Maine, a long time ago.

There was once a boy in Maine.

He was not fast. He was not strong. Neither was he handsome nor were his parents rich. The Boy was just there. He was born in Maine and lived in Maine, totally unexceptional.

And then, one day, his parents died.

The family was driving down the freeway when a truck abruptly swerved out of its lane and plowed through their car, sheering it into half. The Boy survived, left hanging impotently from his seatbelt. But whatever was left of his parents was little different from hamburger patty. The ambulance was called and the Boy was sent away to the hospital to be poked and prodded by the doctors. Physically he suffered little more than scratches, but the Boy had withdrawn into himself. The doctors decided it wasn't a problem, a natural consequence from the trauma of losing his parents. Nevertheless the Boy during his stay at the hospital managed to ask a single question to the doctors.

Why?

A simple question with a simple answer. A trucker jacked up on amphetamines had lost control of his vehicle causing the accident. But no one at the hospital had the heart to reduce the Boy's circumstances to such blunt fact. So they told him that his parents were called by God and were now in heaven. A simple lie, to give the Boy strength to face the future. Except that the Boy never believed in it. After all during the night, he would pray, asking god the same question.

And god never responded.

So the Boy concluded that wherever his parents were now, it wasn't heaven. God would have confirmed it if the nurses were telling the truth. The Boy suffered in silence, living his life in a gray haze. The day of his parents' funeral rolled around and the Boy's relatives came to the hospital to pick him up. They dressed the Boy up in a little suit and packed him into their car to be chauffeured to the ceremony. And during the ride, the Boy asked his Uncle the same question.

Why?

And this time received a different answer.

"It just happened. We never expected it as well."

That was it. There was no deeper reason for his parents to die. It just happened. That was it. And after the funeral, the Boy was not taken back to the hospital, nor was he allowed to return to his home. The Uncle told the Boy that the family could not afford to care for him, so they were sending him away to a place that could help. And so the Boy was conveyed to another house, filled with other boys. Left on the doorstep of his new home, the Boy saw his relatives drive off into the distance. They never came to visit. And that was the last the Boy ever saw of them.

.....

"Faggot!"

The fist slams solidly into the Boy's face, sending him toppling over to the floor. The Boy was now living with other boys. He was neither fast, nor strong, nor handsome. That meant the Boy was nothing. The caretakers did not ill treat him, but were also indifferent to the Boy's fate. And as for the rest of the urchins, they eagerly picked on the runt. No matter how hard the Boy tried, he could never become as big or strong as the other children. He simply wasn't born with the same gifts. But the Boy still needed to know.

Why? Why were they doing this to him?

"Because you're stupid."

"You lost the game for us."

"You didn't share your biscuits."

The caretakers would always break up these fights, but the same thing would always happen. A different day, the same shit. Day in day out, there was no deeper reason for the Boy's suffering. He suffered because of what he was, what he had been born as. The Boy had by now resigned to this fate, simply accepting whatever came his way. The gray haze of the Boy's existence continued.

Then one day everything changed.

The caretakers told everyone that an important person was going to visit and that the boys were to wear the best clothes they had. The Boy was left to himself as always while the whole house buzzed with excitement. None of the children knew what was going on, but it was obviously important. And on the appointed hour, the doors of the house swung open, and a Big Man entered. He towered over the children and the caretakers who normally seemed so imposing, seemed to shrink in the presence of the Big Man, their entire bodies folding inward, the same way the Boy would curl up when he was being beaten by the other youths.

But the Big Man did not need to lift a finger to accomplish this feat. He always spoke softly and courteously to the caretakers, but the Boy sensed the power behind each syllable. The undeniable authority that the Big Man possessed. After a quick hushed conversation between the Big Man and the caretakers, the youths were called out.

"Everyone! Come and greet Mr Clay!"

The youths lined up before the Big Man as they had been previously instructed. And the Big Man, Mr Clay, nodded affably at them, walking slowly down the row with heavy footsteps while the caretakers prattle away.

"Edwin here, he's smart. Good at art too ..."

"I see." the Big Man grunts.

"Its a good thing you're doing here ..." the caretaker continues.

"Just trying to help where I can." the Big Man responds simply.

The Boy tunes the conversation out. It has nothing to do with him at the end of the day.

"Andrew here's the orphanage's own star pitcher, isn't he?" the caretaker boasts, "Why don't you show Mr Clay, Andrew?"

"No need." the Big Man dismisses.

And finally the Big Man stops right in front of the Boy and looks at him straight in the eye.

"And what's special about you?"

"Nuthin." the Boy says downcast.

"Nothing?" the Big Man frowns, "Everyone's good at something."

"He's good at nothing!" a nasty guffaw comes from further down the row of children.

"Can't even talk properly!" the one called Andrew chimes in, annoyed at having been dismissed by the Big Man. The caretakers quickly shoot the children a dirty look and silence reigns once more.

The Big Man then kneels, speaking to the Boy at eye level.

"What's your name?" Mr Clay's voice is gentle and kind, a stark contrast to before.

"Toby, Sir." the Boy answers.

"I'm Richard, Richard Clay." the Big Man answers, "Its nice to meet you."

........

The next time the Big Man came back was several months later and the caretakers ushered Toby toward him. Just as before, the Big Man knelt to the ground again and spoke.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Its time to go home Tobias."

"My home is here." Toby answered bewildered. It was true. Toby had nowhere else to go.

