Chapter 5.

>       But the best thing a parent can do for their child

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>       Is strengthen their heart

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>       Make them able to wave them goodbye

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>           -- “Waving Goodbye”, Bug Hunter

- Popper -

(January)

I asked Aiden if I could keep his journals for a while, and he said yes. He didn’t ask for a reason, but I gave him one anyway. I told him I wanted to use them as a prompt to help me tell my story, to help me to open up. I used to be little more than my father’s daughter, which really wasn’t a bad thing. But now I’m a badass crime fighter and I think it would be good for me to seriously think about that journey.

Aiden liked the idea, but then he mentioned that he was looking forward to reading it someday, and that scared the crap out of me. I know I shouldn’t feel that way. He showed me his and so it’s only fair that I should show him mine. But I already know what’s in his because I’ve read it. And I know what should be in mine, because I’ve lived it. And I’m just not sure I want him to know all the dark and stupid secrets I’m likely to share. Or maybe I’m worried that I won’t tell my full story if I think that he’ll read it.

It was my turn to work last night, btw, and it went well, for the most part. A good friend, who I’ll call J since he probably wouldn’t like it if I used his full name, had details about a drug gang working out of a warehouse at the north edge of town and I’m happy to say that it is no longer in business, as of about two hours ago. Their product and their equipment have been destroyed and all of their cash has been ‘reallocated’, as J might say. The gang members got pretty beat up, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t kill anyone, which should make Aiden--

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I was going to say it would make him happy, but I know that’s not quite right. He’s a big fan of working within the law, as he likes to say, and he probably wouldn’t be pleased with the level of violence that I used in tonight’s fight. But he wasn’t there and I was and I think most of the violence was necessary to get the job done. Now that I think about it, Aiden probably wouldn’t be pleased with the money thing either, which brings me back to wondering if I’ll ever show this to him.

But hey, good or bad, there will now be fewer drugs on the street, at least for a while.

I stopped writing and just re-read Aiden’s description of the tragedy that started him on his path, so it seems like I should probably start this by talking about my dad.

I don’t think about him as much as I should, which bothers me. It killed me when he died, which is kind of a stupid thing to say, but it’s still true. The promising young Popper that my dad loved and took care of died that day and what was left in her place was me. Sad and bitter and angry and confused and ready to defy the world and the so-called hero that had taken him from me, although I didn’t know about that part until later.

I was in an English class when the news came. I remember that it had been a pleasant April morning towards the end of my junior year. The professor had just returned our papers and for once I got a B which I knew would make my dad proud. Not that he cared much for grades, but I had actually put a lot of effort into the assignment.

I heard a noise behind me and I turned and I saw his boss and another agent standing there in the doorway and suddenly I couldn’t move. I knew that I should get up and go with them and hear whatever it was they had to tell me, but all I could do was stare at them. I don’t even remember thinking about anything. I just sat there and stared.

Eventually, his boss came to me and helped me to stand and led me into the hall and told me that there had been an accident downtown and that my dad had been killed and that he would take me home and make sure I had everything I needed and I didn’t cry.

It’s been more than two years now and the thing I remember most vividly, the one thing that stings the most is that I didn’t cry. Not then, not later that evening when I was all alone in the small university apartment my dad had rented for me, and not at his funeral.

But now, I’m happy to say that the tears are coming freely and I understand why Dr. Whatshername suggested that Aiden keep a journal to express his feelings. It hurts to remember the pain, but it hurts more to keep it in, to keep it to yourself. And so I find myself crying. Not just for losing my dad, but for that poor scared girl who didn’t know what to do, who couldn’t let herself feel the pain of loss, who wouldn’t let herself feel the sadness that so obviously consumed her.

That girl never went back to school, btw. She didn’t return to her job or accept calls or texts from any of her friends. As I said, she died that day and all that was left behind was me.