pun, the world according to Margaret. I may appear meek next to her, but I can also be forceful when it calls for it, I can die, for example, I can do that.
    No father wants to belie ve he raised a monster daughter but that’s what people think of my daughter, that she’s a monster. My daughter.
    I want people to lay off her. It’s not always a kid’s fault. Parents are responsible for dark times, too. But when you see it coming , that you’re going to become the scapegoat, and you’re backed into a corner with no window in sight, you make decisions that might overall be the best for the family.
    There’s no way of winning the hand we’ve been dealt. We’re all losers here, but now that I understand I’m the sacrificial lamb, I’ve made my choice. ‘Keith the Lamb’, they can call me. Nice guys finish last etc.. Well, just one time, I’d like to feel in control of my own life again, and the only way I can figure out how to make that happen is to end my life. Doesn’t make much sense when I say it like that but who gives a shit? No one ever listens when I talk, anyway.
    I pulled up to the motel on the 22nd. It was a chilly night, about 10:30 P.M. , and Margaret had been calling and texting me all day and night, like she does when I’m out of sight. But, for once, I didn’t answer her. I had come to terms with reality on this day, my last day on earth, and I was glad to have spent it alone.
    I’d been gone for over twelve hours by this time, so I knew I had to move fast. Margaret didn’t worry about me much, but my absence would alarm her now. I had attended a job interview in the morning but what a joke that was. Like I could ever start a new job, like anyone in their right mind would hire Keith Brown, father of the monster, maybe also the monster himself.
    I don’t know what I believe about the other side. I guess I just hope it’s like going to sleep and never waking up, but if there is another side, maybe I could see Deeley and tell her I was sorry and that I loved her. I always did, just not good enough.
    Funny as it sounds, I was getting mad thinking th ere might not be another side. It pissed me off, because if this is all you get, then what a fucking joke, what a waste of our time. I want my money back.
    I also started thinking about being found dead in the room. Fast, of course , I wanted to be found quickly because, sick as this may sound, but it’s the truth, I was hoping that whoever walked in to find me, they would not have to be subjected to the sickening stench Margaret and I smelled when we picked up Denise’s car last July. That odor had told the whole story, and Margaret, I can promise you, knew it wasn’t from any rotting pizza in the trunk. She knew what the smell meant with her first nine-one-one call. So did I.
    Once I was in the room , I sat there on the edge of the bed, holding the photograph of Margaret and Denise I’d brought along with me. They were both smiling in it. Mother and daughter, the two sides of the same coin, both the women I’d loved and trusted for so long, and in return they despised me, and were even then setting me up for sacrifice and destruction, just like everyone had said they would all along. Salvatore’s last minute ‘Hail Mary Pass’ of a legal strategy, his sure-fire get Denise out of jail card, included no regard for the shame it would cause me or my son.
    I knew more than Margaret thought I knew. I’d overheard her talking late at night when she thou ght I was asleep on the couch, her frantic whispered chats with our so-called private investigator. All I could hope for was that no one would believe