"Your home is with me." the Big Man declares calmly, a simple statement of fact, "Say goodbye to your friends and we can leave."

"Don't have any friends." Toby replies sullenly, looking to the side. The Big Man merely extends his open hand to the boy, both as an invitation and a command. Toby grasps Clay's rough hand tightly, there was nothing here that held him back.

"Let's go then." Clay nods in satisfaction, and leads Toby out the door to the waiting car.

....

So Toby became Tobias Clay. From a boy he grew into a gangly teenager. And one day, he broached the question that had been haunting him for so long.

Why?

"Did I need a reason?" his father responded, grumbling from his cups, "Good works are their own reward."

Clay portrayed himself as a social drinker, but he would indulge in the privacy of his own home. It was a secret vice that only Tobias knew of. Clay had always been a responsible but cold father to Tobias, never really showing his adopted son much affection. This contradiction made Tobias increasingly curious about the reasons behind that adoption. Clay had always ignored the hints Tobias dropped about that curiosity and it was driving the teenager up the wall. Patience was not something youth generally possessed.

That was why Tobias had decided to ask Clay about it when his father was tipsy. His father was normally tight lipped and alcohol was one of the few things that could loosen his tongue. Tobias still remembered the long litany of complaints his father would vent about his boss, the town Sheriff, after a few shots of whiskey had gone down the hatch. But there was risk involved as well. Alcohol could make Clay surly and bad tempered, especially if the man decided to ruminate about something that particularly annoyed him. Tobias knew when to back off during times like these, but there was only one way to get the answers he was looking for.

And that was to press, come what may.

"Everything has a reason." Tobias insists.

"Yeah. Yeah right." his father laughs harshly, "What would you know about reasons?"

"Nothing. That's why I'm asking." Tobias says, taking a seat next to Clay.

The man takes another gulp from his drink and pours himself another, turning something over in his head. Clay then makes an irritated noise while shooing Tobias away.

"You think your real parents died for a reason? Not everything needs a reason. Now scram. I want to drink in peace."

"You're my father." Tobias reprimands lightly, "I don't have another."

"I can't be your father!" Clay roars angrily, causing Tobias to rear back in fear, "I can't even -"

Clay abruptly comes to his senses and immediately quietens down as Tobias gets back into his seat.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to shout. Its just .... really hard, sometimes."

"I need to know." Tobias insists, sensing his father's resistance gradually breaking down. Clay shuts his eyes for several seconds, and finally opens them with a long sigh.

"Life isn't fair." Clay says in a defeated voice, "It never is."

"I know that." Tobias nods. His childhood had hammered in that lesson really good.

"There's evil in this world, Toby." Clay leans back, and to Tobias's surprise, there's tears in the man's eyes, "Good people sometimes do bad things. Things they never intended to happen. Like with your real parents for instance."

"I don't understand?" Tobias urges, relieved that his father was finally willing to talk.

"That trucker, the one who rammed into the car." Clay explains tiredly, "You think he meant to kill anyone? You think he even knew about your parents? Of course not. The trucker didn't want to do any of that. But it happened anyway."

"Because of evil." Tobias answers dubiously. He had gotten over his real parents' deaths a long time ago and was not expecting his adoptive father of all people to engage in grade school level philosophizing.

"Yes. Evil." Clay mutters as he downs another shot, "Oh its easy to judge, when you're from a well off family and become the golden boy at your job. Its fun to judge other people then isn't it!"

"Easy." Tobias says as soothingly as possible. His father had gotten hung up on an unhappy memory again and was losing focus.

"But who is the one really at fault?" Clay's eyes turn hawk like and deadly alert, "The trucker who ran over your parents or the guy who sold him the drugs?"

Tobias swallows hard, sensing his father's temper gradually worsening. Clay was testing him and there was obviously something hidden beneath the question. Something that Tobias did not understand.

"The root cause would be the drug dealer?" Tobias answers cautiously.

"Exactly. Exactly." Clay nods in satisfaction, "And that piece of shit will escape justice. Evil exists in this world, Tobias. You can't stop it, only live with it."

"I don't think I can agree with that?" Tobias scowls unhappily at how the conversation is going, "Aren't we supposed to aim to be better people?"

"Can you get rid of your shadow, boy?" Clay snorts, "Of course you can't. So you live with it. Just like you live with evil."

"What does this have to do with -" Tobias objects but Clay cuts in again.

"You have to pay, pay back." Clay slurs, "I don't think the trucker who killed your parents was evil. He probably was a good person. Could still do good deeds if he had survived the accident."

"What did you do that needed to be paid back?" Tobias asks Clay with a sinking feeling in his gut.

"Nothing." Clay's smirk becomes triumphant, "Your daddy literally didn't do shit! But that Sheriff, oh I tell you -"

"Fine. I get it." Tobias sighs, understanding somewhat. From Clay's previous rants about his boss, Tobias gathered that the Sheriff was at least a little dirty and Clay was the one to clean up the various messes caused by the elderly man. So the adoption was an act of atonement then? Tobias could accept that as an answer. That was the most he could make out of the roundabout explanation anyway.

"Boy." Clay suddenly says, his voice flat and serious. Tobias gulps hard and waits for his father's next words.

"What do you think of me?" Clay asks.

"I think you're pretty great." Tobias says without hesitation, "You took me in when no one else would and worked your way up from nothing."

"Thanks." Clay smiles and shoos the boy away, "Now scram. I want to drink alone."